I'm so sorry that I haven't updated in a while, I've had some pretty intense exams over the past month or so, and things are getting quite busy!

Not to worry, I will be updating still, please share some love, and I hope you enjoy the long awaited chapter!

CHAPTER 21:

The temporary stillness that had fallen over the glade was suddenly shaken off that day with an unfortunate event- not tragic. At least, not tragic yet. Mike, a fellow Original, a good friend when she bothered to communicate with the truthfully dull and slow witted boy, was a Builder. All the Builders were slow witted and this was common knowledge shared amongst the lower castes of the microcosm of society they were a part of, an unspoken truth, kept under wraps so as to never incur Gally's rage. So, under the command of slow witted Gally, slow witted Mike took a fall- a nasty one- leaving him with a concussion and a permanently confused expression on his unfortunate face.

"So, Clint? Gally's been scratching n' growling at my shuck heels for the past day, and if I don't give him something to think on, he'll throw a boy into the Maze." she demanded, crossing her arms with irritation.

Clint pushed a breath through his lips, his eyes meeting hers, "What else do you want me to add? I've told ya shanks 'bout a million times- he's got a concussion!"

"Is he getting better?" Adira pressed, her tone even.

"Straight on going to the grave." Clint deadpanned and Adira pursed her lips at his sarcasm.

"I'll tell Gally that-"

"Hang on!" Clint whined exasperatedly, sighing dramatically in annoyance, "I'll tell ya."

She turned to face the Med-Jack, her eyebrows lifted in apparent confusion.

"Oh?"

"Slim it." Clint muttered, "Anyway, the shank isn't getting any better…or any worse. Still got a concussion, but I wasn't lying when I said I couldn't give you more info on him."

"It's only cos…Gally." she sighed, remembering how Clint's first friend had been Mike, "Otherwise, I wouldn't bother you much."

Clint nodded, almost bitterly, "It's his friend, I get it. Still, tell him to slim it. I've had enough of messengers coming in here every five minutes."

Adira nodded, waving in farewell as she headed over to Gally, who was alone near the Deadheads, apparently observing the boys walking around the Glade.

"Gally."

"News?" he grunted, "Cos if it's the same, go back. Ask Clint again."

She stood her ground, completely and utterly fed up with his antisocial, aggressive behaviour. She'd been lenient for a long while now- after all, he was an Original, been in the Glade at the second earliest possible time and he's been Stung too. Empathy, she was not short of, but tolerance was waning thin as she took in his resolute stance, set jaw and angry frown. She understood that being Stung was at the very least, traumatic but she didn't understand his constant aggression to everything. Everyone had their bad days, yet he seemed to have them every day and it wasn't good for the Glade or for him.

"Gally, what's up with you?" she said squarely, leaving the question purposefully broad, "I've just about had it with your klunk."

He turned around, his burly build framed black against the luminous sun. "Ain't none of your business, Ad. Keep your-"

"I'm the shuck Leader, so it damn well is my business when whatever you've got going on starts interfering with the Glade." she interjected stoutly, not caring of the harshness of her words. "You're attitude ain't doing you any favours, Keeper, Original or not. "

Gally's lips thinned and he faced away from her, hiding the drooping shadows of his face.

"You haven't been Stung. So you don't get to say nothing about what I am and what I'm not."

"You're a shuckface for not telling us your issues." she said evenly, "Some of us in here ain't all that bad, Gally. You came up with the boys and they're your brothers, not punching bags. Fine if you don't want to share what's crawled up your ass but treat 'em with a little more respect. "

Gally snorted but the sound was pathetically empty of any real derision, low and coarse against the tender words that had left her. Being Leader had been a rollercoaster, but ultimately, to Adira, it all boiled down to the question of whether she should become an unfeeling First, the supreme leader of the hell they were thrust into or if she should at least try and connect with the suffering boys, give some of her genuine advice and support. So far, she'd found the balance between both the states and although she wasn't Minho- strict and controlling to the last degree of accuracy or Newt who'd give you better advice than anyone else in a 200 mile radius, she'd become a stable, symbolic sentiment of steadfast, honest leadership, filled with compassion and strictness founded from concern for the boys' safety. And it was working.

"You tell me they're my brothers, but-"

Gally cut himself off, bitterly shaking his head, as he forced a pained breath through his lips.

"You haven't been Stung."

"I know." she said, slightly impatiently. "We all know. What are you trying to say?"

"Don't tell a soul."

"If you tell me anything in the first place."

He rolled his eyes, before lapsing into his serious mood sans the usual repulsive hostility.

"I-I saw things…no, memories. And…I promise, Ad, we're better off in here. The outside world…the Glade is so much better than that."

Her mind reeled with the information he'd given, trying desperately to wrap her head around the notion of the outside world being even more dangerous than the Maze.

"You think this is hell?" Gally shook his head with a grim certainty that shook her core, "You haven't seen anything yet."

"Right. So he's going insane."

"The sensitivity is astounding." Adira deadpanned as she watched Minho roll his eyes at her dead humour, his fingers drawing the familiar, repetitive lines of the Maze automatically. "And I wasn't even talking to you."

Newt chuckled from the corner of the Map room, the blade of his machete glinting in the light of the candles and oddly strewn filament bulb. He'd been quiet, as usual, taking her words seriously, ready to offer her good advice. She'd found him as soon as the Maze walls shut to tell him of Gally's news, but because of the concentrated population of boys, they'd retreated to the Map room, where Minho was and remained despite their half-hearted attempts at shooing him out.

"Didn't ya say you wouldn't speak a word?" Newt grinned, limping to her side. "Broke the confidentiality of a Glader, looks like."

"Hush boy." Adira whispered, "Best friends don't count."

"Real professional." Minho whistled.

She gave him a withering look as she turned to Newt, "Well?"

Newt shrugged, his face ambiguous, "Well what? Ain't nothin' much I can say to that, Ad. He says he's seen things and so he has."

"You believe him?" she asked, almost surprised.

"He doesn't lie." Newt said, his voice slightly strained, "Too shucking hot-headed for subtlety."

"So you do?"

Newt quietened in his efforts to convey his thoughts, formulating a sentence in his mind.

"Look, he ain't the only one round here getting those memories, yeah? You shanks for example. I believe you with that and even if I didn't, it shows. I don't know what happened exactly and I don't understand what happened between you two but whatever thing formed between ya both, I can… see it. Gally…since he'd been Stung he's changed and a shuck blind man would tell me the same. Ain't nothing like trauma to convert a man from a heart of gold to hell's demons' itself."

It wasn't often Newt reverted into his philosophical moods, sharing wise morals and epiphanies composed of careful logic and reason but when he did, people listened, and they listened closely. It was what made him so fit for second in command; not just that he was approachable, funny, friendly and kind but also because more practically, he was rational and reasonable, and only offered high quality advice. People listened to him.

"Well do you believe the outside is worse? Because, I really can't understand how that's even possible!" Adira said, her volume increasing slightly, coming out on the peak of fear.

Newt shook his head, "I've had a few memories too- nothin' like yours or Gally's but blurry flashbacks and I'll be honest, it doesn't look like Disneyland. I don't know, Ad, maybe it's the Creators playin' but you gotta think- someone put us in here, to kill us. How bad is the world out there for 'em to do that? "

Adira pursed her lips, her gaze falling to the floor. It was a large pill to swallow, despite knowing it was the cold, hard truth deep down.

"We don't really have a choice either way." Adira concluded, "We have to get out."

"No one's debatin' with ya." Newt shrugged, "I want to kill those shuck Creators if it's the last thing I do. But if the other Gladers catch wind of what's going on, some of 'em might decide to do things their way."

Minho looked up from his map, his face sombre.

"Gally's lost hope. If there ever was a pathetic, cryin' shuckface it's him. We're not going to stop running cos one shank decides that he's too shucking scared to face the Creators, worse or not."

Adira nodded, inspired by his contagious passion. Anything vaguely related to the Maze always intrigued Minho. It was, despite its hellish nature, his place of pride, the domain he ruled.

"Harsh." Newt nodded, "Like I said, I ain't arguing 'bout it. If they found out, the Gladers will."

"So they don't find out, simple." Minho answered brusquely.

"Confidentiality." Newt grinned, tipping his head to Adira in a sarcastic manner, "Gotta protect it."

She sniffed haughtily at him, crossing her arms and opening the Map room's door widely; "Dinner?"

Frypan's aromatic cooking lingered in the air as she walked out into the open air, in the dead of night, the cool wind brushing up goosebumps, a distant caress reminiscent of empty love. It reminded her of a dead family and she wondered how true it rang. Sometimes, the silence and stillness of the Glade persuaded her to reflect sincerely on her troubles and allowed her to make decisions with a clear conscience. The general chatter and hubbub that came with Glade life only served to squeeze her, press down on her like a weight- it was why she entered the Maze whenever she was full of worries.

Cool winds, dark skies, serene silence were her heaven. If there was one thing she could wish for, other than escaping the Maze, it would be this pure calmness that drifted through her soul. She would wish the peace for everyone, Minho, Newt, Nico, Fry…Gally. Maybe that's why he was so aggressive and surly. He never felt peace. His insides were constantly warring and he'd never catch a minute break from the voices. No wonder.

She slowed her breathing, sitting down on the soft patch of grass Minho and she usually inhabited when cutting her hair, fingers stroking the place of good memories. In her position, she could see the Glade, but no one could see her, the pale milky moonlight facing away from her, giving sweet respite. Never before did she think she would be able to appreciate the solace of silence, listening to the gentle thud of her heart, reminiscent of the drums some drunken boy would batter on Bonfire days. The beating reminding her that she was very much alive, very much still living, walking, breathing.

And that was hope.

She was lucky to be alive in such a horrendous place- many had died, for what and why?

Their weaknesses weren't a solution to the million dollar question. Nick didn't die because of weakness, he died because…curiosity killed the cat. Not that she wasn't sorry he'd passed, but still, his death was a warning to her, testament to the danger that roped the Glade as well as the Maze, trip wires built everywhere designed to kill. A single touch, and death.

She still didn't know what she looked like, apart from a vague idea, yet she preferred it that way. Not knowing what she looked like helped her in a strange manner, in terms of the politics of living with a bunch of teenage boys. They didn't care if she looked like klunk because she didn't care if she looked like klunk. Her beauty was her confidence and if that shattered, then she was a mere shell.

Leadership was tough. She didn't know how tough when she'd stepped up to the role, knighted by the fearful approval of the Originals. Never realised the true strength it took to lead them all safely. But there was Newt and god, if there wasn't Newt, she wouldn't have been alive. She remembered her mournfully grim conversation with Gally, an eon ago, after George had run out. He'd complimented her leadership then with admirable genuineness, but he'd never foresaw being Stung by the very monsters she had tacitly consented to protect them from.

"You know you're a damn good leader." Gally said seriously, "We wouldn't be shucking alive if weren't for you."

He was calm, proper and had an iron understanding of the rules and his support was a good one. Enough to be loyal and stick up for you, but rational enough to call out klunk. And she realised she missed him being that way. She missed seeing his face curve into a decent smile when he saw her, even if they were rare, she cherished the moments when he brought her back up.

The Glade had lost him. There was nothing to be done to change him and she couldn't change him for the sake of the Gladers either. He was a shuckface, sure, even before being Stung, yet he'd been tolerable. Now, there was nothing to be done and the realisation didn't calm her nerves. There was always a chance that one of the other boys- damn it, Minho- could be Stung, never revived again, lost forever.

And she knew that was worse than burying their still, dead, corpses.

Newt's words played over in her head. His speech on dreams and memories and how he didn't understand the bond between her and Minho, she couldn't deny that it confused her. She expected him to. The guy was her best friend after all and she'd felt a connection with him, like she'd known him from before. Though that was with Minho too, but their relationship had started in a rocky was her right hand man and when she had initiated his position as second in command she knew he'd be right there, beside her. He'd pick her up if she fell and she'd pick him up too. They were brothers and sisters, and she loved him with a ferocity she couldn't claim to have felt before.

Minho…he'd always been different. He wasn't a boisterous personality, though he seemed like he would have been; just overly sarcastic, reserved and a very large dose of intimidation added to the mix. She loved him too, of course, how could she not, but it was different and it frustrated her to not know why. The change had been present when they'd synced their dreams together and their relationship had strengthened even more than before and she loved it.

They were her best friends and the very idea of their grief spurred her forwards, motivated her to keep working, make the Glade safer, stronger, happier, better until they found a way out. They were symbolic of her hope and if anyone got out of the Maze it would be them; Newt, even with his limp and Minho, even with his lack of subtlety. She didn't know if she would live and she wondered how they'd continue their lives without her.

She knew she didn't possess the willpower to live if they died.

Another year passed like quicksilver between their fingers and soon enough, she was celebrating her two year anniversary with admirable gusto.

"Don't be like this." Fry practically begged as he tried to pry her dead body off the chair near the food table at the monthly bonfire, "You're scaring away all the boys and then I'll get blamed if they're hungry cos they're all scared of you."

She shrugged somewhat lamely but stood up, grabbing Gally's brew off the table as she sauntered away from the buzzing heat of the fire burning in the centre of the chaotic party. The Greenie was paraded around the boys, all staring at the new unfortunate specimen trapped with them for the rest of however long they'd be stuck in the Glade. He was a proud, arrogant one, tall and strong with developed biceps and good posture. But his intelligence was scant and with an instinctual feeling that had arisen out of months and months of guessing new Greenies' job positions, she knew he'd be a Builder.

The outskirts of the party were her home that night and she watched quietly from the silent sides, her heart heavy, mind remembering the traumatic first month she had endured but worse still, the two years spent trapped. She was seventeen now and she'd grown, grown into the Leader, Runner, sister and a confidant for everyone in the Glade and still, they were there. The Originals weren't boys anymore, no they were men, even little Kasper, tall and sturdy. And it hurt to know their lives were dictated by someone else.

"Two years, huh?"

"Yes."

There was a pause and she regretted the sharpness of her answer.

"You can't give up, Ad."

"I know I can't." Adira replied and her voice was painfully small. She turned around, coming face to face with Minho and she revelled in the planes of his face, the focus he gave to her. She knew even without her memories that finding the love that she shared with him and Newt was near impossible, so strong their bond.

"I'm seventeen, Min." she whispered, her bottom lip trembling slightly, "And I'm still here."

The words were simple and concise yet they brought up dimensions of emotions that coursed between the two of the longest living Gladers, two of the strongest, two of the bravest. She'd been strong for so long, fighting through two years, hoping the next day would be the last day and they'd be out.

"Seventeen, damn it!" she murmured under her breath, blinking hard to stop the hopelessness seeping in. It wasn't working this time. She'd been able to brush off the pain with a hard blink but it wasn't working anymore and the thought terrified her. She was losing herself, emptying her soul in the trap.

Minho didn't say anything, only put his arm around her shoulders, signalling discreetly to Newt and steering her to the Runners Hut. His warm, solid arm comforted her more than it should have, soothing her amidst her grief.

She sat heavily on the Mapping table, surprised that Minho said nothing, her head hanging low as she bathed in bitter sorrow. Nothing in the world could replace time, yet two years had been stolen from her, right from beneath her feet, leaving her disorientated, confused and hopeless. Her brother was somewhere out there- dead or alive, how would she know? What was her past? Why was she here? The motivation to kill the Creators, the very words she'd promised Nick, was fading, slipping as the Creators stole her soul.

"Hey."

Minho's voice was low and deep, a mere whisper as it reached her ears, beckoning her attention. She lifted her head up, finding his dark eyes staring into hers with a morbid look of understanding.

She loved his eyes. More than anything else. They were dark but so variable, either shuttered off and completely blank to the world or expressive, bright with humour and intelligent wit, or brooding, anger swirling in their depths, or reflective of his grating sarcasm, or incredibly poignant in the dim light of the Map room on their late night research.

"Don't give up."

He enunciated each word clearly, injecting life into each one, conjuring them into eloquent, meaningful phrases. They sounded different now, not the same old phrase she used whenever they felt down but entirely different, filled with the elixir of aspiration.

"I'm really trying not to, Min." she said, the words a low whisper, "But it's shucking hard when we've been stuck for two whole years in here. We don't even have a lead and you're risking your lives everyday-"

She paused, sucking in a deep breath of air, tempering her emotions down. No point getting worked up.

"For what? Are we ever getting out of here, Min, really? It's been so long and there hasn't been a lead, not even now."

The words hung in the air.

"I'll do better." Minho said, his words sounding exhausted. She flinched.

"I didn't mean you weren't-"

"But I wanna get us out of here, Ad." Minho said, raising his eyes to look at her, crossing his arms, "I don't want to stay here, wondering if my mum and dad are up there, somewhere looking for me, wondering how different our lives would've been if we were shucking normal!"

"I don't want to be here." Adira stated blandly, suddenly feeling an intense urge to cry.

Minho's face softened from his earlier aggressive passion, as he stood opposite her. There was no need to say anything and the silence only emphasised the pain in her quiet, sporadic sobs.

Newt's soft, limping pace entered the silence and his soft sigh of despair on behalf of his friend blanketed her- a cloak of concern- as he limped to her side, giving her a side hug.

She couldn't control the frequency of her tears anymore as Newt held her, his limp pronounced, only showing the damage the Maze had caused them all. If they weren't stuck in here, he'd have been fine, running as freely as he used to, because despite hating the Maze, he had loved running, like a gazelle, or like a sprinter, a cheetah.

"I need a dill tea." she demanded as soon as she had entered the Med hut, her stomach clenching with pain. Clint glanced at her, rolling his eyes amusedly.

"Coming right up, your Highness." he replied dryly, brewing the strong, warm tea.

"I've got enough claims of royalty from Minho." Adira explained impatiently, "No need for more."

Clint shrugged, passing a small flask of the pain relieving tea, a grin on his face, "Good luck for the week, Leader."

"I really want to put you in the Slammer." she murmured longingly, unscrewing the flask to sip the liquid. Warm fluids flowed freely through her throat, a little bitterness left behind in her mouth. Take that period.

"But you wouldn't." Clint sighed, sarcastically, "Anything else?"

"Mike?"

"He's getting checked up today." Clint shrugged, suddenly colder, "Nothing's clicked for the poor guy."

Adira nodded sadly, raising her flask in goodbye as she left the Med hut slightly more depressed than when she had entered. All in a day's work.

Mike hadn't ever gotten fully better after the disastrous fall he had taken and it had been a collective agreement that there were no options left for him. So, he was left to roam aimlessly in the Glade and the boys would try to keep an eye out for the disorientated boy, but when the sun was pounding, their skin was smarting and their muscles were toiling, it was hard to pay attention to him. So the duty officially fell upon the shoulders of the Baggers.

"Morning Newt." she greeted her second in command's back as he got ready at his station in the Gardens. They'd assigned him as a Track hoe officially in a Gathering and despite the reasons behind the initiation, the ceremony was somewhat joyous and Newt's darker mood was completely overwhelmed by Kasper's sunshine smile.

"Mornin' Leader." he returned, facing her direction after a moment of trying to locate her voice, "Up bright and early aren't you?"

"Without fail." she said in a preppy manner, saluting him sarcastically, before dissolving her façade and giving him a smile.

"Where are you working today then?" Newt asked, his doe like eyes basically begging her to stay at the Gardens.

She tapped her chin, faking a look of deep thought before replying haltingly, "I think…I'm not sure, but I think I promised Calvin that I would work in the Gardens today."

"Great." Newt beamed, not bothering to hide his glee. "I'll have good company for the day, then."

She raised her eyebrow questioningly, laughing slightly, "We'll see what you're going to say once the day is over."

"Threatening." Newt commented, nodding sarcastically as he raised his arm in greeting to Calvin from across the Gardens. "I'll be treadin' on shuck eggshells now."

"You do that." Adira nodded, "I'm heading to ask Calvin for my jobs."

Newt looked thoughtful for a split second, before he turned around and in his demanding second-in-command voice, he yelled at Calvin, his words sharp and clear despite the volume, "Cal, can the Leader work here with me, I need help with the tomatoes!"

Calvin looked visibly confused before his expression cleared up, a look of understanding passing his face like a shadow on the ground.

"Good that, Newt!" he yelled back, giving Adira a salute and turning back to his work.

Adira rolled her eyes at his goofy grin, leaning down to help him with the taxing work of watering the tomatoes that Calvin prized. She wondered why he adored those in particular. Probably because they matched in colour with his hair.

Ralph, a sturdy boy with coarse, black hair and shadowed brown eyes nodded amicably at Adira, his respect clear within his posture. She remembered his bonfire ceremony, his acceptance as a Glader, the tall roaring bonfire and the searing heat it had brought onto her skin. The cheering that had eventually deafened her that night. It had been a century ago.

The day's hard labour was softened by Newt's cheerful company and his light teasing and the pair of leaders left the Gardens in high spirits, a good layer of fine dirt coating their skin, faces reddened by work. Calvin had looked decently pleased with their efforts that day, taking the time to compliment Newt's newly calloused fingers, claiming it was "a sign of a good Track hoe". The basket of ripe, clean tomatoes being delivered to Frypan only strengthened Calvin's comment.

"You two look good."

Adira rolled her eyes as Minho gulped down the water she had brought him, whilst Newt only chuckled, slapping the Keeper's shoulder firmly. Minho swiped at his mouth, grinning as he stared at his best friends' glares, happy to see that he still pissed them off as severely as his first day in the Glade.

"How was the run shuckface?" Newt asked, leaning heavily on his good leg. Adira copied his stance, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow as if they were interrogating him. "Do tell, Min."

Minho smirked, "Great. Got into a fistfight with a Griever, nothing special."

Adira's smile dropped off instantly and she ran her eyes over him, "Where are you hurt?"

"No faith in me at all." Minho tutted, already making his way to the Map room, "I wasn't even scratched, Ad."

Newt laughed as he glanced down at Adira in time to catch her harassed expression morphing into exasperation, shaking her hair out of her face as her cheeks reddened in annoyance.

"Give the man a break, Ad." Newt chuckled, laying a hand on her shoulder, "He's just come back from running."

Adira pursed her lips, clearly wanting to argue, but reigned in her annoyance as she muttered under her breath, "He's so full of it."

"I ain't denying nothing." Newt confirmed, laughing slightly at her irritation, his easy going nature soothing her aggravation. "Let's head to the kitchens, good that."

"Good that." Adira nodded, following the tall blonde to the Kitchens.

"WAIT FOR MEE!" Minho yelled behind them, and Adira suppressed a laugh, discreetly urging Newt to walk faster.

And as they walked away through the fiery glow of the sunset, warmed by their bond with one another , the friendship they shared, they basked in the rare moments of happiness they had obtained, hands grasping for another, smiles broad and eyes longing.

Her hand loosely around his wrist, feeling the thrum of his heart, gazing at the stars as Newt slept lightly beside them. This was heaven. Because when he turned to look at her, there was a glistening softness in them that she'd never seen before, full of something she couldn't quite understand. She knew she was loved. And to her, that was heaven.

He agreed. She was heaven.