As three years slowly and painfully passed, they eventually coalesced into complacency. More Newbies arrived, fitting neatly into a world that was already completely set up for them and waiting, like an orchestra waiting for them to pick up their instrument and join in. Gally and Ben long ago decided that each Greenie got a party, and pulled out some vile concoction they'd created, one that made everyone strangely lightheaded and happy, although it had caused a few fights, and only a Gathering could keep Hedy from banning the substance entirely. Newt in particular seemed to enjoy it, but Hedy never partook and thus never understood the fuss. But fun was few and far between, so she kept away and kept silent.

She enjoyed observing, but rarely joined in the festivities. Gally was right. It was a great way to integrate people into society. A party in their honor, already planned and prepared by the time they arrived, with everyone jostling one another and trying to get to know them, teasing them and trying to get them to join their respective jobs. They had even got a dog, a prank on Minho's part that actually got fulfilled a few months ago. Hedy rarely remembered his presence, as Bark was silent and sweet, and in particular seemed to shadow around Tim, loving to roll around in the freshly turned soil. It was a pain in Newt's ass, however, because he was the one stuck training him to keep out of the Maze. The dog did not take to her easily, and she reciprocated. He was a great source of comfort to the Newbies, however, protective and curious, always happy to meet new friends.

But with every day that passed, the Firsts got more frustrated. As they passed, days became weeks and months and then a year, and uneventfully, two, then three years into the Glade. Tt felt like their sense of urgency was heightening in exact opposition to their progress. They had a ceremony for Maya, who'd run right off the edge of the Cliff that Hedy had warned Minho to avoid so long ago. Laverne hadn't been sure if it was a suicide or an accident, and Hedy and Minho had investigated the next day, staring at the endless depths, wishing there was a body, some way to see where she'd gone. It was the opposite of Nick and Alice, symbolic of danger. She'd simply disappeared. There, then gone.

"Maybe that really is a way out," Minho said softly. He had a whole gang of Runners now: Laverne, his Lieutenant, the Newbie trainer (since Minho was rude and impatient), Ben, Jack, and now Marie. Even Newt went out there sometimes, his ankle almost fully healed and completely pain-free.

"Yeah. Maybe she ran all the way back to her parents," Hedy replied, sitting down and staring, cupping her elbow on her knee and nestling her chin into her forearm. "Maybe she's safe and eating pizza with them right now."

"Maybe it's really bad out there." Minho suggested. It had become almost a game; what was out there? Saph called it "Maybe True" and while Laverne or Zora occasionally joined in, Hedy didn't like them to play in front of anyone else, even other Keepers. They were supposed to be a body of governance. It didn't seem appropriate, somehow. "Maybe someone found her and brought her home."

"Maybe…" she didn't want to play any longer. She couldn't bear it. "I still wanna get out."

"We're trapped in freaking limbo here. We're gonna figure it out. There has to be something we're missing. Like a pattern in the movement of the Walls."

"I know," Minho said gloomily. "But we can't figure out any secret messages. It's a pattern, but not one that has any useful information."

"I can't believe another kid is dead." Hedy whispered. "Another kid is dead on my watch."

"Mine too…" he joined her, plopping down next to her, their calves touching. "And Laverne's."

"She was a nice girl."

"It doesn't matter if she was nice or not," Minho answered, retying his shoelaces and standing. "It doesn't matter if any of us are nice. What matters is if we're alive or not."

He offered her a hand, and she took it. They began to head back to the Glade, with less answers and more questions than they departed with.

Maya's death scared people. Especially the newer kids, who hadn't seen what they had in the beginning. It wasn't an accident, or a Griever, or a Banishment. She'd simply ceased to exist. It terrified some of the younger kids, causing nightmares that Saph and Meg and Clint were stuck soothing. Funny, that 'younger' so often became synonymous with 'greener', regardless of actual age. But nightmares haunted them all, and it wasn't just the crying that sometimes woke Hedy up in the middle of the night, sweating and startled, wondering if it had been real or not.

The Kitchen was now a legitimate Homestead, and Gally, with help of his Builders, had added extra rooms, making the area spacious enough for Clint and Jeff to have a real office with a bed. They'd even added a second floor, which Hedy thought was remarkable for a bunch of teenagers. Bark slept by the ovens, and with a more equipped Kitchen, Saph and Zora were beginning to construct more elaborate meal plans, including casseroles and pies and baked goods. A pile of Newbies who would never know the fear they'd felt, to whom Nick was a story and Alice was a name. And tomorrow, the newest Greenie would never know who Maya was, aside from offhand references and the crossed out name on their wall.

"I don't feel like running," she sighed. "I just wanna mope. This sucks."

"Wanna race?"

Somehow, Minho was always able to fire her up. "Not really," she lied coolly. She always had an urge to beat him, and both of them had this section of the Maze more than memorized. The sunlight was just right today, not too bright, not too dim, a light breeze that swept through the impossibly tall Walls.

"You're just scared I'm gonna win," he taunted.

She quirked a little grin, knowing he'd only dare this with her because of the heaviness of the moment, because he could trust her not to die. "Fine."

Hooting, Minho spun around, his grin only raising her ire. "Knew it! Knew you'd never be able to turn down a challenge. Holy crap, you're such a sucker."

For a moment, his teasing irritated her. Then an idea slowly blossomed, and while he was twirling, she took off. "Who's the sucker?" she inquired, zipping past him, feet hitting pavement as hard as she could, racing. She didn't stop to check if he came after her; she knew he would. She just kept pounding her feet as quickly as she could, until finally, after at least a mile, she had to stop and he overtook her.

"I win," he called smugly, barely winded.

"Showoff," she wheezed, jogging in place.

While she attempted to catch her breath, relieved, ironically, for the shadow of the Walls, he froze. It wasn't a reaction of utter fright, but of calculation. His posture grew stiff and he turned away from her, his breathing even and shallow, his eyes closed.

Suddenly, he began chattering, trying to tell her a dozen things at once and Hedy covered her ears before glaring at him for not explaining clearly. It wasn't even a little bit like him to be so scatterbrained.

"Stop and start over. Literally, you are talking my ear off," she held a hand up in front of his face, interrupting his words. "So unless you have something important-"

Minho's eyes opened wider and he shoved her hand out of his face – but then instantly crashed against her, his hand at her mouth, stopping her protest. She froze at the contact; his body was crushed against her side, his hand cupping her mouth. "Out here, I am the boss. Stay perfectly still and listen," he whispered, his breath hot and voice shaky. Her ear tingled from the moisture of his breath and she stilled, feeling his heartbeat against her shoulder. Or was it hers that felt so loud in her ears, throbbing through her entire body? It felt so out of place in the silence. His hands slid down to her shoulder, sweaty and firm, forcing her to remain calm. Her mind ceased to think. The only reason Minho would act like this was a Griever.

He spoke again, but it was so low she wondered if she heard him or if she simply felt his lips move against her ear. "When I say go, bolt to your left. My right. Then roll down under the ivy that'll be on the left and stay as quiet as you can." His full weight rested against her body for a moment, squeezing her, and she felt his sweat, got a face full of his dirty armpit. It was barely three heartbeats, and then, right in her ear: "Go."

She obeyed instantly and they booked it, running like mad, fast and far. She couldn't even hear anything but the pittering of her feet and the thrum of her blood, except for Minho's footsteps in tune with hers, his steps just a little bit longer, his gait wider. To keep up, she moved more rapidly, trying to cycle her legs as fast as possible. She made the turn and rolled underneath the ivy –it was a tiny crevice, big enough fit them with the tiniest bit of wiggle room. She made herself as small as possible and Minho rolled in after her, thrusting all of his weight on her with unapologetic force.

"The Griever may not come this way." But they were near impossible to outrun after a full day, they both knew. After Alice, he didn't want to lead any of them near the Gates. So they waited, Minho on top of her, his sweaty face dripping onto her own, but she didn't care. Her heart was pounding madly. She hadn't even heard it. Her senses were dulled; she'd falsely thought they were safe. It felt as though she were constantly letting everyone down.

Minho's body felt heavy and muscular on her own, crushing her, and his arms were wrapped around her neck and waist, trying to get as far away from the opening as possible, to push themselves as closely together as possible, to meld their bodies and skin into one being, not a single bubble of air or molecule between them.

Slowly, she tried to even her breathing to deep, silent gulps, hating herself for wondering if her breath was foul and if it was making him uncomfortable. What a foolish worry. But they waited, and she heard it, over her own blood roaring in her ears: the clicks and whirs that meant a Griever was nearby. It sounded far away, and only got quieter, more distant, but still they stayed, his eyes boring into hers, nearly unblinking, the tiniest sliver of light breaking through the shadow.

"Wait till it gets a good distance away," he whispered, his voice hardly above silence, more vibration than sound. "Then we'll book it back to the Glade."

It was probably only fifteen minutes that they were in there together, squeezed together, but it felt like an eternity that she'd be there, stuck against him intimately.

"How'd you find this?" Hedy asked, just as quietly, her lips nearly touching his ear in her attempt to be silent, hoping he could hear her but that nothing else could.

She could feel his mouth curve into a wicked grin, felt the skin stretch and move, twitching his ears so that they moved against her lips, just brushing them. "What, you think me and Newt've never cuddled here?"

She felt herself smile too, nearly tasting his salty skin, but the relief was cut short when he rolled off of her and yanked her out unceremoniously.

"Now run, fast as you can."

And she did.

Her lungs burned. Her face felt hot. Sweat was dripping into her eyes, and her entire body felt as though it were on fire and they were turning and she was slipping and she felt her big toe tear a hole in the sock she was wearing, the first socks she'd ever worn in the Glade, and suddenly they were out, and it was hardly midday and Minho had stopped but he was in front of her and she couldn't stop so she ran into him full force, knocking him straight over.

"Shuck!" Minho gasped, the wind knocked from his lungs as he too, gasped for air. She lay next to him, half her weight on his arm as they wheezed together, unable to even roll apart, they were so terrified and exhausted.

"We… made…" he didn't need her to finish, tapping her arm to signal the stop, and she did, only breathing heavily.

It was Saph that found them, rolling around half dead on the grass, inches away from the exit. "Well, seems like y'all had a good time out there today."

Minho managed words first. "Water," he begged, chest still heaving with effort. Hedy could hardly breathe still – words were impossible.

"Lucky for you and Gorgeous over here that I happen to have two big glasses."

She handed them over easily and departed, finding a Glader to cavort with, but neither looked up to see who, unable and unwilling to explain the gravity of what had just occurred, how out of the ordinary their day had just been, Minho chugging his while holding Hedy's, waiting for her to sit up. She did, groaning, and sipped it more slowly. It was her lungs that burned, not her throat.

"You make me feel out of shape," she accused him, finally catching her breath.

He shrugged, flopping down again, spread-eagled and stretching out. "Not my fault you can't keep up."

"Shut up." But then she was silent for a moment. "But you did."

"Did what, shank?"

"Made sure I kept up. Thanks."

Minho was silent. He stood, and stuck a hand out, helping her up. But she did not stand, he didn't let go of her hand. "After what happened to Maya, I don't want to lose any more." She shuddered, and he backpedaled. "I can't lose my favorite President," he tried to joke, but the overwhelming reality suddenly attacked her, her adrenaline depleted, and she began to shudder. She was not afraid of dying. She was afraid of Minho dying, of the Gladers dying, of failing them all. She was afraid of a Griever coming out during the day and ravaging them all, killing everything they'd worked so hard for.

Minho looked helpless as she cried, silently, crouching down and covering a hand with her mouth. "I'm sorry," she said. "You can leave, I just…" she squeezed her eyes shut, tears still escaping.

He grabbed her arm and hauled her up. "Hey," he said, looking for more words. "It's… okay?"

She released a small, mortified laugh at his awkward comforting. "I'm so sorry… I don't mean to… just stress, I guess. If anyone should be crying, it's not me. It seems a silly day to cry. Weirdly enough, it's a beautiful day."

Minho felt suddenly defensive for her. "We should all be crying. Stuck in this shuck mess with nothing but the clothes on our back and our names, constantly thinking we're gonna be Griever grub. I haven't had to use that thing in awhile; I haven't seen a daytime one in a few months."

She did the unexpected – she hugged him - not tightly. Her awkwardness meant that her forearm barely wrapped around his shoulder. There was nothing but a need for intimacy in her embrace, no ulterior motive, nothing but a pleading, a hesitancy, a question.

He didn't hug her back. That would be coddling her, and Minho didn't coddle anyone. But he let her hug him, and that was enough. "Feelin' better, babe?" he asked playfully, and her eyes flashed with gratitude. He made it normal. It didn't have to be weird.

"Sorry," she sighed. "I've been doing a lot of weird stuff, lately."

"Stress," he said.

"That's what Newt said," she murmured stepping away, not meeting his eye. "Just the other day."

For some reason, her statement irritated him. But it was then he finally understood what his problem was.

He was jealous, he realized, stunned at the very idea. It was the way she was so close with Newt. His pale skin against her deeper shade, the gentle way she would lay her long fingers across his arm, stand on her toes and lean against him to whisper something, the way the stress would melt off her shoulders when he massaged her neck with absent-minded fondness. It wasn't strange for her to touch Newt.

He wanted that. Of course, he was close to Saph and Laverne the way she was close to Newt, but he wanted that relationship with her as well. It was a point of pride for him that she treated him so differently from Newt, because he didn't want her to see him the way she saw the taller boy. Minho wanted her to have a red face when she spoke to him, to speak loudly to him and grab him. He liked that he frustrated her, that they challenged one another. But he did not have words to express, even to himself, that he wanted the same sort of easy comfort. He wanted to be her best friend, but he didn't want to be only that. He wanted everything she could offer him. He only wondered how much they were capable of. What made them so dynamic was how they'd changed through one another.

With her influence, Minho had become more able to follow rules. It was not authority he respected, but her authority, her rules and her reign. At first, they all banded together out of necessity. Then it was love. Then it was for the sake of the greenbeans, for the future. Originally, he'd said shuck it all, stuck to himself mostly, ignored Nick's leaderships attempts and mostly hung out with Saph and ran because it made him feel better, no matter how he had to justify it to the others. Now he'd ride Grievers at her whim, make nice with Gally, eat mustard, shave his head bald. Not just because she was Leader, but because he liked her. He like liked her, Saph and Laverne would mock.

She hadn't changed as much, outwardly at least. She'd remained standoffish, a bit awkward, hard to speak to. The only friends she had were Newt, Saph, and himself, and anyone else they could bring into her tight bubble. Laverne had managed to squeeze in, and Zora and oddly enough, Gally had become a strange and unlikely ally.

He'd still yet to hear her laugh, but he vowed that someday he'd shock it out of her. He'd swore he'd gotten close in the Maze, when he'd baited her into a raise. Yet even then, at her peak playfulness, she'd been withdrawn, like there was something within her he'd never quite be able to touch.

"A new Greenie'll make you feel better tomorrow," he suggested, and she rolled her eyes, heading towards Tim's garden and leaving him at the Door.

x

"It's been nearly three years," Paige said morosely, taking a deep draught from her glass, feeling the hot, caramel colored whiskey slide down her throat. Nothing could chill her bones. Even within WICKED, the rate of infection was spreading rapidly. Rachel sat before her, leaning forward, taking in every word. Teresa sat back, withdrawn. The two girls were total opposites. "We still don't have the data we need."

"They're never going to solve the Maze on their own," Rachel's voice rang through the quiet. "Neither group. It just isn't going to happen. It isn't that they aren't smart enough, but they just aren't capable enough. They don't have the tools. They're afraid, and trapped. Our data is stagnating."

"Amazing what the human brain is capable of, isn't it?" Teresa put in, tersely. "They've acclimated to the stress of their environment. Even death hardly fazes them anymore. Sex hardly interests them. They're too complacent to fight. They need something new, something to shake them up."

"We're losing the ability to even maintain their separate facilities. At this point, it's better to take them out and experiment on them."

"Well, don't set the date for their autopsies yet," Rachel interrupted, watching the Director drain her glass. "What if we do take them out… but expose them to everything new, without undoing their memory scans. They'd be seeing the real world, the Cranks, everything… through new eyes."

"It would motivate them," Teresa added excitedly. "We wouldn't need to torture them like lab rats-"

"Only torture them like terrified children," Paige finished, still leaning back in her chair.

"Well, how is it any different from what we're doing now?" Rachel took the glass from her hand. "They all consented to this; them and their parents. They knew that this was for a cure, that this was how we were going to save the world."

"Put them in the Scorch," Teresa suggested.

The other two women paused and looked at her. What she was suggesting was monstrously cruel.

Moonlight streamed in from the open window of WICKED's top floor, suffusing Teresa in an ethereal light, her pale skin glowing as she spoke. "They'd be facing the worst of it. They'd see everything, through fresh eyes. We could pretend that they were being freed, and then…"

"Kill them," Paige added flatly, kicking off her high heels. "What you're suggesting is a death sentence."

"I'm not a monster," she defended, not meeting Rachel's accusing stare. "How is what I'm saying any different from what we've been doing for years?"

"We'd be taking them from a controlled environment and thrusting them into a really dangerous situation-"

"We can't let this research stagnate!" Teresa shouted, her eyes filling with tears, unabashed that she was yelling in front of the Director and the head scientist of Group B. "This isn't a death sentence! And honestly, if it were, I'd sacrifice myself! I would die if I thought it would get us centimeters closer to finding a cure! As you both would! As they would, if they knew! We'd just be reminding them!"

Rachel did not respond, silenced by the rebuke. It was true; no matter how cruel the Maze seemed, it was infinitely better than the alternative. A wrecked earth, a closed-in city, a human race hunting to live for a few precious extra years. The alternative was extinction. Already, population numbers were dwindling to a terrifying low. Crank infection rates were increasing with every moment. The virus had mutated. It was becoming airborne.

"You're right, Teresa, as you often are," Director Paige sighed. "It's time to develop a Phase II."

"Mix the groups," Rachel suggested.

Teresa frowned. "What?"

"So they theoretically escape. We can send a faux Right Arm to 'liberate' them, or WICKED, or anyone. We separate them by gender; a new group, new stimulus. Then, whether by Flat Trans or what, we send them through the Scorch. Some'll die. That was always anticipated. People die every day. We can send a few operatives to meet them in the city. Then we collect that data. If it isn't enough… we can go back to the original idea."

None of the women wanted that to occur. Group autopsies were likely to solve nothing. It meant that they were truly grasping at their final straws. But hopefully they would not have to.

"So how do we get them to escape? As you said, they're not gonna be able to ever figure out the Maze." Teresa put in.

"We need to send a guide in there." Ava's eyes went hard, shadowed by the darkness, covered by the curls she let out of her orderly chignon.

Gulping, Teresa and Rachel nodded. Someone who could get them out of the Maze with their eyes closed.

"I'll go," Teresa offered, bravely.

"I will too," Rachel whispered.

Regarding the two younger scientists, Ava Paige shook her head. "You two are my most valuable Immunes, both as employees and subjects."

It didn't matter, though, and even as the Director said it, Rachel and Teresa knew that she would have to allow it. Aris wasn't physically capable of what Rachel was. Thomas wasn't as trustworthy as Teresa. She knew, instinctively, hating herself for the mercenary voice within her, that he would rather die to protect her than WICKED. Sometimes she wondered if he regretted building the Maze, if his sadness was at WICKED's justifications rather than at the old government's cruelty. She wondered if he understood the bigger picture.

But she knew for sure that he loved her.

As for Rachel and Aris, there was no choice there. Aris was obedient. He would do well to continue as a young scientist, benefit from his training and keeping in the forefront of his mind - his killzone - just how important it was to find a cure, to save millions. Rachel knew just like Teresa did, had seen it firsthand, had suffered like everyone was suffering.

"Well," Director Paige said, slipping easily back into her impossibly tall high heels and adjusting her skirt, standing straight and tall and proud: "It looks like Phase II is about to begin."