( o3. the bonfire )

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THE BONFIRE crackled and hissed, casting dancing shadows across the Glade as Thomas sat beside Newt. The heat from the fire was comforting, but the sight of the enormous, foreboding walls surrounding them was enough to keep his nerves on edge.

"Hell of a first day, Greenie," Newt said with a grin, nudging him as he beckoned him the jar. "Here. Put some hair on your chest."

Thomas took a sip, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned his throat. "Oh my God! What is that stuff?"

"I don't even know. It's Gally's own recipe. A trade secret," Newt replied, laughing.

Thomas shot a dark look toward Gally, who was smirking at him from across the fire. "Yeah, well, he's still an asshole."

Newt's expression grew a bit more serious as he leaned back, watching the flickering flames. "He saved your life today, though. Trust me, the maze is no joke. It's a dangerous place."

Thomas looked down, his thoughts heavy. "So... we're trapped here, aren't we?"

"For the moment." Newt's voice was quiet, resigned. He took a deep breath, then nodded toward a small group gathered near the fire. "See those guys over there? The ones by the fire? Those are the Runners. The one in the middle, laughing with the others—that's Minho. He's the Keeper of the Runners."

Thomas's gaze followed Newt's line of sight, and he studied the group, particularly Minho, who seemed to command respect from everyone around him. "The Runners?"

"Every morning, when those doors open," Newt continued, nodding toward the massive gates in the distance, "they head out into the maze, mapping it, memorizing it, trying to find a way out."

Thomas watched Minho laugh at something, noticing Ellie standing beside him, her face illuminated by the firelight as she smiled and talked animatedly with Minho. She seemed at ease with him, which for some reason didn't sit well with Thomas.

"I thought there was a rule about guys with Ellie?" Thomas asked, trying to sound casual as he watched them.

Newt followed his gaze and chuckled, shaking his head. "There is."

"Then what about them?" Thomas gestured to Minho and Ellie, unable to hide his curiosity.

"They're just friends," Newt explained, still looking amused. "Basically attached at the hip when he's not running the maze. Known each other since she first came up in the Box."

"Oh," Thomas murmured, trying to brush off his interest as he turned back to Newt. "So uh, how long have they been looking?"

Newt's gaze drifted into the flames, his expression somber. "Three years."

"Three years? And they haven't found anything?" Thomas asked, his tone incredulous.

"It's a lot easier said than done, Greenie. Listen." Newt raised a hand, and Thomas quieted, listening to the distant rumbling sound he hadn't noticed before. "Hear that?"

Thomas strained his ears, and then he heard it—a deep, grinding sound that echoed through the night air, like massive stones shifting. His skin prickled.

"What... what is that?" he asked, feeling a chill creep down his spine.

Newt's face grew serious, his gaze never leaving the fire. "That's the maze, changing. It changes every night. Different layout every morning. Makes finding a way out... well, you can imagine."

Thomas shook his head, struggling to understand. "How is that even possible?"

Newt's expression hardened, shadows darkening his face. "You can ask the people who put us here, if you ever meet the bastards. Look, here's the truth... the Runners are the only ones who really know what's out there. They're the strongest, the fastest. And it's a good thing, too... because if they don't make it back before those doors close..."

He paused, the weight of his words sinking into Thomas. "Then they're stuck out there for the night. And no one has ever survived a night in the maze."

Thomas shivered, feeling the gravity of Newt's words settle in his gut like a stone. His gaze drifted back to the fire, where Ellie was now laughing, leaning close to Minho as she murmured something to him. She seemed so at ease, so much a part of this world that Thomas wondered if she'd ever been afraid like he was now.

From her spot near the fire, Ellie's eyes sparkled with mischief as she watched Gally swagger over to the Greenie. Gally's voice rang out, loud and challenging, "What do you say, Greenie? Wanna see what you're made of?"

Ellie nudged Minho, smirking. "Five minutes of kitchen duty says he doesn't last against Gally."

Minho snorted, rolling his eyes. "Make it a week, and I'll take that bet. But I'm saying he makes it more than five seconds."

"You're on." She grinned, bumping his shoulder with confidence. "No one lasts against Gally their first time."

The crowd erupted in chants, "Greenie! Greenie! Greenie!" The Gladers around him started pushing Thomas toward the ring, laughing and cheering as he reluctantly stepped inside.

The first time Gally knocked Thomas down, Ellie shot a smug grin in Minho's direction. "Told ya."

"Just wait, dude," Minho replied, undeterred, his gaze still on Thomas.

The second time Thomas hit the ground, the crowd's cheers grew louder, echoing across the Glade. Gally towered over him, sneering down at him. "Stop calling me Greenie," Thomas spat, panting as he struggled to his feet.

"Oh, you want us to stop calling you that?" Gally taunted, glancing around at the watching Gladers with a mocking grin. "What do you wanna be called? Shank? What do you think, boys? Does he look like a Shank?"

Something flickered in Thomas's eyes, a fierce determination that Ellie hadn't noticed before. He took a deep breath, then launched himself at Gally, catching him off guard. He managed to knock Gally back, and for a moment, the crowd erupted in gasps and cheers as Gally stumbled.

"Not bad for a Greenie, huh?" Minho whispered to Ellie, his expression amused.

But Gally recovered quickly, his face twisting in anger as he struck back, sending Thomas crumpling to the ground making him hit his head. The crowd grew quiet as Thomas remained still for a moment, and then, as if remembering something from a distant dream, he muttered, "Thomas."

He straightened, his voice growing stronger. "Thomas! My name is Thomas!"

The crowd around the ring exploded, shouting his name in excitement. "Thomas! Thomas!"

Ellie's heart stopped, the name hitting her like a physical blow. Thomas. Her mind whirled, the name echoing in her thoughts like a memory she couldn't quite grasp. She couldn't explain it, but something about that name... it felt like a key, like a piece of herself she'd lost.

The cheering of the crowd grew distant as Ellie stood rooted to the spot, her vision blurring slightly as a strange, cold sensation washed over her. The firelight flickered, casting shadows that seemed to deepen the strange sense of unease building in her chest.

"You alright?" Minho's voice broke through the fog in her mind. He was watching her, his usual smirk replaced by concern as he took in her pale face.

"I... I think I'm going to turn in early," she managed, her voice sounding far away to her own ears. She backed away from the fire, not daring to look back at Thomas as he stood among the cheering Gladers.

She walked quickly, the darkness of the Glade swallowing her as she moved toward the Homestead. She could still feel Thomas's eyes on her, as if he sensed her reaction, but she didn't turn around. Her head swam with an unsettling sense of déjà vu, her pulse quickening as fragments of forgotten memories brushed against her consciousness.

Just as she reached the shadows, a distant, haunting sound filled the air—a Griever's cry, piercing through the night. The familiar terror settled like a weight on her shoulders, but even the thought of the Grievers couldn't shake the strange, hollow feeling in her chest.

Thomas. Why did that name feel like it unlocked something deep within her, something she'd tried to forget?

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