This one-chaptered book contains spoilers of The Death Cure movie.

The sun was setting.

And everything was too complicated for Minho.

It had been a long day-the longest day in his life, maybe. He was just so shucking tired, but he could not sleep after all what happened.

Newt had died.

It was clear and it was a fact. But Minho still couldn't believe it.

Newt, the dirty blond haired boy, his old pal for three years, was dead.

They had lived together since the Glade, and they had passed all of the trials. And Newt died, comitted suicide in a way- to prevent himself from being a Crank.

He could see Newt's blank eyes, watching something behind Minho's shoulder. In his heart there was the knife he stabbed himself, a wooden handled one. Black tar-like blood flew from his mouth to the floor. His clothes, worn and dirty, showing his fight with Thomas.

And Newt's face.

Covered in strange vine like things, wrapping his head, like an ivy on a statue. An ivy crawling up and up to Newt's brain.

Minho hated WICKED.

Blood boiled inside him again, hatred of what WICKED had done to them-and to the humanity.

Minho shook his head as he saw the red sky. The first day of Safe Haven. It was ending.

The magnificent red sun had touched the ocean, filling the sky with pale orange and a bit of darkness. How could it be real? Did this Sun really destroy the Earth a few years ago?

He closed his eyes. He did not wanted to think about Newt, but the blank hole in his heart called Minho back to the tragedy a few hours ago.

But at least they were safe. And Thomas was living, or at least that was what Brenda said.

Minho put his hands in his pocket as he felt something…Odd. He pulled it out. He rememebered , then.

The strange, metal scroll shaped thing tied to a string like a necklace. He wrapped it on his hands, he swung one and a half times. He knew it was a present, the last present from Newt to Thomas.

Minho laid down, too sick for feelings. He clung on the metal tight, as if it would give him a time back, a time to go back.

His hands slipped to examine the little details of the metal until he felt a thicker part, a gap.

Minho slowly took the two parts apart-he widened the gap. And he saw a scrolled piece of paper.

It was a letter.

Minho decided he wouldn't read it. Thomas's privacy, and he was too tired to care about the Gladers' bromance.

But as he scrolled the paper into a small piece, just like it was before he opened-a statement caught his mind.

'You deserve to be happy.'

In Newt's handwriting, from the dim sunlight, Minho read the one line that Newt had wanted to say to Thomas. 'You deserve to be happy.'

He felt more sick now, emotions coliding and falling. He finally managed to close the gap and make the metal into a one firm piece.

Minho put Newt's present back to his pocket-he had decided to keep it safe. Yawning, he crawled to his hammock, his body weighting like a thousand tons.

He was exhausted. He imagined Newt snoring, in the hammock next to him. Just like they did in the Glade.

Minho had insisted to leave the hammock next to him empty- and it looked like it was.

He did see the Newt's back-heading Minho, as if he didn't wanted to show his face.

Minho knew it was an illusion, but he forced himself to not think so. He could be a positove man for a day.

Smiling, Minho whispered something as he fell to sleep.

'Newt, you deserve to be happy.'