Hi!

Tohru-san: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEW! And yes, I have read the Death Cure and sobbed for days too. And Thomas and Teresa...well we'll see. Those two are always a relationship that ha and my take on it is one that I hope coincides with yours.

CHAPTER 5:

Minho's immediate strategy was plain stupid. Of course, no one was surprised when he'd suggested going into the club guns blazing but even he'd known it was ridiculous before voicing it. So everyone smoothed over the remnants of his worried frustration and before long they'd formulated a vague structure that was honestly, not very different to Minho's spectacular brainwave.

"So we're going in?" Frypan asked, hesitancy creeping into his voice like an infectious virus. Minho rolled his eyes, shooting an irritated glance at the former cook. The entrance was not more than a couple dozen metres away and the Glader was having second thoughts now.

"Duh, shuckface. We're getting our wonderful Thomas back."

"No questions asked," Newt added and his curtness ended any more emerging protests. She was glad for it too. Any more empty responses to their task and she might've snapped.

"I'm going in," she announced calmly.

They'd planned it out well enough; she'd enter the club first, looking like the typical drunk Crank entering the concentrated alcoholism fest and signalling for the other Gladers every so often depending on the inside conditions.

"Be careful," Minho stressed, holding her back gently by the shoulder. Judging by what they'd seen, the patriarchy hadn't dissolved despite the advance in technology and the women in the institution were still treated like klunk, something that irked her and worried him. Still, she could handle herself. She had to.

"Of course," she whispered, taking his hand off her shoulder, her fingers lingering on his before walking to the entrance, her stride transforming into a sloppy, angled one, simulating the walk of a drunken Crank. Fighting against turning back to meet the eyes boring into her head, she continued through the door, stopped by a Crank just in the doorway.

"Hello darlin'!"

The man that greeted her was less than pleasant looking with greasy blonde hair slicked back into a ponytail and a yellow grin accompanied with putrid breath that set her on edge. Her glance flickered back to the Gladers, who were out of sight, before returning to the volatile Crank in front of her, a feeling of disgust building up in her throat.

"Hiyaa."

She cringed internally at the drunk drawl she'd somehow managed to produce before slipping past the man, tensing only slightly as she caught sight of the gun in his pocket. That was the first sign. Minho would be in soon and they'd have everyone in the place in their metaphorical pockets (another reason she hated WICKED- she barely had any pockets!).

Mixing into the crowd, she extracted the skilfully hidden penknife from under her shirt, making her way over to the bar to blend in seamlessly with the hot, sweaty crowd. It was questionable to say the least; the heat, cheap strobe lights and the wet scent of alcohol and humidity seeping into her skin. Yet, despite everything she'd expected of herself, she felt the energy of the place run through her blood, filling her ears with an energised hum. Maybe she had been a party girl after all. Couldn't say she'd imagined it of herself.

"There you are," Newt said, not looking at her to avoid suspicion, "thought I'd lost ya forever."

Unlike her, Newt certainly did not feel appreciative of the energy and music and heat. No. And that surprised him too. Out of the four of them, he was most sociable, the readiest to speak to new people.

"Well, you got me," she muttered, pushing back the glass she was holding with a drunken smile. "Minho's here right?"

"Course," Newt said and he flipped the blunt stick like object in his hand, "I'm heading to Aris, so he'll be with you soon."

Just like he said, Newt disappeared into the dancing crowd, hidden by flailing limbs and jumping bodies. An arm snaked around her waist and she turned to see the blonde Crank from the doorway. Revulsion threatened to make itself known in the form of vomit decorating his grimy shirt but she held it back.

"You look wonderful," the Crank said, shoving a drink into her hand, "Have a drink! You'll want to dance more, have fun, let loose!"

He was wrong. It would only serve to make her want to puke more, but she took the drink with a sugary smile, hiding her growing panic. She was almost fully sure he'd spiked it.

"Ah there you are!"

Relief flowed through her as Minho's voice came up behind her. She turned the drink down onto the bar table, shrugging, grabbing his hand and pulling him onto the dance floor, too fast for the Crank to express any displeasure.

"Thanks," she muttered and Minho shrugged, eyeing the man with obvious disgust.

"Should 'a just stabbed him," he said, nodding to the knife in her grip.

"Cos that would have been subtle," she snorted and he rolled his eyes, a tiny grin decorating his face.

"We'll get the chance," he joked, "Fry said he was the one who kidnapped Thomas and Brenda."

She sighed. She really should have just stabbed him then and there.

"Right," Minho said, "we have to get them now."

She caught Newt raising his arm in the air, and in the next second, he had knocked a guard like man across the head, effectively leaving him on the floor unconscious. Cranks started filtering out, not wanting to get caught up in a fight.

Minho was next, knocking out another Crank, one with no eye, and gaining attention of more people. Soon, the Gladers had the main ringleaders of the club in their hold with knives under their throats or on the floor, unconscious. Frypan and Newt were holding the entrance of the place, fearsome blades held at the ready. A few screams echoed as the Gladers made their intentions clearer.

She had the blonde Crank at her mercy, the penknife digging in hard enough to remind him of the fragility of his life at that moment. The power was surreal and she was grinning as Minho went down a staircase, calling out Thomas and Brenda's name.

"You'll pay for that," the Crank spoke and she only dug her knife in further, not bothering to reply to him. Satisfaction swelled like a wave.

There was the sound of running feet and before long, the confused voice of her brother sounded up the assumed staircase. Banging the door open with a flourish, Minho appeared on the other side, grinning triumphantly as Thomas and Brenda peeked out behind him.

"Let's go shanks," Minho said, eyeing the Cranks in the room, "y'all better stay nice and calm otherwise we'll be ripping some arteries."

She pursed her lips at his imagery but he grinned, leading them out of the door, heading away from the club. The Cranks didn't say anything, hands held up in a surprisingly complacent manner of surrender. Half of them were drunk and the other half were scared out of their wits. She wanted to laugh; they weren't anything scary- just a gang of teenagers trying their best to survive. Not that the blonde Crank was buying their façade, but there wasn't much protesting one could do with a knife under their throat and a promise of death.

She walked out quickly, not liking having her back to the volatile creatures inside and then, tacitly, they started sprinting away from the Crank club. They didn't stop running until a long while, but when they did, no words were spoken and they slept the short fitful sleep they had become accustomed to.

"Break!" Minho called, his voice strained but clear and loud. And at the right time too. She felt like she was going to collapse what, with the heat and the sheer effort required to move. Minho noticed and he discreetly curved his arm around her waist to support her and she returned the gesture so that they looked like two hobbling lumps.

"That one's empty," Newt said, pointing to a small clay hut, with a low sloping roof and a shady entrance. It looked inviting with its dark interior that promised cool air.

"Let's go."

The Gladers trudged to the building with more energy than ever, inspired by the rest they'd receive. After a solid week and two days, they'd made progress over the City, but were considerably slowed with the Cranks and the lack of food. Yet they'd made it out. Five days left. She licked her lips in nervous anticipation.

"Oh, I'm shucking in heaven," Frypan groaned, tipping his head back as if he was talking to the ceiling. She couldn't blame him. The shade felt fifty degrees cooler than the sun.

"Take a break, take a break," Minho muttered and the boys settled down, the smell of sweat and blood poisoning the air. He didn't sit down like she'd expected him too but her legs were hurting and her skin was peeling so she sat next to his feet, smiling up at him expectantly.

He grinned, obliging her silent request.

"Nothing like the shade," he said and his voice seemed loud despite the low murmurs of voices filling the room.

"Nothing like the shade," she repeated, her lips barely moving as if in prayer. Brown, familiar orbs searched her face before they closed and then he was kissing her, his lips warm and soft and like home. It was over too quick and she wished she could feel his touch again.

"You look great," Minho said randomly and her lips curved into a barely there smile.

"Thank you," she replied, grinning now as he smiled goofily, "you look great too."

Her smile faded as the reality of their situation sharpened, "Five days. Five days to make it up over those mountains."

The imposing curves of the rock structures were just visible from the doorway and she looked away, disturbed. They were huge. Massive. And they only had five days.

Minho shrugged, his smirk never displacing, "Eh. We'll make it."

She rolled her eyes, tipping her head back like Frypan and closing her eyes, fooling herself that she was asleep. Minho didn't say anything. He was always like this- nonchalant about their problems, always ready to face anything as it came despite their odds. But her? No. She worried. She was a worrier to her core and it was the one thing she despised about herself. Newt noticed, in the small keen way he always did and he came over.

"Alright there, love?" he asked lightly and she nodded.

"Fine," she said finally as his worried eyes didn't shift from her face.

"Okay," he said, before he turned to Minho who was playing with the cuff of his cargo trousers.

"Calm yourself," Newt advised once Minho had relayed their conversation. He'd immediately figured out what was bothering her. It was times like this when she was eternally grateful for his friendship. "Remember what I always bloody say to ya. Stop worryin'. It ain't gonna do ya any good and you'll be feeling rough after it all and for nothin' too."

His words calmed her despite them not really being the best ones. They'd always worked for her though. They got her through the Glade and they'd get her through the shuck Scorch trials. Minho was watching them keenly, as if he was trying to memorise the interaction.

"Thanks Newt," she said lowly, feeling a hint of shame. Why couldn't she be like the others? Not always, constantly worrying.

"Absolutely no problem," he said unconcernedly, "you just tell yourself what I say every time you feel like your head's working overtime."

"Sure," she said, grinning at his comfortable smile, the familiar twinkle in his eyes and the light humour he carried.

"Atta girl," he complimented and then Thomas was calling him and he raised a hand to say goodbye.

"You okay?" Minho asked guiltily, "I didn't mean to make you worry."

"No, not your fault," she said, grabbing his hand, lacing their fingers, "I just get this way every once in a while and Newt can calm me down, so it's okay."

Minho looked at her for a brief second more and the shutters she'd seen fall when they were in her old room back in the place they'd been trapped in first, fell again and she frowned.

"Why'd you do that?"

He smirked, but it was hollow, "Do what?"

"That thing," she said, gesturing lamely with her hands, "you shut off."

Minho looked away, so obviously guilty it was comical, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Alright Minho," she muttered deciding to leave the subject and rolling her eyes, "And I'm freaking Albert Einstein."

"Potentially," he smirked, "considering we're named after genius people."

"You're so sweet. Comparing me to a man with hair that defied gravity itself."

Minho winked, "You defy all laws of physics, baby."

"Please stop," Frypan whined dramatically, "I'm begging you. I might actually die."

"No one asked you to listen," Minho spat, but he looked amused at the extravagant look of disgust on his face. Leave it to Frypan to be overdramatic.

"I can't help it" Frypan cried, pointing to his ears like they were the answers, "I don't have selective hearing shuckface."

"Go invest in some," Newt chuckled, "trust me, you'll need it when you're around those two."

"Slim it," Minho said, the lilt of amusement only pushing up Newt's grin. He turned away, disgruntled, but only she was privy to the glow of pride shining through his face. Hearing Newt's laughs was a little joy to him, something he privately strove to be the cause of.

Thomas careened into Newt's shoulder, panting slightly for no obvious reason. The blonde boy steadied him, chuckling under his breath at the red flush in Thomas' cheeks and the twinkle in his eye.

Minho pointed at Thomas, "Your name. It's shucking everywhere."

Thomas' brightness faded minutely and he replied with a pathetic flap of his hand, "Mum, I'm famous."

"How's that going for you?" Minho snorted, pulling up a finger, "One, got bombed. Two, got threatened to go to a shuck party. Three, got drugged. Need I say more?"

"Keep going, why don't you?" Newt mumbled and she folded her hands around the three fingers Minho held up.

"How about no?" she suggested, "I think we could all do with some sleep now and pretend everything's okay."

"Sounds good to me," Minho agreed and Newt shrugged, moving off to find a comfortable space to sleep in. Thomas followed, like a chick following its mother. Mama Newt. God, that felt like decades ago.

But he'd always taken care of them.

Even from beyond the grave.

"Look there," Newt said suddenly, his face concentrated and alarmed. She looked in the direction he was pointing in, her exhausted body straightening with interest. Thomas looked too, his light expression freezing into one of shock and persuading Minho to look up too.

"Group B," she muttered, the figures of girls wielding weapons eerily similar to their own group. Judging by the numbers, they were at a disadvantage.

"Teresa," Thomas gasped and Brenda looked at him sharply. He gave her a sheepish look and she turned away. Obviously there had been drama between the two of them while they had been separated and based on Brenda's sudden chilliness she could tell it was to do with Teresa. A potential love spat.

The girls kept advancing, but the Gladers quickly realised that the determination in Teresa's face and the hostility they were exuding meant trouble. Her bright blue eyes scanned the crowd, searching.

"Hi to you too Teresa," Minho called out, voice dripping in sarcasm. "Nice greeting you've got for us."

She didn't speak and the Gladers bristled, immediately on edge with the girls' unreasonable antagonism. Adira caught sight of a lone boy in the back, surprised to find he was already looking directly at her- Clyde. Aris made a weird move.

"You," Teresa said suddenly, pointing at Thomas, "what's your name?"

Thomas looked confused, "Teresa? Hello, it's me?"

She moved like a viper, fast and silent as she struck a beam of wood around Thomas' cheek, rendering him completely shocked and hurt.

"What the shuck?" Minho yelled, making a move towards her, but an arrow shot in front of him before he could decapitate her and he stumbled back, just managing to keep his toes.

"Stay," Teresa said grimly, "otherwise you'll get shot. This isn't a joke. We will shoot you if you try and stop us."

"What are you playing at Teresa?" she asked irritably, edging as discreetly as possible to her brother, "Since when did you start threatening your friends?"

"Friends?" Teresa asked blankly and Adira clenched her jaw. Sure, she hadn't been the friendliest, but there had been a connection forming in the dorm rooms, before she vanished. She'd put aside the past to make way for future love, but was this it? At least, she'd tried and she hadn't swung a weapon at Teresa's head, regardless of her dislike.

"How about we talk about whatever this is rather than getting all worked up and shooting each other to death, eh?" Newt suggested warily, "We aren't the bloody enemy here Teresa."

"No," Teresa countered boldly, her bright blue eyes unwavering and fixated on Thomas' battered form, "Are you Thomas?"

"For the love of," Newt interrupted angrily, "is this how you treat the people who cared for ya, Teresa? The people who made sure you didn't die, who gave you shelter when you were in a shuck coma?"

The girl didn't even shift, not even under Newt's infamous glare, the one that made even her shaky. Newt commanded a respect that made sure you never disappointed him, simply because the look of displeasure on his face would be enough to make you feel as though you murdered someone. But she wasn't budging, not even with his clever words.

"Is your name Thomas?" Teresa asked, swiping at Thomas again when he didn't answer.

"Shucking hell, leave the man alone, you slinthead," Minho cried, eyes widening at the sheer brutality she was showing.

"I'm Thomas!" Thomas finally yelled, his face betrayed, "Stop whacking me like a madwoman, god!"

Teresa reeled back her weapon, satisfied, "Come with us. Now. Otherwise those arrows are gonna start flying and no one cares where they land. Might go kill your little friends."

Thomas remained frozen on the spot and Frypan shook his head, "Ain't no way on earth you're taking that shank away from us. Why d'ya even want him? He ain't got much to offer other than always getting into trouble."

Adira could tell what Frypan was doing and apparently so could Teresa as she beckoned for Thomas to start moving, her wooden beam landing across his back as encouragement.

"I'm counting. You get here in three or you die and so does everyone else?"

"One—"

And Thomas ran forward, ignoring the brush of her fingers as she tried to hold him back. Of course he'd sacrifice himself- he was idiotic like that.

"What the hell are you gonna do to him?" Minho yelled after them, "Where are you taking him?"

Teresa didn't answer, smiling saccharinely, "Thomas? Don't worry. He'll be erased forever soon and get outta your hair. Don't follow us. We'll shoot you, I swear on my life."

Minho, apparently, didn't seem to care for her threats, "Where the shuck are you taking him slinthead? Why the hell are you acting like you don't know him? The shank literally saved your life in the Maze."

Teresa rolled her eyes, smacking Thomas around the head again and signalling for the girls to aim an arrow at her. Clyde's dark eyes incited nothing but recognition and remorse for what they could have had. She could tell they'd been good friends once- all chances of rekindling that were gone. Having arrows aimed at you tended to do that.

"You speak one more time and that arrow goes straight through your girlfriend's heart."

That shut Minho up and she laughed as Thomas was dragged away and forced into a burlap sack, brown and rough, dragged across the rocks and abused by the harsh terrain. Taken.

They'd been fine- rested and chuffed, ready to walk on to their destination. And now Thomas was gone. All because of Teresa. If Minho doubted how bad the girl really was, then he was a changed man now.

"I don't understand," Newt said. He looked shocked, traumatised even. She didn't blame him. Seeing someone whack her brother round the head with a stick of wood and elicit blood made her feel rage like nothing before, betrayal even.

"Traitor," Minho spat looking fiery, "Teresa. That's what she is. A shucking traitor. We'll find him though. No doubt 'bout it."

She knew he'd said the last part as consolation to her and she discreetly rubbed at her eyes to remove the moisture gathering there. Teresa hadn't restrained herself with hurting Thomas and if her words sounded anything like it, Thomas was a dead man walking.

She'd never imagined Group B- the girls- coming up to them, wielding weapons and threatening to kill them as they stole a Glader from under their noses. She hated how they'd let it happen, let him be manhandled away like he'd been Frank or someone equally dispensable. She knew better though; they couldn't have done any more. Minho had cursed at the girls' backs intensely and with astounding creativity, Newt had tried everything from giving them his iciest glares and using the best diplomatic voice she'd ever heard him do and she'd almost ripped them apart with her bare hands. But what had that achieved? He was gone.

"Dammit," Minho swore again, agitated, "We gotta get that shuckface back."

No one disagreed and the Asian stood upright, hands on his hips glaring at the slope the girls had disappeared over, before scanning their landscape. He didn't talk for a long moment and she got up, her actions fuelled with hatred and the need for revenge. No use moping. She had to work fast, think fast and move to get her brother back. He always needed saving.

"There," Minho said, once she'd come up beside him, glancing at Newt who'd been next to him the whole time, "if we can go down by that mountain, then come back up that one, we should meet those slintheads and get Thomas back."

Newt was silent for several seconds, scanning the route Minho had crudely drawn out with his finger. She assessed the route, her uncertainty dissolving slowly but surely.

"Fine. Best chance we've got anyway. But we'll have to move fast, cos I'm almost hundred percent sure that route is going to take a bit longer."

She squinted as the sun's heat intensified, "I don't mind that. We could make it work."

Minho swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, blowing out a charged breath, "You ready?"

It seemed like a simple question but he was really asking if she was ready to murder everyone who'd hurt her brother. And she absolutely was. The uselessness she experienced as Thomas was bundled into a sack like a random object was burnt into her forever, a painful reminder of her mistake.

"Hell yes," she hissed and Minho nodding approvingly.

"Let's go shanks."

And they did.

"I can walk!" Thomas cried out, feeling the girls slow down as the slope increased. They were muttering none too quietly about their sore arms and his "fat arse". He would've been indignant with the choice words, but he wasn't really in a position to be snarky. Teresa shoved a stick into his stomach, hard and he scowled at the feeling.

All the talk about trust? Where did that go? He was so, so confused; one minute she was sobbing, kissing him, telling him she was sorry and the next moment she was laughing as he bled, throwing him across rocks and sticking a knife in his back. He winced as his knee was stabbed by another jagged rock.

"Teresa," a girl said, stopping, "we'll let the stick walk. I'm done carrying him around."

There was a brief moment of silence and he decided to back up the girl, "I can't do much! You have weapons- I don't."

"Shut up," Teresa said, slamming the sack with the stick, bludgeoning his leg. He gritted his teeth, not wanting her to gain any satisfaction.

"He's got a point," the girl said, and he found himself liking her smooth, almost deep voice. It was vaguely reminiscent of his sister's.

"Fine," Teresa said, irritation lacing her tone, "get him out then."

He felt the opening of the sack opening, felt fresh, cool air infiltrate the stuffy interior and smelt the burnt air of the Scorch, relishing the sting in his eyes.

"Get out," Teresa barked, "And if you try something, we aren't sparing you."

"Gee thanks," Thomas muttered and Teresa rose her eyebrows threateningly as he crawled out, met with the inviting points of spearheads and arrows, "I'm one guy. You can calm down with the weapons."

Teresa let out a sound of annoyance, punching his stomach, "Shut the hell up, I'm sick and tired of you."

"You're not the one getting shucked but okay." Thomas retaliated, getting to his feet, "I'll be a good boy, don't worry."

Teresa's comical aggravation only increased his betrayal. He couldn't believe she'd do this to him- he would never in a million years hurt a hair on her head. Not just physically too. He'd swear to never hurt her feelings either.

"Good," Teresa said, "otherwise we'll have problems."

"Oh trust me," Thomas scoffed, ignoring the jabs of spearheads in his back, "we're neck-deep in our problems, Teresa."

"One down." Minho finally ground out, turning back to the exhausted Gladers with an expression akin to a lion. The mountain had been hard to scale but they'd done it, spurred on by the barely recognisable figures of Group B. They'd stopped moving a while ago, presumably resting since dark was falling but the Gladers couldn't see them anymore once they'd headed downwards.

"Shall we rest?" Newt asked though his voice was reluctant.

Minho squinted into the distance before shaking his head, "I want to see them. We'll go halfway up the next mountain and take a good break. Once the sun comes up, we'll have three days to rescue Thomas and get our sorry butts to the Safe Haven."

The Gladers continued on, fast as they could in the dark. It wasn't long once they reached halfway up the slope of the next mountain, panting into the still air and just about able to distinguish Group B.

"Rest now."

There was no more chattering or mumbling once the boys hastened to sleep. It was starting to sink in now, that they were close to the end of the hellish two weeks and they'd be receiving the cure for the Flare. The news was taken somewhat apprehensively.

Thomas was annoyed, tired and more than anything, he wanted to get back to the Gladers. Other than Teresa, the girls had been surprisingly nice- in fact, they hadn't hurt him at all. As the dawn flourished around them, Harriet and Sonya were debating in hushed whispers, glancing every so often at his tied up form. Teresa was gone and had been for an hour.

"Right Thomas," Harriet started, shooting a glance at Sonya who only nodded grimly. He jerked to attention.

"We want to know everything," she said, her voice firm, the same smooth and deep voice he found vaguely comforting. "And before you complain, I would like to remind you that you're the one tied to a tree."

Thomas shrugged, "Who knows, maybe I have superpowers? And maybe you'll tell me things too?"

Harriet grinned slightly though Thomas thought it was more cynical than appreciative of his spectacular humour. "Nice try Thomas. Answer our questions and do it fast. We'll tell you what you need to know and that's a deal."

Thomas stared at Harriet's honest expression, her dark brown eyes concealing nothing from him. He sighed internally. It seemed like he'd been coming up with deals and negotiations left, right and centre the past few days. If that didn't indicate the absolute mess their lives had become he didn't know what did.

"Fine," he said finally. "Fine."

Harriet grinned again but more genuinely, "Good. Not like you really had a choice."

Thomas rolled his eyes and Sonya jumped in, clearly eager to ask him questions of her own, "How do you know Teresa?"

"She was in the Maze. She came up after me." Thomas said shortly, "Like Aris came up for you."

Harriet nodded, absorbing the information like a sponge absorbing water. "So, you two had a thing going on or?"

Sonya looked mildly scandalised as she smacked Harriet's arm reproachfully but Harriet only rolled her eyes, "Well?"

Thomas' face tightened, "I don't know. I mean, I thought there was something but then she smacked me across the face, so…"

Sonya's sympathy was overflowing and he cleared his throat, looking at the rocks.

"Solid no then." Harriet filled in, brusquely moving on, "So, why are you here?"

"Rat man told us to," Thomas sighed. Harriet didn't even look surprised at the nickname, nodding like she understood. "Told us we had the Flare and if we wanted a cure we had to get to the Safe Haven within two weeks."

Harriet exchanged an indecipherable look with Sonya. "Same thing happened to us. Right down to the T."

"He wasn't very nice about it either," Sonya expanded mildly. "Not that it mattered. It meant we weren't very surprised when we lost more than a few of us."

Harriet looked away briefly and Thomas sighed, "We lost more than a few of us too. If that's any consolation."

Sonya shrugged, "It's not. Either way, we all know WICKED are the questionable ones, not you. But Teresa…she was adamant. Said you did something terrible to her."

Thomas blinked incredulously, "Me? Are you sure?"

Harriet's annoyance was tangible as she rolled her eyes, crossing her legs. "D'ya know how many times she'd told me that, Son? The same old thing. And trust me, I'm not one to not believe someone after trauma but this girl was asking me to kill a man because of something he did. Which I still don't know." She peered at him, "Well. What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Thomas cried, beyond confused. Who was this new Teresa, the one who was cruel and uncaring? "Look, I don't know what she'd been telling you but I haven't done anything. Swear on it."

Harriet squinted at his face. She could tell he wasn't lying; he had the type of face that was easy to trust, open and honest at all times. Honesty. They'd been deprived of that for long enough by Teresa. Asking information in exchange for murder seemed imbalanced to her.

"So why shouldn't we kill you? I mean, we've been told to by Teresa and WICKED?"

Thomas groaned internally- of course WICKED was involved.

"Because it's a test," he said finally and the girls pursed their lips. "Trust me. It's a Variable they're throwing at you seeing how you react. And I have a pretty strong feeling that if you do kill me, you'll fail it."

"Right," Harriet snorted and mirth lined Sonya's eyes. "Your opinion sounds very unbiased."

Thomas rolled his eyes, "Look, I don't exactly have a whole lot of evidence. I've been out here same as you. And what's the point of killing me anyway? You're not proving anything- I'm one guy against ten girls."

"Maybe it's a ploy to bring down the other group. Y'know, take away their most important member," Sonya suggested. By now, the girls were clustering around Thomas, interested in hearing him speak.

Thomas laughed hollowly. "You got the wrong guy. I'm not the leader and I never have been. You're looking for Minho. Or Adira. Not me though."

"Why should we not kill you then?" a girl piped up.

He shrugged, "I don't know. It's a test though. So maybe it'll work out better for you in the end. Better survival odds or whatever. Either way, they're testing your rationalising. And killing me ain't gonna look good."

Harriet looked thoughtful before she coughed into the crook of her elbow and stood up. "Well you'd say that. But I'll be straight with ya. We've been thinking the same. Ain't no reason to kill ya and get your blood on our hands."

Sonya scanned Thomas' figure before she shoved something into his fingers under the rope. "Eat. Quick. She'll be back soon."

Harriet looked over their heads, looking for Teresa. "I don't trust her and neither does anyone here. You gave us more information than she did and I've known you for a bare few hours."

Thomas slumped against the trunk, tired.

It was up to the girls now.

His life was in their hands.

They were off again. And this time, they were moving fast, following the faraway figures of the girls as they trekked along the flatter plane of their area. After spending a half hour looking for Aris, they realised he's vanished. Two members gone, granted Aris was given the Glader title out of courtesy.

"You think Thomas is okay?" Newt asked, squinting into the distance, his hand covering his eyes slightly.

She shrugged, "He should be. He can run away if he wanted."

In truth, she was worried. He was one guy against how many armed girls? And even if he was to run, she doubted the girls wouldn't have someone equally if not faster than him to capture the escapee. After all, they had had a Maze too.

"How much longer d'ya think it'll take?" Kasper asked, cracking his neck. She winced at the sound and Minho grinned briefly at her disgust.

"No clue shank," he said. "But not too long now. Three days is plenty time."

"Right," Frypan said, dragging out his word with disbelief. "All that way?"

Minho turned around, "Your optimism on point as usual Fry."

He shrugged , "My specialty if you will, Minho."

"We'll walk faster. If that makes you any less worried Fry, we'll run all the bloody way, hm?"

"You suck at comforting people Newt," Frypan sniffed, hoisting his backpack further up his shoulders.

"You're just an ungrateful shank," he laughed.

"There's less of 'em," she frowned, "I can't be the only one who thinks that."

The temporary light heartedness shattered and the boys trained their gazes on the mass of hair, white and black clothes. It was true.

"Maybe it's cos they're moving by the trees or some klunk," Minho suggested but there was a definite strain of worry in his voice.

"Maybe," Kasper said, filling the tense silence.

"C'mon," Minho muttered finally, glaring into the distance. "This ain't a good sign. First the girls turn up to be savages, Thomas gets taken and now Aris is gone. We'll do better once we get at the Safe Haven."

"Wiser words have never been spoken," Newt huffed, his burnt skin only lending to the image of passionate worry he had become. She didn't know how to alleviate the anxiety when she felt the same.

She regretted never being able to comfort Newt, since he'd served her well through their friendship, yet she never could formulate the words that needed to be said. And maybe that was okay because he understood that, understood that she still loved him the same.

Nevertheless, she regretted never tasting the tears of shared companionship.