ACT I SCENE XIV
HECUBA

   JEFF LOOKED up when Cassandra entered. He was watching over the new girl while Clint tended to Ben in the next room. Cassandra sat beside the bed, gently brushing a few strands of hair from the girl's face. There was something about her—an echo buried deep that was too faint to hear. She studied the girl's closed eyes, the slope of her cheek, the small scar beneath her chin.

It wasn't like the others, not like Nick's unfathomable melancholy or Minho's comforting familiarity. The faces she recognised were crisp and clear, but looking at the girl's face felt like she was tuning in to static. It left her hollow—like something had been ripped out of her and the space ached with emptiness.

Who are you?

She closed her eyes, searching for a fragment to latch onto—anything—but nothing came. Only a strange unease, like the memory had been scrubbed clean. As if someone didn't want her to remember.

"You know that's not gonna work, right?" Jeff said. She arched a brow at him. "She's not gonna wake up no matter how long you stare at her."

"Weirder things have happened," she muttered.

"Yeah, no kidding." Jeff gave a dry laugh. "So, how's it feel not being the only girl anymore? Maybe she'll be your new best friend."

She smiled faintly. "Hard to bond when she's in a coma."

Deep down, she felt something squirm. A disquiet in her gut that gnawed at her bones. Like being able to find her own face in the dark, there was a memory she should've remembered. The same feeling she had when looking into Nick's olive eyes.

Clint burst into the room then, eyes wide with panic. Cassandra shot to her feet, already knowing something had gone wrong—again—before he even opened his mouth. Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, they did. The Glade doesn't run out of nightmares, it just queues them.

"Ben's gone!" he cried.

The words hit her like a punch. Jeff cursed under his breath behind her. Not Ben. Not the boy who showed her how to tie a runner's knot. Who shared his cookies with her. She bolted past Clint, taking the stairs two at a time. All she could think was: Shuck. Shuck. Shuck. Shuck. Shuck.

She tore across the Glade toward the Gardens, only stopping to catch her breath. Alby was the first to spot her. Normally, he barely acknowledged her—but today, everyone's nerves were frayed. Not that it mattered. She needed every bit of help to find Ben.

She hoped he hadn't run back into the Maze. If he had, he was as good as dead. There was no way they'd get in, find him, and bring him back before the Doors closed. She glanced at her watch—there were barely two hours left.

When she told Alby, he ran back to the Homestead, which irritated her. Did he really think the crazed, half-dead Runner was hiding in the floorboards? She turned to find Newt next. She needed his help. He was harvesting tomatoes when she found him and told him what happened.

"Where's Tommy?" he immediately asked.

"I'm the last person to ask," she said. "Wasn't he with Chuck?"

"I saw him run into the Deadheads," Zart said as he joined them. "He was chasing a beetle blade."

"Cass," Newt said, turning to her with alarm in his eyes. "Get that idiot outta there. I'll tell the others about Ben."

"What—"

"Cass," he said pleadingly.

She grunted in frustration and stalked toward the trees on the far side of the Glade, cursing Thomas with every step. The Deadheads was still the one place she loathed going into. She hadn't been in there ever since they buried Nick.

Cassandra clicked her tongue in irritation and swatted at a low-hanging branch that was in her way. There were no footprints on the path—Thomas must've found the graveyard. Of course he had.

Changing her course, she stumbled over a few roots on her way there. The stream came into view, and she could hear a scuffle from up ahead. Then—Ben's voice, sharp and shrill, sliced through the trees. Dread surged through her and she sprinted toward the noise.

She spotted him up ahead, gripping a long knife and wrestling another boy pinned beneath him. Thomas thrashed, shouting for help, barely keeping Ben's knife-hand at bay. Cassandra froze in horror. Then she hurled herself forward, slamming into Ben's side.

Her hand closed over the blade and pain seared through her palm. Gritting her teeth, she twisted it from Ben's grip. Thomas scrambled up and kicked Ben in the gut. "Hey, what the shuck?!" she yelled at him.

"He's gonna kill us both!" he shouted at her.

"No, he won't!" she snapped. "Ben? Can you hear me? You need to lie down—you're not—"

Ben throttled Cassandra down. She landed on a pile of muddy leaves with a grunt, lashing out in defence. His skin pulsed green with sickness, dark veins crawling along his arms and neck—telltale signs of the Changing.

This was the same boy she'd sat with in the Map Room, talking patterns, sharing food, laughing between bites. There wasn't a bond stronger in the Glade than what the Runners shared. They were a little family tucked within that concrete structure of musty maps and the scent of copper. Once, he had chased away a couple of boys who had taunted her.

Now he was trying to strangle her.

Thomas grabbed the knife and slammed the hilt into Ben's skull—hard enough to knock him sideways. She scrambled up just as Alby burst through the thicket. He had a bow drawn, arrow nocked—and she realised why he ran back to the Homestead earlier.

"He'll wanna take us home!" Ben shouted frenziedly. "He'll wanna get us out of the Maze. Better we all jumped off the Cliff! Better we all tore each other's guts out!"

"What is he talking—?" Thomas started.

"Shut your face!" Ben screamed at him.

Cassandra had never seen anyone lose it like this—except, maybe, herself. She didn't like the comparison. Is that how she looked? Raving and wild-eyed?

"Ben..." she called, desperate. "Ben, please stop. Let's just talk about this back in the Homestead."

"He's bad, Cass. You know it too, don't you?" His eyes locked on hers, unblinking. "You know what I mean. We have to kill him!"

Something twisted in her gut. Because for one awful second, she did know what he meant. The way she had reacted when she first laid eyes on Thomas in the Glade, the way her heart stuttered when the girl arrived in the Box. Like pieces of a puzzle she hadn't asked for were snapping into place.

"Ben," Alby said, low and steady. "I'm gonna count to three. Back off."

"Ben, please." She held out her hand. "Come with me. We'll go back to the Homestead—you'll feel better. Just..."

"He's bad, he's bad, he's bad..." Ben muttered, hands twitching. "Bad, bad, bad..."

He wasn't listening to anyone. Cassandra inhaled a shuddering breath and stepped closer just as Alby started counting. Ben lifted his head and grinned, his lips peeled back with teeth bared. Cassandra's heart slammed in her chest.

"Ben..." Thomas said, backing away. "I'm not—I don't even know what..."

Ben let out a raw, strangled scream that didn't sound quite human. He lunged at Thomas once more, and at the same time, something whistled past Cassandra's cheek. Alby's arrow struck, hitting its mark through Ben's cheek. His head snapped sideways, and he crumpled face-first to the ground.

Cassandra let out an ear-splitting scream and dropped to her knees next to the boy's body. Blood pooled around his head and she gasped. Disbelief flooded her. Then fury. She turned on Alby, eyes blazing. Accusing.

"You shot him!" she cried. "How could you, Alby? How could you?"

"There ain't nothin' we can do for Ben anymore," he told her.

"Shut up!" she roared.

"Come on." Alby turned away. "Baggers'll take care of him."

"B-but..." Thomas stammered, eyes darting between them.

"Leave!" Cassandra snarled. "Get lost—just go!"

Her vision blurred with tears, but through the haze she caught sight of Thomas standing frozen by the trees. He just stared, confused, like a bad actor who hadn't learned his lines. Then she collapsed beside Ben and broke out into anguished sobs. Tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. They might have been able to hear her wailing from all the way across the Glade to the Homestead. She didn't care.

Ben was dead.

#BenDeservedBetter