╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

There is no saving
them now.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"You're wrong," Thomas interjects, his voice shroud in denial.

I retort immediately, as though by my snapping tone I could completely erase the lies from his brain. "No, he's not. I've ran that route — hell, I was there yesterday. They should have been back before Hank and I."

There's a long pause before Newt speaks. "She's right, Tommy. That's why we can't go out. We can't afford to make things worse than they already bloody are. The doors close in two minutes."

I want to utter a remark about not needing a reminder of the time, however I clamp my mouth shut. Being snarky benefits no one — not even Chuck, who, in opposition to always chattering and finding my comment humorous, stays hauntingly silent.

Newt casts a glance at Thomas before his downcast eyes lift to mine. Eyes filled with tears. That's when I know he's given up. But before I can utter a single phrase, Newt turns his back to us, walking without purpose other than to stay away from the Doors.

His dejected stature tells me he won't care for any company now, even when said company is me. I can't fault him for that.

"Were you close to them?" Thomas asks Chuck, as if Alby and Minho were already dead. That alone is enough to make me want to punch him.

Chuck replies quietly. "Not really."

Thomas turns to me, fully knowing my answer before words even leave my mouth.

"Of sorts."

A loud rumble echoes throughout the Glade, startling me from my thoughts and sending a metaphorical pain tearing through me. The mere notion of the two of them in the Maze overnight troubles me deeply. When I survived, it was a one off — I'd only encountered a couple of Grievers. I'd had luck on my side that night.

Problem is, Minho always says he never believes in luck.

The grinding of stone against stone splits the air in two, and I immediately jolt to a start, Chuck and Thomas not far behind. We dash together towards the Door, the sparks emitting from it flying sky high.

We wait.

It's almost as agonising as the screeching of the Doors.

A shadow forms down at the end of the Maze, and Thomas takes a fearful step back before halting. Through my panic, I see Minho.

He's dragging an unconscious Alby.

Minho's head lurches upwards to meet Thomas's, his eyes wide with terror. It mirrors the exact moment I experienced a month ago. When I bolted into the Maze to save him. Except this time, I know better. This time, I know I cannot go back into the Maze. I cannot help Minho. Regretfully, I've learnt to obey the rules of the Glade, them becoming second nature to me; something they were not when I first arrived.

"They got him!" Minho yells, his voice strained and cracking. A Griever? I thought we made sure it was dead!

Minho struggles with Alby on his back, his legs shaking under the weight of their combined body mass. I fight every urge in my body to rush in and help them. But the Doors are already halfway closed. There is no saving them now.

"Newt!" Thomas shrieks. I don't need to turn around to look to know that Newt is racing back towards us. "They're coming! I can see 'em!"

"Minho, come on!" I holler, prompting other Gladers to do the same. Their voices echo louder than the Doors. However, Minho stumbles, and the cries intensify as Alby slips from his back.

"You can do it!"

"Leave him!"

"Hurry up!"

Thomas tenses beside me as the Doors near each other, the walls of the inside Maze now completely out of sight. Newt seems to sense what Thomas is about to do before I could even comprehend it.

"Don't do it, Tommy!" Newt shouts from behind. "Don't you bloody do it!"

I don't even fathom that Thomas and I are so similar. That his first instinct is to rush through the Doors. So, when Thomas dashes into the Maze after Minho, I grip his shirt in an hurried attempt to save him... however I'm left with a shred of torn fabric.

Thomas disappears into the Maze.

And the booming of the Doors' close mocks us.

I breathe heavily, contemplating what just happened, not being able to process a thing. Thomas was gone too. And I didn't think to stop him. Newt curses and reaches us, pushing through the crowds to the front as if his eyes were lying to him, and Thomas was inches away from the wall.

A ghostly silence follows.

"What the hell do we do now?" Tim calls, and all heads turn to a grief-stricken Newt.

My face pales. I don't like the look he wears. "Go to sleep. All of you," he snaps. "We'll deal with this in the morn."

The group disperses somewhat hesitantly, leaving Gally and I as the only ones left standing helplessly in front of the wall, disbelief hanging in the air. I throw the fabric from Thomas's shirt to the floor harshly, the cotton coating itself in damp mud.

Thomas was gone.

Alby was gone.

Minho was gone.

"Is he crazy?" I glance sideways at the only other person here — the Keeper of the Builders.

"Let's not forget you did the exact same thing."

"Yeah, when I could have actually helped him and I did save Minho. What Thomas just did was a suicide!" I pause, inhaling deeply and calming myself before I take my time to survey Gally's emotionless face. "Yet, you seem unbothered. Doesn't take a genius to figure out why."

His unaffected expression makes me seethe.

"You're jacked if ya think I'd want anyone to be left out there at night. Just because I hate the shank doesn't make me a complete dick."

Gally did not hesitate, however, I do. My anger quietens, rushing back into my body, retreating from the surface. "I know."

"D'ya really think I'm like that?"

I allow my voice to descend into a whisper. "I don't." Truth is, I was only speculating because that's what I would have wished upon someone I hated. Gally and I are starkly different, and behind his facade of bitterness, lies a good person with decent morals and respect. I harbour none of those traits. I would not feel one shred of remorse if Billy had taken Thomas's place. What kind of a person does that make me?

Even now, I'm here skulking about how much I loathe myself when I should be worried sick for Minho, Thom and Alby. It's almost laughable.

"I'm glad ya see the best in me," he scoffs.

"Naturally."

Tension builds a wall between the two of us, tearing the shred of friendship we'd had in two. My eyes do not stray from the wall. I don't want to see the disarray of the Glade. Worse yet, I'd hate to see it were normal, as if we hadn't just lost three friends... no. Brothers.

"They'll be okay," Gally says abruptly, attempting to convince himself more than I think he is me.

"Doubtful."

"Always the optimist."

"Always a gentleman," I shoot back at him.

His mouth strains into a forced smile before he leaves me alone by the wall, the only thing to comfort me being the ever-looming stone and the wind that will never cease its howling. It's almost as if the wind itself was mourning the sentenced Gladers. They aren't dead. Yet.

I prise my gaze from the wall, that one motion being a finality. But they were already as good as dead. It was foolish to pretend otherwise. I whisper my goodbyes into the cold nights air, though even I could not detach my voice from the cries of the wind.

❀

My hammock feels cold without him that night.

No position I fidget into could ever be comfortable enough, either my limbs dug into me at sharp angles, or the fabric I lie upon was too itchy. I had neither problem last night.

Where were those three right now? Separated? Scared? Dead? My mind lingers on that last word; the dreaded possibility of that bloody outcome branding into my head. Death.

I hope for their sakes it's a quick one.

Unable to think about my friends stuck with the Grievers any longer, I haul myself out of my hammock, making note of Chuck, who is wide awake, belying his position — curled up into a ball.

"Where are you goin'?" he whispers to me.

"Away."

Chuck grumbles, sitting up in his hammock and glaring at me through wet eyes. "No shit."

"I'm not allowed to be alone, now?"

"Didn't say that."

I pause for a moment, taking in Chuck's ruffled hair, leaves from the trees above stuck in it, his red face and tearful eyes. Sorrow pangs through my heart. He's only twelve. I can't imagine what it must be like to see all of this at his age. I don't think even I could have handled it. I realise my great respect for the boy and give him a slight smile, though not enough to come off as piteous. "Ya want me to stay with you?"

"No," he says sharply before falling back down onto his bed and his eyes close.

"Got it."

I'm not sure how long I linger, looking at the distressed boy until I will my feet to move, each step I take away from Chuck a heavier weight upon my chest. I brush past the sharp spikes of the leaves; they're no longer a beautiful sight to me. They only cover the walls. It shields us from the truth — the inevitability of all our deaths. There's no point in hiding from the walls. They're there either way.

Anger seeping through my muscles, I tear the branch in front of me, a satisfying snap ringing through the air before it drops to the floor. I kick it. And I don't care if I woke anyone up.

The broken branch reveals Newt, sat on the edge of the clearing of trees, his knees pulled into his chest. A wave of sadness hits me, paradoxically drowning my ability to feel anything. Its now empty.

"What did the branch ever do to you?" Newt's voice is dull; he doesn't even bother turning around to know it's me.

"It existed."

"Such a crime."

"It is when those three won't after tonight," I snap, plonking myself down next to him. I force myself to look away from him. I don't wish to see another person I care about in pain.

"Nice sentiment."

"Nice sarcasm."

Newt shuffles away from me, grumbling. "I'm not in the mood, shuck-face."

"Neither am I," I reply instantly.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of us — a direct contrast to the way our conversations usually go. At that moment, rain topples from the sky, as though the closing of the doors had triggered a downpour. I watch as the water splashes against the grass, so hard that mud flicks up at the contact. Cold water trickles down my face, and it immediately soaks my hair. I don't care. At least now, if I were to cry, no one would be able to tell. But I don't think I'll cry tonight.

"Do you want to talk?"

"No," he says, the slight twitch of his lips betraying his words. Attempting at decency, I don't question it.

Instead, I agree with him. "Don't suppose I do, either."

Another silence before he turns to me, tears filling his eyes. "I lied."

"I know," I say softly.

"I just can't picture it," he continues. "A life without those ungrateful shanks in it... it doesn't seem right."

I hesitate before I speak, taking my time to process his words. I know exactly how he feels. Even now, the three of those absences are already evident in the atmosphere in the Glade. I knew I'd miss Minho and his sarcasm. I never thought I could ever miss Thomas and his constant questions. Or Alby's orders, for that matter. "As much as I want to believe they'll survive—"

"You've already said your goodbyes," Newt finishes.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" I say dryly before another pause. Newt drags a shaking hand down his face slowly, wiping the rainwater dripping from his nose.

He says slowly, "I'm not sayin' goodbye until I know for sure."

My chest sinks: he's only setting himself up for disappointment.

"You're gonna catch a cold."

I ignore him, standing to my feet and walking away from the thicket of trees, the water trickling down my body. I shiver as drips of water freeze down my spine.

"Shucks sake, Thea," he curses. "I'm not dealin' with you sick tomorrow on top of everythi— what are you doin'?"

"You said the rain helps, so come on." I extend my hand to him, yet he doesn't take it, looking at me sceptically.

"What are we doing?" He quirks his brow.

"Forgetting."

—
Sorry for the lack of updates recently! However, there will be many more now, and I'm going to spend my next two weeks writing :)

I want to say thank you to those of you who correct my spelling and/or word order, it really helps me and makes this book that much better. I'm glad you have a better eye for these things than I do ;)

I want to say a huge thank you to everyone reading this right now. It truly means everything. <3

Have a great day, shanks. And Happy Easter!

~ sophie xx