ROSE

Before I know what I'm doing I kick her in the side, as hard as I possibly can. She doesn't flinch, just laps at Thomas's neck. With the amount of blood he's already lost he should be dead, but he just smiles at me from where his cheek is being pressed into the ground. "Isn't she nice?" he asks, in a voice that is definitely not his own.

"Get off him!" I shout, kicking the girl in the face this time. She climbs off Thomas and helps him up, smiling with bloodstained vampire fangs.

"Don't hurt her," Thomas says. "Don't hurt my girlfriend."

"She's a monster!" I yell at him. Thomas, where's your sense? "She's going to kill you!"

Blood pumps from his neck. "Who's a monster?" He smiles, showing fangs. "She's not a monster. The monster is you."

They come at me slowly.

"Thomas, stop," I command, breathing hard. "She's corrupting you."

Suddenly there's a wall behind me.

"Thomas," I say, voice trembling. "Thomas—"

"Rose," he says, grinning evilly. The girl at his side gives me a triumphant look.

"Rose," Thomas repeats. "Rose."

He lunges at me, tears open my neck.

"Rose!"

I bolt upright, clapping a hand over my mouth to keep myself from screaming. Newt jerks back, brown eyes flying away to a further distance. He must have been leaning over me.

He takes a step closer. "Are you okay? Was it a nightmare?"

I can still feel a scream building in my throat, so I shake my head, then nod, hoping he'll understand: no, I'm not okay, yes, it was a nightmare.

"You gonna throw up?" he asks gently.

Joke, Rose, my brain screams at me. I take my hand away from my mouth. "Now that you mention it, yes." I lunge for the side of the hammock and pretend to barf on the ground near his shoes, retching sounds included.

"Oh, gross—" he starts, and breaks off as he realizes that there's no barf. "Gosh, Rosie, that was extremely ladylike."

"I'm not a lady," I say bluntly.

"Right," Newt says. He swings my legs over the side of the hammock and sits down close. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"About how I'm not a lady?" I ask, eyes wide.

"About your nightmare."

It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. "Thomas was a vampire," I choke out, and collapse against him in sobs.

NEWT

She bursts into tears and crumples against me. Instantly I have my arms around her, hugging her closer. I'm not surprised she's crying, I'm just surprised it took her this long to start crying.

But in a way it didn't, because she cried when Thomas got back. Maybe those were tears of relief.

If those were tears of relief, then these are tears of . . .

Of what? I reply silently.

. . .

Exactly.

"Hey, Newt?" Rosie says some time later, after half of my shirt is damp.

"Hey, Rosie?" I answer.

"Promise me one thing," she says.

"Anythin'." I don't even hesitate. That's how much I care for her.

"No matter what happens," she says, "never, ever, ever turn into a vampire. Okay?"

I consider making a joke out of it, but that could set her off again and as much as I like her, I really don't want to sit through another half hour of crying. It's so awkward. "Okay, Rosie," I say softly, leaning back on the hammock and taking her with me. "I promise."

"NEWT! NEEEEEEEEEWWWWTTTT!"

I scramble to my feet automatically, leaving the hammock swinging. Rosie jumps up also, scrubbing furiously at her blotchy face. I take a few strides towards the voice. A few seconds later I see Chuck, racing towards me.

"Newt!" He pants out, hands on his knees. "Newt, it's Alby."

"Is he okay?!" I nearly shout, sticking my finger in the poor kid's face.

"Yes!" Chuck scrambles backwards to avoid me. "Yes, he's fine! It's just . . ."

I advance, worry for my best friend overriding all common sense. "It's just what?"

"Newt," Rosie admonishes, gently but firmly pushing me out of the way. "Be nice. What's wrong, Chuck?"

If he notices her face, he doesn't say anything. "Uh, it's just that Alby's started the Changing."

As if to put a flourish on his words, a scream echoes across the Glade. I'm racing towards the Homestead as fast as my bloody limp will carry me before I know what's happening. Rosie catches up easily. She doesn't say anything until we reach the Homestead. Then she asks, "What's the Changing?"

The way she's adapted so quickly to her surroundings without asking too many questions has surprised me, but this even more so. I forgot she didn't know what the Changing is. "Look, Rosie," I say, already tired from what's going to happen, "I really do wanna explain, but I need ta be up there with Alby."

"I'll come too," she offers instantly.

"No," I say. "Ya gotta some food. Hang out with Minho, get him to tell you what the Changin' is. This is for me to do."

Hurt flickers across her eyes, so quickly I almost don't see it. Then it's gone, and she's smiling and nodding understandingly. "Of course. He's your best friend. It's a guy thing, I guess. Okay. See you later, then."

I wrap her into a big hug, holding her close for too long and not long enough. Then I head into the Homestead, bracing myself for what's coming next.

ROSE

I stand there, watching the door to the Homestead, for a lot longer than I should given what Newt told me to go do. The second I turn around I hear the door open. I turn back in time to see Thomas stumble out, arm over his eyes against the sunlight. He groans. "Good morning, sister."

I check the sky. It's midafternoon. I hug him quickly, saying, "Good afternoon to you too, brother." Thomas snorts. "I'd not say it's good anything."

Alby screams again. I shudder at the sound and start dragging Thomas away from the Homestead. "Come on, let's go—"

"Thomas!"

I glance over my shoulder in time to see Minho duck under my arm and give Thomas a bro hug. I let go of my brother's arm so he can return the bro hug, but he doesn't. Maybe he's too tired.

Minho releases Thomas and steps back. "My little prodigy," he exclaims. "Mister Dive-and-Roll-Thingy! How are you?"

"Dive and roll thingy?" Thomas repeats, words slurring with sleep.

"What am I, chopped liver?" I demand faux-angrily, putting a hand on my hip and giving Minho a skeptical look.

"Ah, Miss Newt's-a-Garden-Plant-That-I-Stabbed-to-a-Tree!" Minho turns to me, smiling big, and crushes me in a bear hug, complete with the bro back-slapping thing. I slam my fist into his spine as hard as I can several times, grinning over his shoulder at Thomas, who looks deeply confused.

"So," Minho says, slinging one arm over my shoulder and the other over Thomas's. "What shall we do today?"

"I'm gonna go get some more sleep," Thomas says through a yawn, disentangling himself from Minho and staggering off in a very un-straight line towards the forest.

"Has he been drinking?" Minho asks.

I giggle. "Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you that you left your booze stash unguarded." I take a few wavering steps, slap myself in the eye with my hand, and say, "G, U, K, Z?" I look at him hopefully.

Minho laughs. "Great! A drunk test."

"I think it's called a sobriety test," I say. "Walk in a straight line, touch your hand to your nose, and say your ABC's backwards. All easy except for the ABC's thing."

"Z, Y, X . . . W, V, U, T . . . S, R, Q, P, O . . ." Minho trails off. "That's all I've got."

"N, M, L, K, J, I, H, G, F, E, D, C, B, A," I respond. "It's the first ten or so letters that I can't get."

"Well, great," Minho says. "We're both half drunk. Thank you, sobriety test!"

Alby screams again. I nearly clap my hands over my ears. Minho must see my discomfort, because he starts strolling casually away from the Homestead. I walk alongside him, checking my pace so it doesn't seem that I'm too eager to get away. "So, Minho, what's the Changing?"

Minho tips his head to the side. "What, your boyfriend hasn't told you yet? Tsk, tsk, Newt."

"He's not—" I start, and stop. "Alright, fine, maybe he is my boyfriend. Sort of. I don't know. We haven't kissed yet—"

"Thank you," Minho says loudly, holding up a hand. "That is way too much information."

"You asked," I say.

"The Changing," he says, tone pointed, "is a process that you go through after being stung by a Griever, and if you're administered the Serum in time. No one knows exactly what goes down in the Changing, because those who've been through it never talk about it. But the gist is that you remember all of the things from the past. You get your memories back. It's a complicated process."

"I see." I look out at the Maze. A thought hasn't even formed in my mind when Minho steps in front of me, giving me a deadly serious stare.

"Don't ever get stung," he orders. Yes, it's not a suggestion, it's an order. "Ever. You do not want to get stung. You see a Griever, go the other way. Understand?"

I nod.

Minho sighs. "Do you want some food?"

"I'll get it," I say. "I'm perfectly capable."

"Oh." He smirks. "Right, I forgot: you're Miss Newt's-a-Garden-Plant-That-I-Sta—"

"Shut up," I cut him off. "Or else I'm going to become Miss I-Stabbed-Minho-to-a-Tree."

He leans closer. "Is that a threat?"

I place a light hand on his chest and push him away. "Go sit somewhere and become friends with a blade of grass." Before he can say anything witty in reply, I jog to the food line. Dinner is pasta and red sauce, the simplicity of which Frypan apologizes for, but to me, it's the best thing in the world.

While we eat, Minho talks about when Frypan arrived. "We were half starved," he says. "And then Frypan shows up with just one apple in his hand and a million recipes in his head. An hour later he was setting a freaking slice of apple pie down in front of me. It was the best thing ever, and I will never forget the taste."

"What'd you do then?" I ask, twirling spaghetti on my spoon in a manner that I don't recognize but have obviously done so many times it's instinctive.

"After cramming an entire slice in my mouth?" Minho says, in a tone that lets me know that's exactly what he did, no joke. "Alby and Newt instated him as head cook and things got a heck of a lot better. So in a way, you can thank Frypan for your boyfriend's existence."

"Thanks, Frypan!" I shout across the Glade, knowing he can't hear me. I turn to Minho and smirk.

"Hmm," Minho says, stroking his chin. "Maybe I should call you Miss Sass and leave it at that."

"As long as I get you call you Mister Idiocy," I say, "it's a deal."

Minho sticks out his hand, grinning. We shake on it and throw insults back and forth until Chuck and Thomas join us. Then we turn the teasing on Thomas, who retorts deftly every single time. Chuck sits there with a slight spaghetti sauce beard, watching with fascination.

Minho pauses mid-insult and nods over Thomas's shoulder. "Hey, Rose, it's your boyfriend."

"I thought you were gonna call me Miss Sass, Mister Idiocy," I say, avoiding Chuck's and Thomas's questioning gazes.

"I didn't say I would only call you Miss Sass," Minho says.

"That's what it sounded like," I say.

"As I was saying," Minho says loudly to Thomas. "How did . . ."

I tune out as Newt slides to the ground beside me, looking like death on two feet (until he sits, at least—then he looks like death on one butt). "Hey," I say quietly. "How's Alby?"

Newt turns his head, looking more sad and worried than I think is possible. "He's gonna live," he says. "The worst part is over, mostly. The bugger'll sleep for a few days, then wake up fine. Maybe some screaming thrown in."

I lace my fingers with his and lean my head on his shoulder. He rests his cheek on my hair.

"Newt, what's he going through up there?" Thomas asks. "Seriously, I don't get what this Changing thing is."

"You think we do?" Newt literally spits the question out. I jerk off his shoulder as he leans forward, glaring at Thomas. "All we bloody know is if the Grievers sting ya with their nasty buggin' needles, you inject the Grief Serum or ya die. If you do get the Serum, then your body wigs out and shakes and your skin bubbles and turns a freaky green color and ya vomit all over yourself. That enough freakin' explanation for ya, Tommy, or do ya still need more?"

I groan, pressing the heels of my palms into my eyes. Good God almighty, Thomas, can't you see how stressed Newt is? Not only does he have to keep an eye on Alby, but he hasn't gotten twelve hours of sleep in the past two, three days, and he's taken over as temporary leader. He can't even get advice from the former leader, because he's the same dude Newt needs to keep an eye on! Jesus H. Christ.

Thomas frowns, looking slightly guilty. "Hey, I know it sucks to see Alby go through that—"

"Ya think?" Newt growls.

"But I just want to know what's really happening up there," Thomas says, plowing on. "Why do you call it the Changing?"

Newt flops against the tree I'm leaning on, sighing. "It brings back memories. Just little snippets, but definite memories of before we came to this bloody place. Anyone who goes through it acts like a buggin' psycho when it's over—although not usually as bad as poor Ben. Anyway, it's like bein' given your old life back, only ta have it snatched away again."

I glare at Minho. He didn't mention that. When I said I wanted to know about the Changing, I mouth at him, I kinda meant ALL of it, not just some!

He smirks. Guess it slipped my mind, he mouths back.

"Are you sure?" Thomas says, and for a second I think he's talking to Minho. But Newt responds, looking puzzled. "What do ya mean? Sure about what?"

"Are they changed because they want to go back to their old life, or is it because they're so depressed at realizing their old life was no better than what we have now?"

Newt stares for a moment, then tips his head back. When he next speaks it's like he's talking to the stars. "Shanks who've been through it never really talk about it. They get . . . different. Unlikeable. There's a handful around the Glade, but I can't stand to be around them." He blinks fast a few times, most likely thinking about Alby and wondering if the same will happen to him.

"Tell me about it," Chuck says, chiming into the conversation. "Gally's the worst of 'em all."

I glower fully at Minho, who holds up his hands in surrender, eyes wide. Sorry! he mouths. I roll my eyes and tuck my legs up to my side, leaning on Newt for support.

A silence fills the air, broken by the murmuring of voices and chirping of crickets.

"Anyway," Newt says, after a while, "next up—figure out what happens ta Tommy."

"What?" I say, at the same time Thomas goes, "Do with me? What does that mean?"

Newt carefully stands up so that I don't fall over and stretches his arms above his head, showing a strip of skin between his shirt and his pants. "Turned this whole place upside down, ya bloody shank." He says this in a friendly way. "Half the Gladers think you're Jesus, the other half wanna throw your ugly slint-butt down the Box Hole. Lotsa stuff ta talk about."

"Like what?" Thomas asks cautiously.

"Patience," Newt admonishes. "You'll find out after the wake-up."

"Tomorrow? Why?"

I look up at Newt, waiting for an explanation.

"I've called a Gathering," he says. "And you'll be there, Tommy. You're the only buggin' thing on the agenda."

With that, he turns and wanders away.

I toss my plate at Minho, who barely manages to keep it from shattering on the ground, and stand up. "I'm gonna get some sleep. See you shanks later." I turn and follow Newt.

"You suck at insults," Minho calls after me.

"Ditto!"

I jog a few steps, catch up to Newt. He's heading for the Homestead, a crease between his eyebrows. I can't tell if it's from anger or worry. I walk beside him, watching my feet make imprints in the dewy grass.

Newt opens the door to the Homestead and I place a hand on his arm. "Newt, don't you think it's time to sleep now?"

"Why are you always on to me about sleeping?" he nearly shouts, turning on me, ears scarlet with rage. "Can't you just leave me alone for five minutes?"

"No," I yell back. "Because you'll walk yourself into the ground! Five hours of sleep doesn't cut it, either! If you don't sleep, you'll get even crankier than you already are and believe me, no one wants to be around a crank. So buster," I say, standing on my tiptoes to get right in his face, "you will go over to that hammock and you will sleep and you will sleep through the entire night and then until nine o'clock, and if you don't, then the next night I will handcuff you to the damn thing!" I place one hand on my hip and jab my index finger in his face. "You." Finger points at hammocks. "Go. Now."

The instant the words are out of my mouth, I want to reel them back in. I sound so much like a mother, a parent, yelling at their child and telling them to clean their room or something.

Evidently Newt senses this too, because he rolls his eyes and stomps off to the hammocks. I smirk. Being a mother does have its points.

I go upstairs and tell the Med-Jack on duty at Alby's bedside that if he needs to find Newt he should look in the hammocks, then trot downstairs and out of the Homestead. When I weave through the hammocks, I see Newt already snoring in the one furthest from the front, where the light is darkest. I ask Minho to wake me up at six and slide onto the one next to Newt's. I'll make sure he doesn't get out of that hammock until nine. I will. I tell Minho this and he interrupts those plans with a swift, decisive blow. "You can't."

I sit up and glare at him. "Why not?"

"Because the Gathering," he replies matter-of-factly. "Everyone likes to get an early start here, and the Gathering's gonna be early. Day after tomorrow should be fine, though, if you wanna go all mommy on your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," I mutter, sinking into the hammock again.

"Yes he is," Minho sing-songs.

"Shut your hole, Minho."

"Shut yours."

"Up yours."

"Up yours."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"Gonna die tonight."

"Better tell your boyfriend that. He'll be broken up about it."

"Not my boyfriend." I roll over, pressing my face into my hand. Seconds later I'm asleep, and dreaming.

In my dream I can fly.

I'm floating above the Maze, mapping it out with my eyes and drawing it, shouting down to Newt what I can see. I start to fly forward. I can't. It's like I'm stuck in some sort of box thing. A face appears in the sky above me, one of a woman I've never seen before. "You're doomed," she says. I fall and wake up when I hit the ground. It's a relatively short dream, but for some reason I'm terrified. I curl myself into a ball and stare at my shoes, realizing that I never took them off.

I fall asleep again.

I wake up in the morning to Minho's sarcastic comments, but they're not directed at me. I definitely dreamed again, but I can't remember what it was about.

I still feel terrified.

But they can't see that.

I stand up, stretching. "Morning, Minho. D'you realize how nice it is to wake up to your voice?"

He turns around, grinning. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't wake you up."

"What's happening to Thomas?" I ask.

He twitches his eyebrows. "Want some breakfast?"

"No," I snap. "I want to know what's happening to Thomas."

"We haven't decided," Minho squeaks.

I start to barge past him, but he bars my way. "You—you can't."

I give him my best glare. "Why the hell not?"

Minho sighs and steps aside. "You don't want to, trust me."

I shove him, angered, and run out into the Glade. There's a ring of tightly knit boys around something, something that I'm not sure I want to see. But something drives me forward, and I shove several boys out of the way. I find a spot where I can see what's happening and stare.

Thomas is on his knees, hands tied behind his back, two boys holding his ankles to the ground. Newt holds his hair gripped in a fist, pulling his head back. He's making some sort of speech. "And this!" he yells, apparently at the climax. "This is why you never, never, ever disobey a rule! This is why you don't go into the Maze at night!"

He whips out a knife, pulling it from his belt. "Any last words, Thomas?" he asks cruelly.

"I—" Thomas begins.

Newt rips the blade of the knife across my brother's throat, killing him and cutting him off in one fell swoop. I scream, stumbling away from the boys. "Someone! Help!"

Minho's there and for a moment I think he's my knight in shining armor (only half kidding) when something cold snaps around my wrists.

Handcuffs.

"Minho," I gasp out.

He smiles wickedly. "Don't worry. It'll be fast." He draws his knife, shouts to the others. "Where's that freaking pole?"

Holy—

Shit—

A pole materializes next to me. I give it a worried glance. That's not supposed to be here.

My hands are forced over my head, tied to the pole. Minho smiles delicately at me, then rips the knife across my stomach. And my wrists.

That's when I kick him in the groin with both feet and scream something I really shouldn't. Something along the lines of eff you but in a less polite way. Because hell, this is a dream.

He doesn't even flinch.

Because hell, this is a dream.

"SONOFA," he bellows. Drives the knife into my heart.

"Rose?"

I bolt awake and before I can recognize him I'm on my feet, backing myself into a corner. Minho holds up his hands in surprise. "Rose—are you alright?"

Only one way I can figure this out. I take a few steps towards him. "C'mere."

Beside me, Newt shifts in his hammock, mumbling nonsense.

Minho approaches carefully. Once he's close enough, I slam my foot into his crotch. He doubles over with a very un-Minho yelp.

Newt shoots to his feet. "What the hell's goin' on?!"

I blush furiously, wishing I'd been a little more careful. Thought it through.

"Are you trying to kill me?" Minho wheezes, now collapsed on the floor.

"I had a dream," I say to Newt. "Minho was stabbing me. I fought, but . . . nothing happened." Please see the double meaning, please see the double meaning—

He does. "C'mere." He draws me into a hug, and only when I meet his calm, solid body do I realize I'm shaking, violently. Like a leaf.

"I hate nightmares," I say.

"I hate girls who kick—" Minho starts, and cuts himself off, probably at a harsh look from Newt. "I'll be in the Gathering, if I can hobble my way over there."

Ooooh, he makes me want to slap him so bad. But there's that rule: never harm another Glader. I pretend to ignore Minho until he leaves, then sigh and look up at Newt. "You should go with him."

"Yeah," says Gally, who happens to be strolling by. "You'd make a great pair: both of you limping away—"

Newt must feel me stiffen, see the rage on my face, because he shakes his head at me. "Shut your hole, Gally."

"Or do you want to become a part of the Limping Pair?" I snap, unable to hold myself back. "Because if so . . . I'm here."

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Gally says.

"Just you wait," I snarl. "You're gonna be."

"I think that's enough," Newt says loudly. "Rose, go get some breakfast. This shank and I'll go ta the Gathering."

"Yessir," I say, snapping a salute. I brush past Gally and head off for the homestead for some food. Instead of Frypan handing out toast and eggs, it's some random Glader I've never seen before. Then again, Frypan probably does have a role in the Gathering. Whatever that is.

I eat with Chuck, then garden the morning away. A quick pause for lunch, and more gardening. I really like it. Gardening, that is, not lunch. Although lunch is good too.

At dinner I sit with Newt, alone on the outskirts of the eating area. He fills me in on what happened with Thomas: he's a Runner now, but before he can start training he's going to spend a day in the Slammer, because order must be kept in the Glade.

When I go to sleep, I'm not smiling my head off, but I do feel peaceful. Tonight no dreams haunt my sleep. It's nice.

A few days pass, and then word comes that one of the Runners—Uriah?—fell off something called "the Cliff" and now Minho's looking for another one. The day passes without event, aside from Newt steering me clear of Minho whenever the Keeper comes near us. I eat dinner and go to sleep, my dreams silent.

I'm woken up in the middle of the night by Minho and dragged out of the hammocks area.

"What is it, Minho," I say, my voice thick.

"We need another Runner," Minho says urgently.

"Whoop-de-doo," I say. "Tell me when you've decided on one and I'll help Frypan bake a cake."

"Rose, I need you as a Runner," Minho says. "You're fast and smart and a quick thinker. Violent, too."

"Is this why Newt kept you away from me for the entire day?" I ask, wide awake now.

"Yes." Minho glances around. "You'll start training tomorrow. If you want to be a Runner, that is."

"Lemme try it," I say.

He sighs. "Fine. I'll get you up early so we can set up before we go."

"Can I go back to sleep now?" I say.

"Yes."

I go back to sleep, right there on the lawn. It seems that I haven't been asleep for half a second when Minho's next shaking me awake. The sky's so dark I can barely see his face.

"Come on," he whispers. "Follow me."

I scramble to my feet, forcing myself to be awake, and follow him to the Homestead. He leads me through the ground floor to a storage closet, surprisingly big for the size of the building it's in. He waves his flashlight around, lands it on a box of running shoes.

"I'll stick with my boots, thanks," I say quickly.

"Alright." Minho walks deeper into the closet. "Lace them up tight though."

I crouch to do that, and as I relace them he drops things on the ground in front of me. A small wristwatch, the band made of leather, with a digital face. Nothing fancy. I pause in my lacing to strap it to my wrist.

"Only Runners and Keepers get those," Minho says. "Take care of it—we don't have a thousand of 'em." He drops a few flasks and a leather contraption in front of me. "Water bottles, your backpack." Another leather thing. "Lunch pack. Figure you don't want, say, shorts and a t-shirt, so . . ."

"No, I don't," I say. "Seeing as they'll all be men's."

A few sports bras land on the pile of stuff. I look up, alarmed. Minho blushes. "They came with your load in the Box. Figured . . ."

"Better keep them since there's a girl now," I say for him. "Thanks." I finish lacing my boots. "What else?"

"Come with me." He pushes a few boxes in the corner aside, revealing a trapdoor. I follow him down a set of very creaky stairs and wait as he fumbles around for some light. He pulls a string and a single lightbulb is revealed. It shows what's in the room: a bazillion weapons. There are shelves lining the walls, a few chunky tables, and an entire wall dedicated to archery. Everything else is covered with various weapons: knives, swords, wooden poles, metal spikes, barbed wire, chicken-coop mesh stuff, barbed wire.

"Knives," Minho says, nodding towards a trunk in the corner. "And make it fast. We still need to check out the Map Room before dawn."

I choose a short knife, a bit longer than a paring knife, and a longer one about the length of my forearm, with a double-edged blade. Minho takes me back upstairs and shows me where to put the knives on my backpack, in special sheaths made especially for them.

"Follow," Minho instructs. I gather up the stuff he gave me and follow him to the kitchen, where we pack two sandwiches each in our lunch packs, along with celery and water. All this goes into the backpack. Then, since Minho is making toast the hard way (on a frying pan), I slip out of the room to where Newt got my clothes from last time I changed. I put on a fresh pair of the exact same pants, a thick belt, one of the sports bras, and a brown tank top under a forest green shirt similar to Minho's in style.

When I get back to the kitchen, Minho's scraping blackened remnants of bread into the trash can, grumbling. Upon my arrival he looks up. "No toast today."

"Let's just go to the Map Room," I say.

"Good idea."

Outside, the sky's starting to lighten at the edges. Dawn is coming.

"Gotta make this fast," Minho says, as we're running full speed across the Glade to the Map Room. "Okay?"

"As long as I know what the shuck to do," I reply.

Minho wrenches open the door, which looks similar to a safe door, and flourishes his arm at it. "Ladies first."

Rolling my eyes, I walk in. the room is pitch black, until Minho flips a few switches, turning on overhead fluorescent lights. The room is about twenty by twenty feet and completely bared of all decorations. The only things in the room are a table, eight chairs, and eight trunks. The chairs are gathered around the centered table, and the trunks are spaced out evenly on the floor, two per wall. On the table are eight neat stacks of paper and pencils, one for each chair.

"Pull up a seat," Minho says. "I'll make this fast."

I take a deep breath and am hit with a strong smell of wet, mustiness laced with copper so strong I can taste it. "Oh," I choke, surprised by the scent.

Minho drops into a seat. "Oh what?"

"The smell," I say. "It surprised me."

"I like it." He points at the chair closest to his. "Sit."

I sit.

Minho takes a piece of paper and a pencil and starts sketching on it: one big box, then filling it in with smaller boxes in a three-by-three design. He labels the middle one GLADE and the other ones 1 through 8, starting in the upper left corner and going clockwise. He draws little notches here and there on the lines.

"Those are the Doors," he says, putting down the pencil. "You know about the ones from the Maze, but there are four more out in the Maze that lead to sections One, Three, Five, and Seven. They stay in the same spot, but the route there changes with the wall movements every night."

"Whoa, whoa," I say. "Hold up. The Maze changes?"

Minho closes his eyes briefly. "I thought Newt told you about that."

"He didn't," I say.

"We'll get back to that, then," Minho says. "Okay, so we have the Glade. Surrounded by eight sections, each one a self-contained, unsolvable square. The only thing even approaching an exit is the Cliff, and that isn't a good one unless you wanna die a horrible death by falling off." Minho tapped the map he'd drawn. "The walls move all over the shuck place every evening—same time as our doors shut. At least, that's when we think it happens, because we never really hear the walls moving any other time.

"We always have at least eight Runners," he goes on. "Including the Keeper, which is myself. One per section. It takes us a whole day to map out our area—hoping against hope that there'll be a shuck exit—and then we come back and draw it up, a separate page for each day."

"It takes you a full day to run through those little squares?" I ask.

Minho glares at me through his eyelashes and moves over to one of the trunks. He opens it. "C'mere."

I lean over his shoulder and look at the contents. The trunk's big enough that four stacks of Maps can fit, and all four reach the top. Each of the ones I can see are very similar: a rough sketch of a square maze, filling almost the whole page. The one I'm looking at has some information up in the top right corner. Section 8, Hank, Day 935.

"We figured out the walls were moving right at the beginning. As soon as we did, we started keeping track. We've always thought that comparing these day to day, week to week, would help us figure out a pattern. And we did—the mazes basically repeat themselves about every month. But we've yet to see an exit that will lead us out of the square. Never been an exit."

"That's depressing," I comment.

"But we can't give up," Minho says. He stands up. "Well, we've gotta get out of here if we want you in the Maze at all, ever, because Newt always wakes up at around this time, and . . ."

"He's a little protective," I finish, standing also. "Alright, then I'm ready to run." Surprisingly enough, I don't feel even the slightest tinge of nervousness.

"Good that." Minho scrawls a note on a piece of paper and leaves it on the table, then leads me out of the Map Room. He closes the door behind us. "We're on Section Four today."

"East Door," I say automatically.

"Good that," Minho says again. He breaks into a jog heading for the East Door.

"Where's Thomas?" I ask, jogging also. "Doesn't he normally come with you?"

"I paired him up with Max," Minho says. "He'll be fine."

He pauses at the East Door, probably about to ask me if I'm ready. In response, I keep jogging, right into the Maze.

Sorry for not updating sooner, I got the chapter finished late Tuesday but had to go to bed before I could update, and then on Wednesday I was really busy, so here we are, on Thursday . . . *sigh*

Again, sorry for the wait! Thanks for your faves and reviews! See you soon :)