ACT I SCENE XVIII
DIONYSIACUS

   CASSANDRA STARTED awake to the sound of screaming. She looked around wildly to regain her bearings and took comfort in knowing that she was in the Homestead. With a feeling of déjà vu, she buried her head underneath her pillow in a vain attempt to block out the screams. It was no use. She then groaned out loud before opening her eyes. The first thing she saw was Minho. Shirtless. Sitting on a chair by the drawers mending his shirt. His muscles rippled with every move he made.

He looked up at her and she froze in the act of staring. He gave her a saucy grin. "Whatcha lookin' at?" he asked with an amused tone.

"Um." Her heart skipped a beat. "Why are you naked?"

"Like what you see?" he asked.

"No."

"Then why are you looking at me like that?" he asked with a wide smirk.

"Like what?"

"Like you wanna plant one on me."

She hurled her pillow at his face, cheeks burning. "Shut up."

He laughed, tossing the pillow back at her. "Come on. Gathering's about to start."

Muttering about his smug face, she threw off the covers and paused. Alby's scream echoed once more from the next room. She grimaced—this was going to be a long day. Getting out of bed, she shot Minho a suspicious look as he pulled his shirt on, still smirking like he knew something she didn't. As she stepped out, she nearly collided with Thomas, who was lurking near Alby's room. He jumped at the sight of her.

"I—uh—" he stammered.

"Changing," she said with a casual wave toward Alby's door, then walked past. He went after them, bouncing down the stairs enthusiastically after having his curiosity sated.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Bathroom. Stop following me," she responded.

"You coming to the Gathering?" he called as she reached the outhouse. Minho raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, now goodbye." She shut the door in his face.

"What are you, a stalker now? Quit followin' her, man." Minho's voice faded as he dragged Thomas off.

After quickly brushing her teeth and washing up, Cassandra stepped back out. The Glade was already awake—boys hammering, shouting, pretending everything was normal when it wasn't. Not really. Cassandra jogged across the yard, heart drumming to the beat of her hasty footsteps. She wasn't sure if it was from nerves or from whatever that weird feeling was when Minho smirked at her.

She opened the door of the Council room to find that everyone was already gathered there, even Thomas. He sat in the middle of the room, facing the entire Council like he was on trial. She sank into the last seat beside Minho, who greeted her with a sly wink.

"Right, now that everyone's finally here." Newt threw a dirty look at her. "In place of our leader, sick in bed, I declare this Gathering begun."

"I have something to say." Gally stood up. "This slinthead comes up the Box, acting all scared and confused. Few days later, he's running through the Maze with Grievers, acting like he owns the place. That's shucking bullcrap."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at his candour. He did have a point. After all, she had come to the Maze under unusual circumstances herself, and half the Glade had been wary of her.

"I think it was all an act," Gally continued, "How could he have done what he did out there in just a few days if he was really clueless? You all remember what it was like coming out of the Box. I ain't buyin' it."

Newt tapped his fingers impatiently. "And what're you tryin' to say, Gally? How 'bout having a bloody point?"

"I think he's a spy. For them." Gally glared at Thomas, who shifted agitatedly in his seat. He continued to keep his silence for the time being, though.

"What?! You're smokin' cow klunk!" Frypan exclaimed.

"Really, Fry?" Gally raised his eyebrows challengingly. "You sayin' this shank magically knew all about the Maze? I've gone through the Changing, I've seen things none of you could ever imagine seeing!"

"What exactly did you see?" Winston asked evenly.

"I saw him." The Builder pointed to the boy in question. "He was with them. Working for them. Isn't that right, Cass?"

He turned to her and she froze like a deer caught in headlights. Not because she hadn't expected it—but because she had. And yet, hearing it aloud made her stomach twist. She opened her mouth, hesitated—then nodded, voice flat. "Yeah. I saw him too."

"We all know Cass' story," Frypan stated. "That still doesn't make him some kinda spy. Dude, that's jacked up."

"Which part of all this is normal, Fry?" Gally shot back. "Does that slinthead look normal to you?"

Newt sighed. "Finished, Captain Gally?"

"No, I'm not," Gally retorted. "If you'd stop jumping the gun for one second, Newt, and actually think, you'll see it too. There's nothing right about that shank. When Cassandra came up the Box recognising everyone, you were all ready to throw her in the Slammer when she hadn't even done anything. Now you're treating this shuckface like a hero? You and I both know that's not right. Are you just gonna sit there and ignore the warnings? You better think long and hard before you let him run around out there again."

Cassandra scoffed indignantly, though she had already heard about it. "Really? You were gonna throw me in the Slammer?" she remarked pointedly. The boys avoided looking at her.

Only Gally met her gaze as he sat down and she understood what he wanted to say. She wasn't about to condemn Thomas but she couldn't stay quiet either. With a look of utter relief, Newt quickly called for the next speaker. Before she could say anything, Minho immediately stood up. He took everyone by surprise, including Cassandra. She shut her mouth and looked at him curiously.

"I was out there, I saw what he did," he started, looking at the other Keepers resolutely. "The shank has guts, I'll tell you that. He stayed strong out there while I turned into a panty wearin' chicken. I'm gonna make this simple so here's my recommendation...I nominate this shank to replace me as Keeper of the Runners."

Her jaw dropped. She expected Minho to crack a joke. Maybe defend Thomas with some careless sass. But not this. She couldn't decide if she admired him for it or wanted to strangle him on the spot. Stunned silence settled over the Council to match the expressions on all their faces.

Then Gally, of course it would have been Gally, stood up furiously. He pointed at Minho and started yelling with a vein throbbing on his forehead. "He should be kicked off the Council for saying something so stupid!"

"Gally, seriously, shut the bloody hell up!"

Then everyone was frantically clamouring over each other. Jackson and Winston were with Gally, disagreeing loudly from the other side. Frypan clapped his hands to drown them out as he supported Minho's suggestion. To Cassandra's utter dismay, a few of the others were nodding their heads in agreement as well. She bit her lip before reaching out to grab his arm. "Minho, have you lost your shucking mind?"

He turned to give her a small smirk. "Trust me, Cassie, I know what I'm doin'."

"I've never seen so many shanks actin' like tit-suckin' babies!" Newt exclaimed then threatened to disband the Council unless everyone started acting like proper adults again. "Come on, Minho, you gotta justify yourself."

"We left him out there to fend for himself," Minho said. "I'm the Keeper of the Runners but I lost all hope the moment those shuck Doors closed on us. But not Thomas, though. It was thanks to that shank's shucking ideas that got us all through to the next morning."

Cassandra frowned. "You're laying it on real thick there," she commented.

"We get the point," Gally snapped. "Tommy here is a lucky shank."

Minho turned on him bitterly. "No, you worthless shuck, you don't get it! I've been here for two years and I haven't seen anything like it. For you to say anything..."

He stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning loudly in frustration. Cassandra watched him with interest; it was always a sight whenever Minho got riled up. The boy dropped his hand to his side and started again in a calmer voice.

"Gally...you're nothin' but a sissy who only asked to be a Runner 'cause Cassie got made one. You don't have a right to talk about things you don't understand. So shut your damn mouth."

The taller boy rose from his seat, eyes gleaming with rage. "Say one more thing like that and I'll break your neck!" he threatened heatedly.

"Hey, Gally, calm down," Cassandra started, but was cut off.

Minho looked away scornfully and laughed in disbelief. He raised his hand before shoving his palm right into Gally's face. It had enough force to send the boy toppling back into his chair, which tipped backwards and fell to the floor.

Gally crashed along with it; sprawled on his front against the hard ground. He scrambled to get up, his face a flaming red that reached up to the tips of his ears. Minho walked over and planted his foot squarely onto the boy's back.

"Minho!" she gasped, horrified. Newt stood from his seat looking scandalised.

"I swear, Gally." He sneered. "Don't ever threaten me again, or I'll break your shuck neck. Right after I'm done with your arms and legs."

Cassandra wanted to feel bad for Gally but Minho looked so attractive asserting his dominance like that and she found herself smiling at it. Wait, where the heck did that thought come from?

As much as she enjoyed watching Minho wreak havoc, she shook her head clear and clawed at the back of his shirt to pull him away. Gally sprang up immediately once Minho was off him, and he glared at the boy with a burning hatred. He looked like he wanted to fight back but chose to back away towards the door instead, eyes darting around the room like a wild animal.

"Things are different now," he spat. "You shouldn't have done that, Minho. You shouldn't have done that. We're all gonna be shucked now. You don't see it yet, but he's fooled you all. And when it happens, don't say I didn't warn you..."

"Gally, come on," Cassandra tried to reason. "Let's talk this through."

"No, Cass, they're not gonna listen," he said assertively. "Things are going to change. And you're all gonna be sorry."

He finally left, leaving the room in a dumbfounded state. Cassandra's gaze lingered on the door, then slid toward Thomas. He looked small in the silence. Too human to be an enemy, too unknown to be a friend. The air buzzed with unease, then Clint raised his hand and Newt tilted his chin in the boy's direction. "Yeah, Clint?"

"Gally kinda has a point," he told everyone. "How can we really trust him? I mean, we have two Gladers with memories who are against him."

"I... I don't think he's that bad..." Cassandra finally spoke up. She wasn't even sure if she believed it, not entirely. But the truth was, she had more questions than answers, and maybe Thomas was able to help with that.

"Minho's right," she continued. "He does have guts even though he's a shuck idiot. But that doesn't mean he should be a Keeper." She glanced sharply at Minho. "And Gally's right too, I still don't trust him! But the least we can do is make him a Runner... like me."

"That doesn't sound too bad," Frypan quipped. "I'm up for it."

"Well, we're gonna have to throw him in the Slammer first for breakin' the rules. All those who agree, raise your hands," Newt suggested and everyone around the room held their palms up in the air. "It's decided then. Congratulations, Thomas."

The boy in question just stared back with his mouth open. Minho let out a boisterous laugh. "Aim high, hit low," he said and Cassandra sent him a dubious look.

"I have a question," Thomas voiced loudly with eyes set on Cassandra. "What changed?"

She looked at him. And the memories returned—fractured, jagged. Pain lancing through her nerves. Cold restraints biting into her skin. The clinical murmur of voices behind glass. But he wasn't cruel, not like them. He never smiled when she screamed. That would've been easier—then she could've hated him completely.

But she didn't. She had let the memories calcify into something hard and cold. A weapon. A shield. An excuse to blame someone. Because it was easier to aim all the hurt at one person. Even though—deep down—she remembered the regret in his eyes when he looked at her. The way guilt had twisted inside him like he felt it too.

Everyone in the room turned to her and she almost lost her voice. She took a small shuddering breath. A brief flash of an obscure memory passed through her mind. "You saved my life. That's what changed."

Thomas seemed shocked into silence. Chairs scraped the floor as the other Keepers began to disperse, their murmurs fading into the hall. Chuck slipped quietly through the parting crowd, his small frame barely noticeable amid the shifting bodies. Newt glanced up from his notepad, brows furrowed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

Chuck wrung his hands. "Med-jacks sent me."

Newt stood up, making for the door. "Must be Alby thrashing around and actin' all crazy."

Um..." Chuck's voice piped up, halting him in mid-step. "He doesn't want you. He keeps asking for... them."

The boy pointed toward both Cassandra and Thomas. They exchanged a glance, equally confused.

"Me?" Thomas frowned, his voice uncertain. "Why me?"

Cassandra scoffed, folding her arms. "Alby can talk to a wall for all I care," she muttered. "I've got better things to do."

"He says it's important," Chuck pleaded, voice a little too hopeful.

"I have very important things to do too," Cassandra snapped, rising to her feet.

Before she could take a step, Newt's hand clamped on her shoulder. "Unfortunately, you don't get a choice," he said, with a wry but firm tone.

Behind them, Minho let out a low snicker. "See ya later, shanks."

Cassandra fumed in silence as Newt practically dragged her out of the Council room. She didn't resist—barely—but her glare could've set the walls on fire. Thomas and Chuck trailed behind, both quiet. They returned to the Homestead, the air thick with tension as they moved down the hallway to the rickety staircase. At the bottom step, Newt glanced back over his shoulder.

"You. Stay," he ordered, pointing a sharp look at Chuck.

Chuck simply nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. Thomas nudged him gently. "Come on, lighten up. They just made me a Runner. That means you're buddies with a stud now."

"Right... yeah," Chuck muttered, not looking up.

"It's either that or we use you as bait for the Grievers," Cassandra said dryly.

Thomas flinched, giving her a quick side-eye before hurrying to catch up with Newt. They reached the Homestead's upper hall. Newt stopped in front of a door and released his grip on Cassandra. She tried to bolt for the stairs but Newt was faster. His hand shot out, catching the back of her shirt just as she turned.

"Oh, for the love of—Cass!" he scolded.

She let out a sharp groan as Newt yanked her back. Thomas looked between them, incredulous. Newt then rapped his knuckles on the door and a low moan answered from inside. He didn't wait. He pushed it open and stepped in, tugging Cassandra after him. Alby lay motionless on the cot, eyes shut, lips drained of colour. He looked more like a ghost than the leader she remembered. They moved closer, but he didn't stir, didn't even seem to notice they were there.

Cassandra didn't flinch. She'd seen worse since arriving in the Glade—learned to stomach blood, sickness, and the hollow aftermath of both. But as she looked at Alby, lying so still and pale, a flicker of sympathy slipped through. His temper had made him hard to like—blunt, temperamental, too quick to judge—but he'd done his best to protect them, to keep order when everything else was falling apart. And now he was just... another broken body. Like so many before him.

"Alby," Newt whispered. "Alby!"

Cassandra tilted her head. "Hey, shank. You dead yet?" she called loudly. The boys beside her grimaced.

"Shut up, slinthead," Alby croaked out.

Cassandra smirked. "See? He's fine."

Newt shot her an exasperated glare, then sank into the chair beside the bed. "Chuck said you were thrashin' around, acting like a loonie. What's wrong? You still sick?"

Alby's words came out in a strenuous wheeze, "Everything's... gonna change... The girl... Thomas... Cass... I saw them." His eyelids flickered closed, then opened again, staring at a spot in the ceiling.

"What do you mean, you saw—" Newt began.

"I remember... I remember everything," Alby said, his voice gaining strength. "Why would they want us to remember? Why can't we just live here and be happy?"

His gaze sharpened, turning to Cassandra who was leaning over Newt's shoulder. Before any of them could react, Alby suddenly sprang from the bed and lunged at her.

Cassandra shrieked as Alby's hands clamped around her throat, his fingers digging into her skin. They crashed to the floor, her head slamming against the boards and causing pain to splinter through her skull. She kicked and thrashed, panic clawing its way up her chest as his grip tightened. Somewhere above the ringing in her ears, she could hear Thomas and Newt shouting, struggling to tear him off her.

"I know who you are, where we came from. I remember the Flare!" Alby yelled, his face twisted with something between rage and madness. "You're the reason we're here in the first place!"

The words pierced through the haze, slicing deeper than his nails ever could. Something clicked—an image, a memory, a voice she couldn't forget. Nick. His shaking hands, the way he'd looked at her, desperate to say something. They'll blame you. It's not your fault, but they'll blame you. Realisation struck her like a knife, and her heart stuttered. She felt an acute shame; her body froze with remorse, as if she deserved every bit of pain inflicted on her.

Then came the anger—hot, helpless, and all-consuming. Not at Alby. At herself. At the truth she was too blind to see. At the part of her that should have known.

"Shuck... off... Alby!" Cassandra rasped, her voice rough and fierce. Her body moved on pure instinct. She hooked her foot around his and twisted sharply, throwing him off her. She pinned him to the floor, her chest rising with quick breaths, and raised a trembling fist—fighting the urge to strike.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Newt shouted, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her away. "That's enough, Cass!"

"I'm gonna shucking end you, Alby!" she growled, struggling against Newt's hold. "Let go of me, Newt!"

"Cass!" Newt yelled, desperation edging his voice. "Enough!"

From the floor, Alby groaned, pushing himself up on trembling elbows. His face was pale, eyes wide with shock—like he couldn't believe what he'd just done. "It—It wasn't me. I swear, I'm sorry. I—something just came over me, like... like I had no control."

Cassandra stopped struggling. Her gaze turned to him with disbelief, then coiled into dread. Her thoughts went back to Nick—how he choked himself whenever he tried to tell her something. Were they doing this to her on purpose? Did they control Andy to attack her that night, too? Her lips parted, but no words came. Only bitterness and resentment twisted her face.

"Wasn't me, I swear," Alby murmured. "I'm sorry."

"Let's go," Newt whispered. He led her to the door, Thomas quickly following them.

"Be careful..." Alby called, hauling himself back to the bed. His eyes slid shut once more, his breaths uneven. "And protect... the Maps."

When Newt shut the door behind them, Cassandra stumbled down the stairs and out of the Homestead. The sunlight felt like shards of glass against her eyes—it was too bright. She blinked against the glare, watching the Gladers mill about the field as if nothing had happened. As if everything was fine. She hated it. She hated all of it. Curling her hands into fists, she turned and ran—past the gardens, past the animal pens—until the trees of the Deadheads swallowed her whole. Branches slapped at her face, roots caught at her feet, but she didn't stop.

Finally, she reached the graveyard. Wooden crosses jutted out of tangled weeds, crooked and weather-worn. Her breath came in ragged gasps, loud in the hush of the trees. The light was softer here, filtered through the green canopy above. The air was thick and humid, and clung to her skin. Sweat dripped down her temple as she stepped forward, eyes scanning the markers until they landed on a grimy sheet of glass. Nick. The blanket she had laid over him was now dulled by dust, the glass smudged and streaked over time.

She picked up a rock and hurled it, as if it would undo death itself. As if she could wake him up, make him speak. To blame her the way she deserved.

"Was that what you wanted to tell me?" she shouted, voice cracking with fury. "That I was the key to creating the Trials? That Point Zero was the map I gave them?"

Her chest heaved, breath coming in shallow bursts. She grabbed another rock and flung it harder. This time, a crack spidered across the surface of the glass. Cassandra ran her fingers through her hair, gripping at the roots, like she could claw the unbearable truth right out of her mind. She didn't want to accept it. That everything—the Maze, the deaths, the endless pain—was her fault.

A sob tore from her throat as she collapsed to the ground. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as her arms dropped uselessly at her sides. Nick had known. He'd tried to shield her from it—from herself. What would he say now? That it wasn't her fault she was born with a different brain? That being special didn't mean she deserved this?

Her body trembled, vision swimming beneath the weight of her grief. Why did he have to die?

There was a sharp snap. Cassandra whipped her head toward the sound, still choking back sobs. Through the shadows between the trees, a figure emerged—it was Minho. He approached cautiously, uncertain. His eyes caught sight of the cracked glass over Nick's grave, confusion flickering across his face. His brows knitted together as he knelt beside her. Then, a tentative hand reached out, brushing gently against her arm.

"Cassie, what happened?" he asked softly.

She wiped at her face with the back of her hand, but the tears kept flowing, relentless. She didn't want him to see her like this—so broken and pathetic.

"You know you can talk to me," he said earnestly, his voice steady and warm.

Her gaze met his, the faint sun rays turning his eyes a shade lighter than they were. And it felt so achingly familiar. A fresh wave of tears spilt over and she wept. For the memories they had lost, the people that they would never see again. She wept for everything and nothing all at once. The severed connection between them would never mend, no matter how much she wished for it, no matter how much she wanted for him to remember her.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered. "I can't..."

"Cassie..." he breathed.

Then he pulled her into his arms, and she felt herself shatter. Like she was slipping away, losing pieces of herself, chasing after memories that had long since turned to dust.

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