They sat on the cliff that overlooked the sea. Thomas and Minho. Behind them, smoke rose from their settlement, but they were well out of earshot from anyone else who was around.

It was times like this, when all was quiet and Thomas was more or less alone, when his ghosts began to creep up on him.

Chuck. The Gladers who never escaped the Scorch. Teresa. And worst of all, Newt.

Before he died, Newt had caught the Flare. He had gone crazy, become a Crank. He had pressed a gun to his own head and begged Thomas to shoot him.

And Thomas had pulled the trigger.

Minho didn't know. Minho couldn't know. Thomas had sworn never to tell him.

But it was times like these when the guilt attacked him. Clawed at him, tried to drag him down under.

Minho had known Newt longer than Thomas had. He deserved to know. It was his right.

Thomas would tell him.

Now.

He couldn't get the words to come out.

Now.

Silence.

Now.

Thomas forced his mouth open.

"Minho."

Minho's head turned towards him. "Yeah?"

"I - I - N - It's about Newt."

Minho raised his eyebrows. "Newt? What about Newt?"

Minho probably thought Newt had slowly died from the Flare. Died in pain. Died without a scrap of humanity left. Had his body eaten by other Cranks.

Maybe he would be glad to learn that Thomas had shot him.

But still Thomas couldn't force the words out.

"Oi, Thomas? What about Newt?"

"I shot him. I killed him."

The words pierced the air like bullets. He could've cut the tension with a knife.

"You killed him?"

Thomas nodded. "I saw him, when I was driving to the Berg that took me to WICKED HQ. I got out of the van to talk to him, and he yelled at me, and begged me to kill him, so I did."

There were a few seconds of stunned silence. Thomas focused on his hands, which were twisting around each other in his lap.

"Where did you shoot him?" Minho asked. He was trying to sound brave, but his voice cracked halfway through.

"I shot him in the head."

Thomas hadn't cried after Newt died. He had been too numb for that. But now, six months later, when he should've moved on, the tears from then finally came.

"Thomas," Minho said.

Thomas finally felt like he could look at him. He couldn't even see him properly because his eyes were blurry and full of water - but, were those tears in Minho's eyes too? Thomas had never seen Minho cry.

"Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't've been mad. Well, not mad at you..."

"I couldn't. I have to live with this everyday. I didn't want to drag that burden onto anyone else."

"I could've handled it Thomas. You should've just told me."

Thomas shook his head, more in self denial than to respond to anything Minho had said.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry-"

He was cut off by a huge sob that rocked through his body. Minho's fingers wrapped around his arm, tight enough that it hurt. Minho was crying too, not really sobbing but sniffing, because Minho always thought he was too strong to cry.

Thomas reached out and gripped Minho's shoulder, leaning forward so he could rest his forehead against his knuckles.

Half of him wondered why he hadn't told Minho earlier. Minho was his best friend. Telling Minho would've lifted the burden. He couldn't believe how only now, six months after Newt's death, with him and Minho's foreheads resting against each other, he realized that.

The other half of him simply missed Newt.

R.I.P Newt. The Glue. The fall broke your leg. The maze broke your spirit. The Flare broke your mind. The end broke our hearts.