A/N: omg you guys are really wonderful. The reviews I got on the first chapter were so so sooo sweet. Thank you guys so much! And to answer softball007's question, I'm basing Jane's appearance off of Analeigh Tipton, whose picture is in that little box over there. It'll be described further in this chapter and the next. Soooo enjoy!

The girl sitting before me is 9 years old. She has a familiar look to her: long, brown hair that I can imagine running my hands through, pointy collarbones I know she hates, one green eye and one hazel eye that you'd never notice the difference between if you weren't her own reflection.

Her stare is blank, focused on the metallic table dividing us. When the door to my left opens, a woman in white enters, but the girl's gaze doesn't falter.

"Jane," The woman states calmly, "I need you to cooperate. I need you to understand the gravity of your participation in these experiments."

The girl has yet to move, but I somehow know she loathes the woman in white.

"I need to see Newt," She says, blinking.

"Newt is unavaila-"

"What are you doing to him?" With this, she violently scoots her chair out and stands, glaring at the woman.

"He's fine, Janey. You know we need him alive and well."

"Don't call me that!" The girl screeches, darting out of the way and running for the open door. The woman is in high heels, but races after the child nonetheless. I rush to catch up with them both.

By the time I'm out the door, the hallway is empty on both sides. But somewhere, a girl's distant voice is screaming for Newt, like he's the only thing keeping her heart beating.

"GREEEENIE!"

My eyes spring open at the screech, landing on the face of a boy hovering only inches above my own.

Instinctively, I yelp and try to sit up, accidentally head-butting the kid, then scurry back on my elbows. I am moving through dirt and leaves and it is only now that I realize I am not in the mass of cots and hammocks beside the Homestead, but somewhere in the middle of the Deadheads. The sky is still pitch black and starless.

"Quite the 'good morning' I get, eh?" The kid whines. He is sitting on his ankles a few feet away, rubbing his forehead.

"What's going on?" I ask, sitting up.

"Beats me, Greenie. Found ya out here walking about, knocking into trees and mumbling for Newty."

Sleepwalking, I think. It's unsurprising. The dream felt all too real for my body to not have taken part. Somewhere, a part of my mind wonders whether it was a dream at all, perhaps a memory rather.

Suddenly, my breath catches.

"Jane," I whisper.

"Who?" The kid asks.

"My name's not Greenie." I glare at him. "It's Jane."

His mouth stretches into a lopsided smile.

"Shame that."

"Shame?"

"Yeah. Too nice of a name to get replaced by Greenie for a month. But ya know. Life hands ya lemons."

It is only now, in the middle of the night, lying on the ground of the Deadheads with a kid I've never seen before, that I smile for the first time I can remember. It is lazy and tiresome, but it's there.

"You got a name then, kid?" I ask, lowering my guard.

"Right. My apologies, maiden. I'm called Cricket." His hand extends out to me and I take it. He shakes it for the both of us.

Cricket is probably younger than me, maybe 14 or 15, and he is tiny. His eyes, big and blue, swallow most of his face and hide behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. He notices me examining him, eyebrows rising, but I don't mind.

"What are you even doing out here so late?" I ask.

"Ah," he scoots in a little, "You mean so early. See, there's a gathering of Luna Moth cocoons on a birch tree over that way, and I had reason to believe they'd be hatchin' tonight."

I raise my eyebrows, this explanation catching me off guard.

"And I'm guessing they didn't."

Cricket's eyes, once sad, liven up again. "You'd be right."

I smile again, letting out a long exhale and dropping down onto my back. For some reason, I don't think to ask him anymore about his bug-enthusiasm, or what I was mumbling about Newt in my sleep, and we just sit quietly. There are no stars in the Glade's sky, and I can imagine it's because it's not a sky at all, but I still map out the constellations in my mind (because for some reason, I know them all).

"Have you ever heard of Orion's Belt, Cricket?" I ask him.

"Er. Sounds familiar. 'S like a superhero thing, right?"

I am still smiling. I don't know why. "It's a constellation."

"A consta-what?"

"A constellation. A long time ago, people found pictures in the layout of the stars, and they named them according to Greek Gods and mythological events and stuff."

Cricket is quiet for a moment, and then says, "So…Orion's Belt is a picture in the sky?"

I sigh. "A sky, yes. Just…not this one."


When I wake the second time, I am again being prodded with poking fingers and the insistently hushed term "greenie." I expect to see Cricket hovering above me, expect that I have somehow been thrown into a time loop of last night, but it is Newt instead. Before I open my eyes completely, I catch a slight smile on his face as he stands, looking down at me. It is gone not a second later.

He looks expectant of a reaction from me, but I ignore him and rub my eyes of sleep. Propping myself on my elbows, I glance around and notice I am back in the outdoor den of beds with many sleeping boys. The memory of walking back with Cricket after stargazing the night prior is fuzzy but there most definitely. Straining my neck, I scan the bodies for the owl-eyed bug-enthusiast.

"Uh, hello? Bloody nice of you to acknowledge my existence here, Greenie," Newt says, huffing.

My eyes roll for the billionth time. "My apologies, your highness. I'll be sure to get on my hands and knees next time."

"Good that." He clicks his tongue. "You looking for someone in particular?"

"What?"

"You were looking for someone just now."

Something in the back of my mind tells me that Newt isn't often disrespected. Silently, I wonder if it is better to be loved than feared in the Glade, if one cannot be both.

"Cricket," I say.

Newt looks surprised. "Little Cricket?"

"What time is it?" I ask, ignoring his question.

He checks a digital watch around his wrist. It seems weird to me that he has it.

"Bit before seven."

"And you woke me up a bit before seven, a bit before anyone else here is awake, to tell me what exactly?"

He smirks at me. I don't understand how he cans till be so keen on talking with me even after I've put him through a ringer.

"Not tell, darling. Show."

Without thinking, he reaches down to grab my hand, to lead me out my sheets, but retracts just before his fingers can touch mine. To play it off, he turns the reach into an act of itching his ankle.

This time, I smirk.

Newt leads me across the Glade in silence to the West Door, where we pause. I look over at him and see his face written in concentration, his tongue peeking between his lips. At the sight, something in me churns.

"Wow, look at that wall," I say. "Majestic."

His eyes move from scanning the length of the wall to my face, and he is trying –failing- at hiding a smile.

"Shut it, Greenie. This way." He turns and begins jogging, running his left hand along the vines covering the wall. I sigh and follow suit, silently dreaming of all the remarks I could be making.

A minute or two later, we stop after Newt's hand runs over whatever he'd been feeling for. I watch him peel away the vines on either side to reveal a small, mounted square. I'm sure it's a clear window, but it's dark enough on the opposite side for me to momentarily wonder if it's actually painted black.

"Our lives in the Glade all revolve around this," He says, still gazing into the window. He has moved aside enough to let me see too, but there is little to view.

"A window?" I ask. I didn't mean to be mocking, but Newt seems agitated at my remark.

"The maze, Greenie. Quit the antics, this is serious."

His demands lead me to believe he is not the brightest Glader, or else he'd know better than to cross me. My mouth morphs into a smirk and I step in closer to him.

"Newt, darling," I say placing my palm lightly at the side of his jaw. He tenses, reaching up and grabbing my wrist. He is preparing for defense in case I move to harm him. But I don't, so we are stuck like this.

"I know it's a maze, and I know you've been here three years and have yet to map a way out, yet to find a clue, yet to even make a theory. So who's the one who has really lost sight of the goal here, Newty?"

He is staring into my eyes, and I can tell my words have little affect on his confidence. In the silence that follows, my anger fades and I see him. I see brown eyes that I can swear I've grown up beside, though I can't say I even know his last name. I see the determined look that I know he'd get when his mother refused his third bowl of cereal; the straight line in his lips that would set when his dreams turn rotten and he stirs in bed. The scenarios flash through my head in milliseconds, and suddenly I feel like crying.

"Keep looking at me like that," Newt says, breaking my concentration. His voice is raspy and unsure of itself.

It is not something I would expect him to say.

"Like what?" I ask.

"Like you don't hate me." He pauses, swallowing. "Like…like you know me, remember me. It feels good."

I sigh, dropping my head to avoid his gaze.

"I don't know. I think I do remember you. It's not-" I shake my head. "You just seem…familiar somehow."

Newt's grip on my wrist moves to my hand and he guides it down to hold between us. Instinctively, I tug out of his grip.

"You don't…do you not feel like that?" I ask, looking at him again.

He looks convinced for a split second, but then is back to denial.

"It's not possible," He breathes.

My eyes focus in on the window past Newt. His back is to it so he does not see the beast round the corner when I do, but he sees my eyes expand in terror.

As Newt turns, I round him, moving to nearly press my nose against the pane. The creature is entirely inhuman, more slug than anything, and as large as an elephant. The parts that aren't slug are mechanical: metallic arms and joints, spinning razors, metal teeth sharpened into knives. As it crawls through the alleyway of the maze, its legs move like a spider's, stabbing into the ground two at a time.

Behind me, Newt says something, but I don't catch it in light of what is unfolding through the window. The mechanical slug has laid eyes on me, and now its razors are zipping at light speed and its legs are racing towards us. Just before it slams into the wall, I gasp and jump back, stumbling into Newt.

The window shakes a bit where it's been hit, but otherwise remains perfectly in tact. Calming down, I feel my back where it's pressed into Newt's chest. His hands are holding tightly to my upper arms, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on the top of my head.

"I told ya you'd wanna step back," He says, chuckling. I can feel his chest vibrate against my body. The feeling is comforting but awkward, so I step away from him.

"I knew there was something you were all so scared of," I say.

He raises his eyebrows. "Did you now?"

"Of course. Every movie needs a villain, right? Every book an antagonist, every species a predator. Even experiments like these, I suppose."

"You think this is an experiment?" He asks.

"Why else would we be here?"

He smiles. "I have many notions, in fact."

"Spare me, would you?"

He deadpans. "Fine."

"You call them Grievers?" I ask.

"You knew?"

" 'S all anyone here talks about."

"Understandable, too," He says. "They're the reason why no one 'cept for the Runners go into the maze, and why even they've gotta get back before sundown or else they're done for. You copy me?"

"I copy," I say.

Newt looks unconvinced. "You've had your eyes on those doors since the second I brought you outta the box, girl. I know what you're thinking and I can tell you're not quite keen on taking orders from others. But you will behave when it comes to the maze."

I squint my eyes at him, intrigued at the challenge.

"You sure you wanna fight fire with fire, kid?" I ask.

Our bodies are closer now than before, but I can't say which of us has moved in.

"If it keeps you outta trouble and my Gladers outta danger," He says, and his voice is stoic but his eyes are glinting.

Something tells me Alby is normally the one in charge of problematic newbies, but that Newt has been assigned to me because he's considered the gentlest.

Similarly, something tells me that these boys have no idea how to handle a girl.

"I understand you and Ably are the leaders around here. And I also understand that you're not the leaders because you're built like leaders, but just because you came up in that godforsaken box first. But hear me when I say that you will not stand in the way of me getting out of here."

My words are sharp and Newt and I are nearly chest-to-chest.

My goal was to intimidate him, but he seems more comfortable than ever. Earlier, he was hesitant to even help me out of bed without permission, but now he is drawing his hand up and placing it under my chin. His gaze holds mine with ease as he whispers, "watch me."

I want to scream. I want to push him away and yell at him for being an idiot, for getting so comfortable in this paradise when there's an entire world outside of those walls; a world we were plucked against our will from; a world of mothers and father and sisters and brothers all waiting for us to come home. I want to knock out whatever peacekeeping chip the Creators have implanted in his mind and make him a fighter. I want to scream until my throat runs raw.

But I don't. I don't believe he, or anyone for that matter, would hear me if I did.

Instead, I just push his arm away from my face and back up, keeping his gaze all the while.

He smiles. "You're quite confident for a Greenbean."

I consider correcting him, telling him my name is Jane and not Greenbean, or Greenie or Shank either, but decide against it.

Some part of me wants to see if he'll remember it on his own.