Hello loves. I hope your 2017 have been lovely so far. Mine's been going pretty well. Midterms are over; new schedule, new year. I'm feeling much better since I last updated. Also, this chapter might feel a little weird because I haven't written Ghost in a while and I think it might show, I don't know (Rhyme!).

Disclaimer: Pepinillos. That's Spanish for pickles. Not related to the fact that I don't own the Maze Runner, I just like pickles.

The short version of that night? Terrifying. If there were anything I hate, having to sit and wait for death to come to me would be at the top. I'd much rather try my luck at outrunning it. At some point, I heard yelling from upstairs, Thomas, Newt, and a third voice I'd heard before but couldn't for the life of me remember whom it belonged to. Then the yelling stopped.

Everything stopped.

One moment, Grievers were coming for us at every angle and certain death was nigh. Then, there was silence. The Grievers retreated back into the Maze. It wasn't until I found Thomas I learned why.

After the monsters' retreat, chaos ruled in the Homestead. I switched off my hearing because everyone was talking over one another and crowding about, and set off to find Thomas, leaving Chuck with Clint.

Thomas and Newt were outside, by the open West Door. Newt was pressing a towel to his head. The white cloth was quickly turning red with blood. They were arguing about something. Thomas said firmly, "I'm going after him."

"After who?" I asked, and the two boys jumped. They turned to look at me.

"Minho," Thomas said after a moment. "He ran out into the maze after the Grievers."

My mouth went dry. Minho. My chest got uncomfortably tight, and my ears buzzed in disbelief of what I'd just heard. It took a moment to gather my voice. "What? And…and you let him?" I gaped.

"He wasn't in our room, we didn't let Minho do anything," Newt protested. "He's just buggin' crazy. And besides, we've got bigger problems."

"What happened to your head?" I questioned, ignoring this so-called 'bigger problem'. "Why did the Grievers just leave? They had us pinned down."

Thomas launched into a speedy but informative summary of what had happened in his and Newt's group's room, which apparently was where all the fun things happened. I blinked at him when he was done, trying to quickly wrap my mind over the information.

"So…you're telling me that Gally, the lunatic who's been missing since our trial, showed up, spouted some crazy crap about how 'only one shall die a night', whacked Newt in the head with a plank, then jumped on a Griever to his death, after which they all ran off. And now Minho has disappeared too." I concluded, and Thomas and Newt nodded, which made the blond boy scrunch his face in discomfort from shaking his injured head around. "Wow, stellar." I rubbed eyes with my fists. "Great. Well, come on Thomas."

Thomas' brow furrowed in confusion, but I swept a hand toward the Maze and he nodded. Newt glared. "Where do you shanks think you're going?"

"After Minho, obviously." I said, though I wasn't too keen to go out into the Maze again. But, it was Minho. I was going, even if I had to follow in Gally's psycho footsteps and hit Newt with a wooden plank.

I was almost surprised, wondering when exactly this change in feelings towards the dark-haired runner had occurred. He was originally one of my least favorite Gladers, but over the last few days we had developed a strange sort of bond. I considered us friends, but…it was different. Different than with Clint and Chuck, who were more like brothers, and different than Thomas and Newt. I just wasn't sure how yet.

However, going into the Maze on a daring and tedious rescue mission proved unnecessary, as Minho appeared, running down the main corridor before Newt had the chance to say "no bloody way" in his stern British Mom voice.

Thomas yelled, "What were you doing, idiot?" at the same time I swore loudly in the Keeper of the Runner's direction, and very creatively I might add. Minus the colorful language, it summed up to "What were you thinking you crazy bastard, you scared the daylights out of me, I mean, us."

Minho jogged up and bent over, hands on knees, trying to catch his breath. "I just…wanted to…make sure." He got out between breaths.

"Of what, that you died?" I clucked my tongue impatiently and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Yeah," Newt agreed. "Lotta good you'd be, taken like Gally."

Minho put his hands on his hips testily. He was still breathing rather hard. "Slim it. I just wanted to see if they went toward the Cliff. Toward the Griever hole."

"And?" Thomas asked.

"Bingo."

"I can't believe this," Newt said lowly, mostly to himself. "All of this in one night…"

"Wait, the bigger problem," I remembered, the Glader's words coming back to me now that Minho was safe. "You were about to tell us about a bigger problem. What happened, Newt?"

Newt jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "You can still see the buggin' smoke." The boy said mournfully. "Someone burned the map trunks. Every last one of 'em."

Indeed, wispy smoke was raising from the wide-open door of the squat little building the Runners mapped the Maze in. Thomas, for some reason, didn't seem too concerned about this, leaving Minho, Newt, and I to investigate. I found Clint already down there, carrying a box of medical supplies from the Homestead. Quickly I joined him in treating injuries.

From what I gathered, Winston had found Alby unconscious in the blazing Map Room, and dragged him out with a few other boys. They had tried to save the maps but it was too late. Initially they had suspected Alby to be the arsonist, but the leader of the Glade had a large gash on his forehead where the culprit had slammed his head against the table. It was nasty, filled with splinters and ash. I shoved past the crowd of boys growing around the still-unconscious leader and got to work.

Keeping a steady hand, I poured disinfectant on a cloth and cleaned out the wound, removing the splinters with tweezers. Thankfully, once it was cleaned up, it didn't look as bad and wouldn't need stitches. I settled for wrapping his head and applying a salve to a few minor burns on his arms.

"How is he?" Newt asked, standing a little off to the side, watching Alby closely. He folded the cloth on his head, trying to find a clean spot, but it was almost completely drenched in red. I made a face.

"Alby will be fine, it's not as bad as it looks," I said. "But you on the other hand really need to let us look at that."

"I'm fine," Newt insisted, and before I could argue that he certainly was not, our names were being called. It was Minho, standing with Thomas, who looked very urgent. Oh goody, what is it this time? I thought with a sigh. I gave my supplies back to Clint and Jeff, and Newt and I set off to follow the two Runners towards the Slammer.

"Just let her out, Newt," Thomas pleaded with the blond Glader. He was trying to convince Newt to release Teresa so they could talk about something important. I tuned out the rest of their conversation and made my way to the window.

Inside the concrete room, Teresa leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Her bright blue eyes were focused on the door, listening to everything going on outside.

"Well, this is different," I drawled, and the dark-haired girl started, fixing her gaze on the window and relaxing when she saw it was me. "Usually I'm the one in there being ogled like a circus attraction."

Teresa let out a surprised chuckle. "You too?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I'll tell you about it sometime. It involves jailbreak." I added that last line in a singsong voice.

"Looking forward to it," Teresa smiled. Suddenly she shouted, "I'm not stupid! And I can hear every word you morons are saying!"

"I feel your pain," I said conversationally. "Don't worry, you'll learn to tune them out; that's what I did."

Teresa managed a small smirk just as the door swung open and Newt beckoned her out. I walked back around to the front of the Slammer as Teresa moved into the open, glaring at Newt and Minho and standing next to Thomas, so close their arms touched. I leant against the wall and observed silently.

"Alright," Minho said. "Talk. What's so important?"

Thomas glanced at Teresa, who shrugged one shoulder. "What? You talk—they obviously think I'm a serial killer."

"Don't worry," I muttered under my breath. "They think that about everyone. Don't gimme that look," I added as Newt sent me a 'why do you always do this?' look. "That's exactly what happened and you know it."

"Eh, fair enough." Minho said, shifting to stand with one knee bent, arms crossed.

"Minho!"

"Anyway," Thomas said, getting us back on track. "When Teresa was first coming out of her coma, she had memories flashing through her mind. She, um, she told me later that she remembers that the Maze is a code. That maybe instead of solving it to find a way out, it's trying to send us a message."

"A code?" Minho raised his eyebrows. "How is it a code?"

"I'm not sure. You and Ghost are way more familiar with the maps and the Maze than I am. But I have a theory. That's why I was hoping the Runners could remember some of their maps, and Ghost could help correct them. You know some of the patterns, right Ghost?"

I straightened at the question, and shrugged. "Well sure. Don't know if I could draw them, though. Not myself, anyway."

"That'll have to work," Thomas said. Minho raised his eyebrows at Newt, who nodded. Thomas looked annoyed. "What? You guys keep acting like you have a secret."

The other Runner rubbed his eyes and took a long breath. "We hid the maps, Thomas."

Thomas looked confused, and my eyes narrowed. Hid the maps? Why? Well, good thing they did, I guess, I thought. Minho elaborated: "We hid the freaking maps in the weapon's room, put dummies in their place. Because of Alby's warning, and the so called Ending your girlfriend triggered." He pointed to the Homestead as he said all this. "They're all safe and sound; every last one of those suckers. So if you have a theory, get talking."

"Take me to them," Thomas said eagerly.

"Okay, let's go."

As it turns out, the weapon's room was towards the back of the Homestead, beneath a trapdoor in a room used for storage. It was large, 30 feet and square, with a dirt floor and a single light bulb. Several tables and shelves were scattered with all kinds of weapons, from wooden poles to swords and knives to an entire wall of bows and arrows. The air was cool and smelled strongly of dust and mildew.

Minho disappeared into a dark corner, opening the door to a hidden closet and dragging out boxes. "I put each trunk's worth in it's own box, eight boxes total. They're all in there."

Thomas crouched down next to a box and pulled out a small stack of papers covered in geometric lines. "Okay," He began. "Runners have always compared these day to day, looking for a pattern to find an exit, right?" Minho nodded, looking skeptical but interested. "Okay, so, I was thinking-"

I wandered through the room, examining the different weapons, not too focused on what was being said but keeping an ear out for anything important. Thomas suggested the Maze could be spelling out words, which agitated Minho ("Dude, do you have any idea how much we've studied these things?"). A metal rod wrapped in barbed wire caught my attention, but it was much to heavy for my liking. I moved on to the next table.

"…Runner makes a map every day, and then compares it to Maps from previous days for that section. What if instead you were means to compare all eight sections to each other, every day? Each day being a separate clue or code?" Thomas was saying. "Did you ever compare the sections to each other?"

In the back corner, under a rickety old table, I fond a small wooden box full of machetes. Jackpot. I rummaged through it; looking for the one most similar to my old one I had lost that night in the Maze. My search proved fruitful, one with a slight curve to the blade and a black rubber grip on the handle. It felt comfortable in my hands, and I gave it a few test slashes.

Perfect.

"Wax paper," Thomas exclaimed from his spot on the floor, out of nowhere.

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, noticing the others were giving Thomas similar looks of bewilderment. Thomas shook his head.

"Just trust me. We need wax paper and scissors. And every pencil and black marker you can find."

The scavenger hunt began. I reluctantly relinquished my new machete to help Thomas, Teresa, and Minho raid the Homestead for writing utensils while Newt went to wrangle the wax paper from a very annoyed Frypan. It took maybe ten or fifteen minutes total before we were all in the weapons room as Thomas explained his genius plan.

"This better be good," Minho warned, but he actually seemed very interested. Thomas nodded and gave the other Runner a sharp dagger, which I found quite dangerous, inching away subtly.

"Start cutting rectangles, about the size of the maps," Thomas commanded. "Newt, Teresa, and Ghost, grab me the first ten maps or so from each section box."

Minho made a snide remark about craft time, looking at the knife Thomas handed him with disgust. I rolled my eyes and went to the closet to grab the maps, leaving the boys to their bickering. Curiously, I examined a few maps from section 4. It was remarkably well done, the lines precise and proportional. I actually recognized the area (I had grown used to all the patterns over the years). A name and day number was printed neatly on the top.

Thomas handed out black markers and set us to work, tracing the maps onto the sheets of wax paper Minho was cutting. We worked in quiet, box by box, until Newt stretched and flexed his fingers. "I've had enough. My fingers are bloody burning like a mother." He declared. "See if it's working."

We placed the first map of each section, one through eight, on the table in a row, and Thomas picked up each one and laid them on top of one another, careful to keep them in order. He seemed confident, but his fingers were shaking a little. Our group looked down at the overlapping eight sections, lines crisscrossing like mad, the letter F in the dead center.

Teresa gasped. "Whoa," I said, right as Minho said, "Man."

"Could be a coincidence," Teresa said. "Do more, quick."

We scrambled about, assembling the maps. Date by date, more letters appeared. Each stack of eight sections, representing one day per pile, contained a different letter in the center: F L O A T, nothing for a couple days, then C A T C H.

Float and catch.

"Yah, that's not a coincidence," I said decidedly.

Teresa was already walking toward the storage closet containing the other boxes. "We need to go through all of them—all those boxes in there."

"Yeah," Thomas agreed. "Let's get on it."

"We can't help," Minho interrupted, returning the glares when everyone turned to look at him. "Thomas and Ghost are coming with me. We need to get the Runners out in the Maze."

Thomas and Minho argued, but Minho was insistent. They couldn't miss a day, not now. Plus, now that the doors didn't close, they could stay out overnight and do deeper exploring. That last point caught Thomas' attention. I could see he was sold. I just didn't know what they needed me for.

"You're coming with us," Minho said when I asked. "We could use you out there. See if you can find something we can't."

I stared at him, stunned and momentarily incapable of speech. I hoped the look I gave him conveyed how stupid of an idea that was. From the Keeper's expression, though, I could see he wasn't convinced.

I was conflicted, to put it simply. The Maze was my home for most of my broken memory. I had loved and despised it there. Ever since joining the Glade, part of me yearned to go back to the seemingly endless corridors and freedom of the Maze. However, it wasn't safe for me there anymore. Not like I was ever safe; I was always in some form of danger, but I could always outrun it. Grievers never attacked my caves, which were my safe haven. But now, nowhere would be safe for me. I might even be putting the others in danger by being there.

"No way," I said, shaking my head strongly. "I'm not going back out there. Nuh-uh. Nope."

"No one knows the Maze better than you do, Ghost." Minho's voice had softened, sounded reassuring. Like he wasn't talking complete crazy. "Not even me. I still have no idea how you survived out there all this time."

"Caves," I admitted. "There are caves cut into the Maze walls. The Grievers leave them alone, but that was before I broke my deal. I have no idea now."

"Caves?" Minho gaped at me. I mentally slapped myself, knowing I had just reinforced his desire for me to go along. " In the walls?"

I sighed, knowing the battle was lost. "Alright, I'll come. But if my presence out there gets you killed don't come crying to me about it."

Minho nodded, handing me the machete I had been playing with. I sighed again and tied it to my belt. Thomas bade a (very flirty) goodbye to Teresa. I elbowed him on our way out, smirking. He was so painfully obvious, and what's more, he seemed to have honestly no idea. Idiot, I thought fondly.

"Ghost, do you, uh," Minho said as our trio walked around the corner of the Homestead in the direction of the doors. We had already gathered supplies from the kitchen and medfloor, ready for a deadly adventure in the Maze. "Want shoes?"

I looked down at my feet, which had indeed been bare for the duration of my time in the Glade. I honestly didn't even notice it anymore. I really didn't require shoes. "Nah," I said. "My feet are so scarred I don't need them. I never had any in the Maze."

The Asian Runner shrugged. "Alright, suit yourself. Oh, wait! Hold on, I just remembered something." Minho turned and walked back the way we had just come, around the corner and back into the Homestead. I leaned against the side of the building and twirled my weapon idly.

"Where did you learn how to use one of those?" Thomas asked, watching with curiosity. I shrugged.

"Practice," I said. "I found the one I had out in the Maze a couple months after I got here. I think a Runner dropped it."

Thomas contemplated this. "What was it like?" He questioned. "Living out there?"

"Hmm…well," I said slowly. "It was scary, and stressful. It was full of Grievers, you know. But, it was also…great. I did what I liked, as long as it didn't interfere with the Gladers. I could just run, all day, through the Maze. Once I got the patterns down, I didn't even have to think. It was…freeing."

"Do you miss it?"

"Sometimes," I admitted, pushing off the wall as I heard the front door open, indicating Minho's return.

"Ghost, wait." I turned around to look at Thomas, and he smiled bashfully. "Thank you, for saving me. I know you gave up everything."

I smiled lightly. "Yeah well, I got something new in return." Before Thomas had the chance to reply, Minho appeared around the corner of the house, stuffing a notepad in his backpack. "Lead on, your majesty." I said with an exaggerated bow. Minho rolled his eyes and led us away.

Again, sorry if this feels a little weird. I haven't written Ghost in a while and she's changed some from what she was when she first arrived in the Glade. I'm still trying to really find her, you know?

Question of the Day: Do you have any New Year's resolutions?

My Answer: Actually, mine is to finish this fanfic and update more regularly.