( 25. no turning back )

─────────── ୨ৎ ────────────

NINETY-SEVEN DAYS. Ellie had counted every single one of them, each sunrise bringing fresh waves of guilt and determination. The Right Arm's camp lay in ruins now, nothing but scattered ashes and bitter memories. Sometimes she still saw Mary's face in her dreams, still heard Minho's shouts as WICKED dragged him away. But dreams wouldn't bring him back. Only this would.

She watched Thomas from her position near their beat-up truck, studying the way he moved as he did his final equipment check. Every motion was precise, almost mechanical, but she knew him well enough to see the cracks in his facade. The slight tremor in his hands as he checked his ammunition. The way his jaw clenched and unclenched. The darkness in his eyes that hadn't been there before the Maze, before WICKED had taken everything from them.

A memory flashed through her mind – Thomas standing in the Glade for the first time, confused and scared but determined. Now that determination had hardened into something darker, something that sometimes scared her.

Before she could stop herself, she was moving toward him. Her boots left prints in the frost, each step bringing her closer until the space between them disappeared.

"Thomas."

He turned, and for a split second, his mask slipped. She saw everything there – the fear, the doubt, the crushing weight of responsibility. The boy beneath the leader. Her chest ached at the sight.

Without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

"Don't you dare die out there," she whispered into his jacket, the words muffled but fierce.

A tremor ran through him – so slight she might have missed it if she hadn't been holding him so tightly. His arms came around her, strong and sure, and for a moment he just held her. When he spoke, she felt the rumble of his voice in his chest.

"Like I'd give you the satisfaction."

The attempted humor fell flat, too much tension in his voice. Ellie pulled back just enough to look at him, really look at him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and a fresh cut marked his cheek from yesterday's supply run. He looked older than he had any right to be.

"I mean it," she said, her voice catching. "We've lost too many already."

Something softened in his expression. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead, and Ellie closed her eyes. The gesture was gentle, almost reverent, and it made her heart twist painfully in her chest. Because this – these quiet moments between them – felt too much like goodbye.

When he pulled away, the leader's mask was back in place. He gave her a short nod, then turned toward his vehicle where Vince waited. Each step took him further away, and Ellie had to physically stop herself from calling him back.

The sound of someone clearing their throat broke through her thoughts. She turned to find Newt watching her, that knowing look on his face that made her want to punch him sometimes.

"what?" she asked, stalking toward his truck.

Newt raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes held too much understanding. "Nothing, nothing," he said, starting the engine. The truck rumbled to life beneath them, the familiar vibration somehow comforting.

୨ৎ

It felt like years before they finally heard it. The train was coming their way. Newt and Ellie immediately kept from the car, moving towards and hiding behind a boulder, waiting for Thomas's signal. They heard the sound of the snapping of the train compartments detaching, while the other half kept moving down the tracks. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else until –

A whistle cut through the air. Their signal.

"Now!" Newt shouted, unnecessarily. They were already moving, sprinting toward the slowing train car. Ellie's lungs burned as she ran, but she barely noticed. All she could focus on was the container ahead, where Thomas was already working.

His fists pounded against the metal wall, each impact echoing. "Minho!" The desperation in his voice made her chest ache. "Minho, can you hear me?!"

She reached him, adding her own fists to the assault on the container. The metal was cold enough to sting, but she didn't care. For a moment – just a moment – she thought she heard something. A voice, maybe. A response.

"This one!" Thomas was already moving, gesturing frantically to Newt. "This container! Get it open!"

The first bullet struck the container inches from Ellie's head, the impact sending sparks flying. The sound registered a split second later – that distinctive crack that had haunted too many of her nightmares. Her body moved on pure instinct, muscle memory from months of running and fighting and surviving.

She scrambled up the side of the container, fingers finding holds in the metal ridges. The surface was slick with morning dew, every grip feeling treacherous. More bullets pinged against the container, the sounds like deadly raindrops all around them.

Then Thomas was there, his body covering hers as they pressed flat against the metal. The container's surface was ice-cold against her cheek, but Thomas was warm against her back, his breath coming in quick bursts near her ear.

"Stay down!" The command in his voice was absolute, leaving no room for argument. For once, she didn't try.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as chaos erupted around them. Guards shouted orders, their voices mixing with the continuous crack of gunfire and the train's relentless roar. Through it all, she could hear Newt working on the lock below, muttering curses that would have made Jorge proud.

"Newt, hurry!" Her voice came out sharper than intended, fear making it crack.

"Trying!" he shot back, frustration clear in his tone.

A bullet struck so close that Ellie felt the heat of it pass her face. Thomas tensed above her, his hand finding hers and squeezing once. A silent reassurance. Or maybe a goodbye.

The sound hit them first – the distinctive whine of Berg engines, but different from WICKED's aircraft. This one was familiar. Ellie risked lifting her head just enough to see Brenda's stolen Berg appearing over the ridge like some massive avenging angel, Jorge manning the guns with deadly precision.

"About bloody time!" Newt shouted, relief evident in his voice as he finally climbed up to join them.

They worked fast, their movements practiced from weeks of planning. The container's weight groaned against the Berg's cables as they secured it, the metal protesting as it began to lift. Ellie's fingers trembled as she helped with the hooks, trying not to think about the drop below them, trying not to think about how one slip would mean—

"Newt, let's go!" Thomas's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

The Berg lifted them away from the train, from the WICKED guards who now looked like angry ants below. Wind whipped at them, threatening to tear them from their holds, but they clung on.

୨ৎ

When they finally touched down at the rendezvous point, Thomas let out a victory cry that echoed across the desert. But something cold had settled in Ellie's stomach, a dread she couldn't explain. Couldn't shake.

The container's door gave way with a screech of protesting metal. Stale air rushed out, carrying with it the smell of fear and confinement. Faces peered back at them from the darkness – dozens of kids, all chained, all terrified. Ellie's eyes darted from face to face, her heart sinking further with each one she recognized. Sonya. Aris. Others from the Right Arm.

But not Minho.

"He's not here." Thomas's voice was barely a whisper, but it hit Ellie like a physical blow. All the air seemed to leave her lungs at once.

She couldn't do this. Her legs carried her away before she made the conscious decision to move, each step feeling like she was wading through quicksand.

The world blurred around her as she found herself behind one of the storage buildings, her back hitting the rough wall as her legs finally gave out. She slid down until she hit the ground, burying her face in her hands. The tears came hot and fast, months of pent-up fear and frustration finally breaking free.

Newt's footsteps approached slowly, deliberately letting her know he was coming. He sat beside her without a word, his shoulder pressed against hers. A solid presence in a world that kept shifting under their feet.

"Hey," he said finally, his voice gentle in a way few people ever got to hear. "We'll get him back."

Ellie shook her head, tasting salt on her lips. "We thought he was here, Newt. We were so sure. I swear I heard his voice. I swear it."

"I know love, we'll get him back though. I'm sure of it." Newt's voice held that quiet certainty that had kept them all going in the Maze, that underlying strength that made people listen when he spoke.

A laugh escaped her, more like a sob. "I can't lose him. Not him. Not to those bastards."

"You won't," Newt said, and something in his tone made her look at him. His eyes held a fierce determination that reminded her suddenly, sharply, of Thomas. "We'll make it right. Now come on, let's go check on the others. i'm sure they're also feeling pretty deflated."

When he helped her up, her legs still felt shaky, but she could stand. They walked back toward camp together, each step feeling heavier than the last.

They'd failed today. But WICKED hadn't won. Not yet. Not while they were still breathing. Not while Minho was still out there somewhere, counting on them.

They'd find him. Whatever it took. Whatever the cost.

They had to.

୨ৎ

Thomas's finger traced a path along the creased paper, leaving a smudge in the dust. "Three hundred miles, give or take," he said, his voice carrying that edge that meant he was about to suggest something that could get them all killed. "Aris marked the railway lines. That's where they're headed. That's where they're keeping Minho." His finger stopped on a point that had been circled multiple times, the paper worn thin. "A week. That's all I'm asking for."

The muscles in Vince's jaw twitched as he shook his head, looking older than Ellie had ever seen him. "A week?" He let out a harsh laugh that held no humor. "Kid, it took us six months of running, hiding, and burying good people to get here. Six months." He gestured toward the door, toward the camp beyond where hundreds of scared kids tried to sleep. "And now you want to drag all of them back out there? After the stunt we just pulled?"

Ellie stepped forward, the floorboards creaking under her boots. "We know exactly what's out there," she said, meeting Vince's tired eyes with a glare that could have melted steel. "Minho. Our friend. Our family." Each word came out sharp, precise, like the knife strapped to her thigh. "And I don't give a damn how far it is or what's waiting for us – we're not leaving him to those monsters."

Jorge shifted in his corner, the movement drawing all eyes to him. His face looked especially gaunt in the lantern light as he gestured toward the map with his cigarette, leaving a trail of smoke. "I don't think you know what's out there hermano," he said, his accent thicker than usual. "But I do. The Last City. WICKED's crown jewel." His dark eyes found Thomas's. "Been there, back when I worked security routes. If that city's still standing..." He shook his head slowly. "You're not just walking into the lion's den. You're walking into its throat."

Thomas's shoulders squared, a familiar determination settling over his features like armor. "We've done impossible things before."

"Yeah." Vince's voice dropped to a growl as he leaned forward, his hands splayed on the table. "With months of planning. With solid intel. With surprise on our side." His knuckles went white against the wood. "We don't have any of that now. Not a single damn advantage."

The frustration that had been building in Ellie's chest finally exploded. "Enough!" The word echoed off the walls, making the lantern flame jump. "While we stand here arguing, WICKED has Minho! You think this is easy?" Her voice cracked slightly. "He's one of ours, Vince. We owe him this. We owe him everything."

Thomas's hand found hers under the table, a quick squeeze that helped steady her racing heart. "I've thought this through," he said, his voice level but intense. "All I'm asking is that you listen."

Vince straightened slowly, and suddenly he looked less like their hardened leader and more like a man haunted by too many ghosts. "Last time we rushed in half-cocked, I lost everything." The words came out barely above a whisper. "My whole team. Gone." His eyes swept over them. "I know it's Minho. But I won't sacrifice a hundred kids for one man. I can't."

The radio's sudden crackle made them all jump, static giving way to clear voices – WICKED agents, close enough to make Ellie's blood run cold.

"Shit." Thomas lunged for the lantern. "Lights out. Now."

Darkness swallowed them whole. Ellie dropped into a crouch beside the table, her heart thundering against her ribs as the distinctive whine of Berg engines grew louder overhead. Her fingers found the edge of the table, gripping until splinters dug into her palm. Each second stretched like an eternity as the sound slowly faded into the distance.

When silence finally returned, Ellie's legs felt shaky as she stood. The night air hit her face like a slap as she stepped outside, carrying the sharp tang of salt from the nearby ocean. She spotted Thomas and Vince by the water's edge, their silhouettes black against the starlit beach. Thomas looked up, his eyes finding hers in the darkness, questioning, pleading.

She turned away before he could read the fear on her face. Without a word, she headed for their tent, leaving footprints in the sand that the tide would soon wash away.

୨ৎ

Later that night, Ellie sat in the tent, her knees drawn to her chest. The argument with Vince replayed in her mind, and though she knew she'd been impulsive, she didn't regret it. She'd defend Minho—and Thomas—in a heartbeat. But the weight of their failures, of not finding Minho on that train, crushed her resolve like a boulder.

Thomas slipped into the tent quietly, sitting beside her. His hand brushed against hers lightly, and he hesitated before speaking. "Hey," he said softly. "You okay?"

Ellie shrugged, unable to trust her voice. She didn't look at him.

Thomas leaned closer, his voice filled with quiet determination. "We'll get him back, Ellie. I promise."

Her head turned slightly, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You don't know that," she whispered. "What if we don't? What if... what if it's already too late?"

Thomas shook his head firmly, his voice unwavering. "It's not too late. And I'm not giving up until we find him."

Ellie let out a shaky breath, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I just... I don't think I can take losing anyone else."

"You're not going to," Thomas said, wrapping an arm around her protectively. "Now get some sleep. We'll figure it out in the morning."

Ellie nodded reluctantly, allowing herself to sink into his embrace. As she lay down, Thomas shifted beside her, his arms curling securely around her as if to shield her from the weight of her own fears. Despite the turmoil in her mind, Ellie found a small measure of comfort in his presence. Within minutes, her breathing evened out as sleep finally claimed her.

But as Ellie slept, Thomas's eyes remained open. His resolve burned brighter than ever. When the time was right, he would act—and he wouldn't stop until Minho was safe.

─────────── ୨ৎ ────────────