ACT I    SCENE XIX
ERIS

   THE STERILE scent of antiseptic and disinfectant filled the air. She could hear the faint beeping of a nearby machine, feel something stuck to her arm. There was a bandage around her head, and her body felt light. Fluffy. Like she was cocooned in a cloud of warmth. Her mind was foggy, as if filled with wool. But she remembered the people that had rescued them, remembered soaring above the clouds in a Berg.

Voices spilt from the open door, low and clinical.

"Chancellor, these are the scans you requested," a woman said. "Judging by the cluster size, they've had it for months, if not years."

"And the biopsy results?"

"Healthy tissue. Should we proceed with the Psych evaluation?"

"Yes. Label them under Group C."

They continued talking, but she was pulled back into that soft cloud and oblivion embraced her. When she woke up, a doctor had come to examine her. He gave her food and water before leaving again. She looked down at her plate, unable to believe her eyes. Scrambled eggs, salmon, carrots. She dug in hungrily, scarfing everything down as if it was her last meal. She couldn't remember the last time she ate fresh food. Not ration bars, or canned beans, or the odd potato chips.

She finished her meal, even licking the plate clean. Looking around, she realised that she was in a hospital room. Her bed was the only one in it, and there was a rectangular window that looked out over a forest of evergreen trees. Ever since the sun flares, she hadn't thought they existed anymore. She could only remember dirt and rust, ruined skyscrapers and ash. The facility was spotless, functional, and ordinary. She hadn't seen ordinary in a long time and it felt almost unnatural.

The door opened, and another doctor with long blonde hair walked in. She was pretty, tall, the kind of person who looked like she would be in newspaper articles for discovering a new scientific breakthrough. It reminded her of her mother.

"Hello, Cassandra," the woman greeted, red lips curling in a smile. "I'm Dr. Clarke."

She frowned in confusion. "My name is Soyun."

"We know," Dr. Clarke said, taking a seat beside her bed. "But we've taken you in and decided to give you a new name. It's for the best, don't you think?"

Her brows creased, not understanding what she meant. "Why?" she questioned.

"Because you're a very special girl," Dr. Clarke spoke slowly, as if there was some profound significance in her words. "And there are things that you can help us with. According to your chart, you're also exceptionally gifted."

"But why can't I keep my name?"

"This will be a new start for you," the woman told her. "A chance for you to forget all the awful things you had to go through, and live a normal life again. Don't you want that for you and your friends?"

At the mention of her friends, she sat up straighter. Her breath caught in her throat and worry laced her voice. She would do anything for them, even if that meant changing her name. "My friends? Can I see them now? Are they okay?"

"They're fine, you can see them once you're all settled in," Dr. Clarke told her. "Now... there's someone I want you to meet. He'll be your ward—like a new friend—and he'll help you settle in too."

The door opened again, and a young boy walked in. He had dark brown hair and looked to be about her age, twelve or thirteen. He seemed uncertain as he approached her, and he kept looking at Dr. Clake nervously.

"Hi," the boy said. "I'm Thomas."

"Hi! I'm—" she paused, glancing at Dr. Clarke. "I'm Cassandra. Nice to meet you!"

   Cassandra could not remember much after Minho had found her in the Deadheads. Everything blurred together—the phantom hands around her neck, the burn in her lungs, the warmth of his arms anchoring her to the world. She remembered his voice, low and steady, cutting through the ringing in her ears. After a while, even the grief had dulled into a cold ache... and then into nothing at all.

She must have collapsed again.

Now, soft sunlight filtered through a cracked windowpane and brushed against her closed eyelids. She blinked, her lashes catching the light, and realised she was lying on a bed. She didn't remember getting in it. Cassandra stirred slowly, breath shallow as she took in the scent of morning—grass, dew, wood. Birds chirped nearby, punctuating the silence of the Glade. It was almost time for wake-up.

The door creaked open.

She turned her head slowly, squinting at the silhouette in the doorway. Minho leaned against the frame, arms crossed over his chest, hair tousled and sticking up in a few odd directions.

"Look who's alive," he said, voice low but light. "I was about to poke you with a stick."

Cassandra blinked at him, groggy but managing a faint scoff. "I'll beat you with it."

Minho broke out into a grin, snickering as he stepped into the room. He sat himself down at the edge of the bed, stretching his legs out. "Is that how you thank someone for carrying your butt all the way back to the Homestead?" he joked.

"I'm not that heavy," she muttered, pushing herself upright with a wince.

He smirked. "Tell that to my back."

She let out a breath that was almost a laugh, rolling her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Early. Everyone's still out cold." He tilted his head at her, expression softening. "You okay?"

She paused, then nodded slowly. He didn't say anything for a moment, just looked ahead at the sunlight crawling across the wood floor. The quiet beating of her heart was oddly loud in the stillness.

"Thanks... for finding me," she said softly.

He turned to her, his eyes warm and tender. "Always."

She felt her heart flutter. She studied Minho's face—his crooked grin, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners, how his presence always felt like home. It was stupid—ridiculous, even. The boy she thought she knew was little more than a ghost from fractured memories. And yet, sitting here with him, in this quiet little room with sunlight slanting across the floorboards and warmth behind his smile, something stirred in her chest. Something that scared her more than she cared to admit.

The thought made her stomach twist. Was that why she was drawn to Minho? Because she was clinging to a memory that she could barely remember? Or... was it something else?

Minho nudged her leg. "Look, I know I'm good-lookin' and all, but are you gonna sit there and stare at me the whole day?"

Heat rushed to her face as she inhaled sharply. She made a strangled sound between mortification and indignation. "Minho, I swear to God—"

He started to laugh, and it suddenly struck her how much she liked the sound of it. Minho stood up, offering a hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. "C'mon, let's raid Frypan's kitchen before he wakes up."

She hesitated for a second, still glaring at him for his jab earlier, before taking his hand. His grip was firm and warm as he pulled her to her feet. They left the room, the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath their feet blending with the birdsong outside. The halls of the Homestead were quiet, lit golden by the rising sun. Her eyes fluttered to his face, and for a brief moment, she had to admit that Minho was good-looking.

God help her.

They stepped out into the fresh air, making their way to the kitchen. The sunlight grew steadily brighter as they rummaged through the fridge. There were leftover blueberry cupcakes from the day before and they had those for breakfast. Though they were pretty sure that Frypan had been saving them for himself.

Newt had wandered in to find them, still groggy from just waking up.

"Hey, have you guys seen Tommy?" he asked.

They looked at him and shook their heads with a shrug. He took a seat at their table and yawned. Cassandra noticed his small wince as he repositioned his bad leg. She never really thought much about it; Newt always looked like the limp didn't bother him but she guessed it still did from time to time.

He rubbed a tired eye. "Need to drag his sorry butt to the Slammer."

Cassandra snickered. "I'd love to see that."

Newt leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Anyway, we're gonna need to figure out what to do with him. Things are gettin' a little too strange around here."

"Can't disagree with that," Minho muttered.

Cassandra frowned, recalling the way Alby had looked at her—possessed, frenzied, afraid. How he had finally made her realise what Nick had been trying to tell her all along. A part of her wanted to pretend it hadn't happened at all. But she couldn't ignore it. Not when Nick's warnings echoed louder than ever. Things were changing. And whatever it was... it had started the moment Thomas arrived.

   The next morning, Cassandra felt the bright glow of dawn seep through her eyelids but she refused to wake up just yet. The grass underneath brushed against her exposed skin as she shifted and buried her head into something soft with a content sigh. She tried to recall exactly when she had snuck a pillow out of the Homestead when there was a soft chuckle accompanied by a small tremor underneath her.

"Feeling comfy there?"

She ripped her eyelids open and looked up to find Minho grinning back. Her arms were wrapped around his waist, her face pressed against his chest. This was not what she had expected to wake up to and pushed herself away with a strangled cry, feeling completely embarrassed for being caught in such a compromising position.

Cassandra rolled about a foot away from him before stopping and looking back in horror. He was still grinning at her, dimples in his cheeks and eyes curving upwards with barely contained amusement. Then he stretched his arms out to her. "Aw, come back, Cassie," he called.

"No!" She rolled further away and Minho started guffawing at her antics. With an urge to smack herself across the face, Cassandra made a mental note to never doze off next to Minho ever again. But what if she accidentally used someone else as a pillow? She was surrounded by boys, there was no escape for her.

Her back bumped into Newt, who woke up with a start and peered blearily over his shoulder. "What are you doing?" he asked sleepily.

She wanted to melt into the grass and die.

"Um. Good morning!" She forced a grin at him.

He looked behind her at Minho who was lying flat on the ground in mild hysterics. "I don't wanna know," he groaned and turned back to his other side. Cassandra sighed and sat up to shoot Minho a disapproving glare before making a run for it to the bathroom.

She had a shower, hoping the heat in her cheeks would evaporate into the air together with the steam then put on a new sleeveless black top and brown pants she found in a cargo box. It wasn't her fault that he slept so close to her all the time. Who asked him to have such a comfortable wide toned chest? And that stupid face with those adorable dimples, she continued to grumble in her head as she laced up her shoes.

Cassandra pushed the door open with unnecessary force and stomped down the steps from the bathroom. She turned the corner to head back to the Homestead when someone pulled her behind the building. Her back was pressed against the flimsy wooden planks and she looked up into brown eyes that made her heart sputter to an abrupt stop.

Minho's lips twitched as he tried to control his smirk then he leaned down closely, resting a hand against the wall next to her head. She could feel her own pulse drumming against his thumb. "Slept well?" he asked.

She stared at him, dumbfounded. "Yeah, sure," she replied weakly. "Didn't have crazy dreams, didn't wake up screaming. Pretty good, I'd say..."

"Great. So you gonna go into the Maze with me today or what?" He cocked his head to her pack over his shoulder.

"Uh... I..." There was just something in the way he asked it that threw her off. "Yeah... okay."

"Cool." He smiled happily and took a step back. "Let's get some breakfast."

She trailed after him toward the kitchen with a cautious eye on his back. Her heart was beating one hundred miles per second and her knees felt weak. Frypan made bacon again that morning and it made her forget about the ludicrous thoughts for the moment. The Cook's bacon could literally wake a dead man from the grave. They were just so delicious, and tender, and juicy, and damn Minho's eyes looked mesmerising in the sunlight.

She groaned inwardly. What is wrong with me?

Newt came to sit with them briefly. "So you're finally going into the Maze today?" he asked, noticing the pack strapped over her shoulders. "'Bout bloody time."

She scowled at him and he grinned back in jest. There was no use denying that she was probably the worst Runner they had in the history of the Glade, and she spent about three months out of commission. It certainly hadn't been her idea to be made Runner in the first place, she thought indignantly.

Cassandra and Minho didn't linger as they were losing daylight and it was a big, big Maze out there. Bidding Newt goodbye, they made their way to the South Door. It was usually Nick or Ben's route. Minho had told the Runners to take it in turns to continue where the two had left off. She guessed today was their turn.

They went into Sector Five. It'd been a really long time since she set foot in this section of the Maze so she didn't really remember what was inside anymore. She followed Minho, taking note of their turns and trying to remember the patterns. After a while, she gave up; the shape of Minho's back was distracting her too much.

A couple of hours later, they made it to the outer section and stopped by a dead end. She had absolutely no recollection of this area and Minho noticed the perplexed look on her face. He grinned crookedly as he teased her. "Forgot your Maps already?"

She hummed out loud and looked around. The stone corridor stopped abruptly behind them and opened up to a pale barren square. There was a raised area in the middle that had two intersecting lines in a cross. It would have been a nice place, if only it weren't located inside a death trap.

"Yeah, I don't remember this place at all," she answered honestly.

Turning around, she walked back to Minho who was gulping down some water. Her foot caught against a vine and she let out a yelp as she tripped, falling over. Minho quickly lunged forward to catch her, his water bottle falling with a loud clatter. She managed to grab hold of him but ended up dragging him down with her due to the momentum.

They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and cries of pain. Cassandra nearly lost her breath as her back slammed against the cold stone floor, Minho's weight pressing down on her. His groan was muffled in her ear, and when she blinked open her eyes, his face hovered just inches from hers. Her heart stuttered—again—at the sight of his intense brown eyes.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low.

"Huh? Y-yeah," she murmured, distracted. His sweat-slicked skin against hers, the warmth radiating from his broad shoulders—it was impossible not to notice. His arms, taut and strong, flexed beneath her gaze. Had she ever seen him work out in the Glade? How did he gain so much muscle from running?

Minho's gaze flicked to her flushed cheeks. "Why's your face so red?"

She took a breath to respond, but choked on air instead. The only thing she could do was throw her hands out at him, pushing him off her and scrambling back to her feet. She picked up the bottle of water from the ground and took a long gulp.

Minho chuckled. "Why so shy, Cassie?"

She shot him a glare and tossed the bottle at him. He caught it effortlessly, smirking. "Shut up, Minho," she said.

He ran a hand through his hair with a self-satisfied grin. "On a scale of one to ten, how much have you fallen for me now?"

"Negative ten. Goodbye," she retorted, spinning around and sprinting back into the Maze. She could hear his footsteps and laughter follow after her.

When she finally returned to the Glade, the familiar sights felt both comforting and suffocating. She was barely able to concentrate on her Mapping, and she felt jittery whenever someone called her name. As if she was expecting it to be someone else. Or a certain someone.

She didn't know when it had started—this strange, unsettling feeling whenever Minho was near. They'd always been close since she arrived, an unspoken connection threading between them. But this was different. More confusing. More electric. None of the other boys had ever made her feel like this. It felt like her entire world had shifted on its axis.

Her thoughts continued to spiral as she stepped out of her hot shower. That was how Lee found her sitting on the Homestead floor, head cradled in her hands, damp hair dripping onto the floorboards. He raised a brow in concern.

"Yo, you doin' alright?" he asked.

She glanced up, grimacing. "My stomach feels weird."

His lips twisted. "What did you eat this time?"

Cassandra sighed, dropping her face back into her hands. "Never mind."

Lee nudged her shoulder gently. "Hey, I know what's really bothering you."

She looked at him sharply. "You do?"

"Everyone feels it at some point," he said, voice low. "Anxiety, nerves... about cracking the Maze." He shook his head, a shadow crossing over his features. "Believe me, I've seen it all."

She sat up slowly, trying to believe him. "Right... just nerves..."

"Here." He reached into his pack and pulled out a jar filled with dark amber liquid. "This'll take the edge off."

Cassandra snatched it as if it was gold. "How did you get your hands on this?" she gasped. Gally was always so tight-lipped on where he kept his brew stashed away. For good reason, but still.

"I have my ways," he replied, smirking. "But you didn't get it from me."

She grinned. "Did I ever tell you you're my favourite person?"

"Just don't let Minho hear that," Lee warned with a wink, standing and waving over his shoulder as he headed to the kitchen.

Cassandra glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then slipped quietly out the back door of the Homestead. She settled on the worn steps, unscrewed the cap of the jar with a small, victorious smile, and took a long gulp. The liquid burned down her throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste, but warmth soon spread through her belly. She leaned back against the cool wall, letting out a satisfied sigh.

From inside, the scrape of chairs and clatter of cutlery drifted through the air as the others sat down for dinner. Her gaze lifted to the sky—a vast, empty black canvas. No stars. No moon. Just a silent, endless void pressing down like a secret no one dared to speak.

She pulled her knees to her chest, the ache tightening in her ribs, and let her breath steady. Just nerves, she told herself, though the loneliness clung to her like the night air. So much had happened—she had almost died more times than she cared to remember—yet the one thing that ate away at her now was... she didn't know what it was. Or she did, and was just too afraid to admit it. She tried to think about every other wrong thing that had happened. Nick. Thomas. Ben. Andy. Alby. She hoped she could guilt-trip herself out of her moping.

But all thoughts went back to Minho. The day she arrived in the Glade, the relief she felt at seeing him, yet not even knowing who he was, save for his name. Running through the Maze with him, learning the patterns and the Maps. How he comforted her after Nick's death. Interspersed between them, she remembered the boy from her past. The longing in her heart to find him, to hold his hand once more. She tried to remember his face, but it was always fuzzy when she woke up—like a dream she had forgotten too long ago.

She sat like that for a while, the only sounds her quiet breathing and the distant hum of the Glade settling in for the evening.

Then a voice cut through the stillness.

"So that's where you are."

Cassandra jumped, startled—then relaxed when she saw Minho standing in the doorway. His hand was stuffed in his pocket, hair tousled from a shower. Her breath caught again.

"You always sneak up on people like that?" she asked lightly.

He grinned, stepping closer. "Nah, just you." His eyes flicked to the jar in her hand. "That Gally's special brew?"

She chuckled softly. "Special is one way to put it."

Minho dropped down beside her, close but not too close. She passed him the jar; he took a swig and made a face. "Still tastes like it was brewed in a boot."

"Don't give him ideas," she warned, smiling.

They shared a quiet laugh, then fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that buzzed with things left unsaid. She wasn't sure what to call it.

"You ever wonder why there are no stars?" she asked. "Not even the moon, or the sun."

He shrugged. "Does it matter? It goes dark and light when it's supposed to."

"Maybe. But I miss them." Her eyes searched the empty sky.

Minho watched her for a moment, then stood. "Come on."

"What?" she blinked.

"You wanna see them, right?" He held out his hand.

Her heart fluttered as she took it and his fingers lingered on hers for a moment too long. He led her quietly through the outskirts of the Glade, past the edge of the Gardens, toward the Deadheads. They slipped beneath low-hanging branches, stepping over mossy roots. The scent of earth and pine filled the cool night air. She could count every beat of her heart against her chest. Thump. Thump. Thump. It was almost too painful to hear.

"You're not planning on murdering me out here, are you?" she teased.

He smirked. "I'll leave that to Thomas and the new girl."

"Ha-ha, very funny." She rolled her eyes.

He slowed, helping her cross a shallow stream, then guided her to a large tree with drooping branches. He settled between its twisted roots and patted the ground beside him. She eased down next to him, shoulders barely touching. Above them, a gap in the leaves revealed a patch of sky. Her breath caught as faint pinpricks of light shimmered within the darkness—stars. Like the ones at the Cliff. They twinkled dimly, like ghost fire, clinging to a semblance of life.

"It's not much," he said softly, "but it's something."

"Yeah," she breathed, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's something..."

The jar of Gally's brew passed between them again. Cassandra wasn't sure if it was the drink, or the night—or the way he looked at her as if he remembered something he had forgotten—but she felt it, shivering inside her chest. A feeling that she didn't dare to say out loud.

"I remember we used to stare up at the night sky," she told him. "Not like this, but lit up with a million stars, and we would name each constellation we saw."

Minho's gaze softened. "That's a first."

"Huh? What is?"

"That's the first time I heard you talk about 'us' in the past," he said and there was a look in his eyes that was wistful. Almost like regret. As if he wished he remembered more.

Her heart clenched with a familiar ache—the same mix of sorrow and happiness she'd felt the day she woke in the Glade. It was like opening Pandora's Box, grasping onto hope that laid at the bottom. Suddenly, she was too aware of how close they were next to each other. The brush of their shoulders, the almost touch of their fingers, the steady warmth radiating from his body.

"Oh," she whispered. "I never realised."

His voice was so quiet, she almost couldn't hear him. "You said Cassiopeia looked like a heart, because next to it was Perseus."

Her heart jolted. She turned to him, her gaze meeting his brown eyes, searching. Every tattered memory she had flashed before her. Laughing on the grass, sunlight streaming between leaves. Crying on a stairwell, a bloody gash on her knee. Running between trees, feet beating on barren ground. Everything replayed in her mind like an old movie reel.

She held her breath, hope blossoming uncertainly in her chest. He reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, and it felt achingly familiar. Like he had done it a hundred times before. His hand held hers, gentle yet sure, and his throat bobbed. Somewhere, in the depths of everything that had been stolen from them, something remained.

"Cassie..." he said, and she nearly flinched. "I don't know if it's real, or if I'm just losing it, but... I think I remember you."

Her lips parted, voice barely a whisper. "You do?"

"I do, Cassie..." he murmured.

Tears welled as she took a shuddering breath. She threw her arms around him, burying her face in the hollow of his neck with a broken sob. Desperately, she wanted to hold on to him so she could never forget him again. Longing stretched through the spaces between them. Every knotted thread pulled loose and unravelled. As if stumbling into a home that she had always known was hers. A piece of a puzzle finally fitting in place to be complete.

His hand brushed her cheek gently and she looked up, eyes glistening. That overwhelming feeling washed over her again, as if she needed him more than she needed air to breathe. And when he looked at her, she knew he felt the same. Their lips met in a brush of warmth and exhilaration, like a question waiting to be answered. It tasted like dawn, like light spilling into darkness. Her eyes fluttered closed as the kiss deepened. Delicate, almost tender. He pulled back slightly, eyes guarded.

Then she raised her hands, felt her pulse quickening, and curled her fingers around the collar of his shirt. Something inside her kindled to life. A spark: hot and bright, and wanting. She could feel his stupid, smug smirk against her lips, tasting sweetness and rapture. Like every part of her that came from a dead star was alive again.

She had found something else to obsess over.

(brings out the trumpets and the bass) YAAAYYY IT HAPPENED

What did you think of them finally getting together? :D I wanted it to be funny and sweet at the same time because they just can't handle each other hahaha xx