AN: I'm back and I fixed the formatting! Six hours later is better than never, I suppose. I'm sorry it's been so long, but never fear, I WILL SEE THIS STORY THROUGH! (Hopefully someone cares.)

This chapter is kind of necessary filler, but again, it's better than nothing, and it was fun writing in Minho's POV.

Thank you to LeoIsMyJam for your kind reviews!

Minho was on his way back to the Glade after lunch when he heard muttering. It seemed to be coming from around the corner, rising and falling with manic intensity. He planted his foot in the ground and came to an abrupt halt, putting his hand out to stop Ben. "You hear that?" he said as softly as he could.

Ben's brow furrowed, then he nodded. "What is it?" He asked it in a stage whisper, the kind that's like pretending to be quiet but is actually annoyingly loud. Minho winced inwardly. He'd never heard muttering in the Maze before, but if it was some new danger and not just some idiot Glader, it had probably heard him and was crouching to pounce.

"Wait here, I'm going to go check it out. Run like hell for the Glade if you hear me screaming in agony." He patted Ben on the shoulder, suppressing a snicker at his bewildered expression, and jogged to the corner to peer around it.

It was Zach.

The former Runner paced in the corridor, hunched over, hands on his head. It looked like he was pulling his hair out. His breathing was heavier and louder than his jagged speech. Minho couldn't make out what he was saying.

"Zach?" He began walking towards him, slowly. "Zach, what the shuck are you doing? I thought you'd be in the Glade."

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" Zach yelled. He stumbled and fell to his knees. Minho still wasn't sure if he'd noticed him. He resumed his mumbling. "No, no, no, I'm sorry…"

Minho took the direct approach; he grabbed Zach by the shoulders and shook him like a broken vending machine. "Zach. Dude, talk to me!"

Zach flinched when Minho touched him—no, more like he jumped, or convulsed. "M-Minho?" He gasped, sobbing, and tore himself from Minho's grip, flinging himself against the wall

Weird. Minho stepped back and waved for Ben to join him, then crept towards Zach, who was huddled against the wall, still muttering. "Zach," he almost shouted, "why the shuck are you in the Maze? I thought you quit." He spat the last word out; it left a sour taste in his mouth.

Zach shuddered again. "I'm sorry, Ethan—"

"Who said anything about Ethan?" Ben piped up.

He shook his head wildly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know! Ethan, I'm—"

Whatever Zach had been about to say—probably yet another frantic apology—was cut off when Minho grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the wall so he was facing him. "What. The. Shuck. Are. You. Sorry. For?" he hissed. "What happened?"

Zach met his burning gaze for the first time, but his eyes instantly slid away. "I didn't know—"

"About what?"

"He said he wanted to protect you—"

"Who said?"

"Buzz," Zach choked out. He was trembling, but Minho didn't loosen his grip. "I took him into the Maze so we could bring you back before anyone else had to die but—but he lied—" Zach broke off again, his head hung low. "Ethan… I'm so sorry…"

Minho let go and backed away from Zach, who had crumpled like wet paper. "What happened? Zach, where's Ethan?"

Slowly yet suddenly, Zach stopped shaking. "Buzz killed him," he whispered. "I pulled him away but it was too late, I tried to stop him but he knocked me out—I tried. I'm sorry."

Ethan. Dead. Murdered. Minho shook his head. He could hear Ben's shaky breathing behind him; he didn't turn around. "Zach. Where's Newt? What happened to him?" The words turned to ash on his lips. If Newt was gone—no. He couldn't even think it.

But Zach shrugged. "I think he got away. I don't know if Buzz was quick enough to follow him, he could be lost out here! Buzz, not Newt," he clarified.

Minho nodded slowly. Too much was happening, too fast. Maybe Newt was safe in the Glade. Maybe he was dead in the Maze. Maybe he was hurt, maybe he needed help, but Minho had no way of finding him, and the Gladers needed to know what had happened to Ethan. He could step up and be the leader. He could pretend it wasn't taking every ounce of self control he'd ever had to keep his hands from shaking. He could force himself to stop thinking about every one of Ethan's bad jokes or Newt's kind gestures, which assaulted his mind and relentlessly knived themselves into his heart. "Alright, everyone, we're going back to the Glade. Now."

If he looked over his shoulder to make sure the other Runners were still there behind him, he certainly wasn't going to admit it.