In which there is running. A fair bit of it.

Chapter Warnings: Situation around a death occuring pre-narrative.

Things start to get darker towards the end of this one. No 'on screen' deaths yet, but (without giving too much away) we are confronted with the topic of boys having been killed before.

Notes towards the end.

"This should fit," Minho says the next morning.

He hands me a leather brace harness, slightly different to his own. I'm able to quickly work out that it fits across my back with a criss-crossing of straps around my chest to hold it still.

It sits more easily between my shoulder blades over the thin, light green camisole I was sent here in. My sweater rolls and straps in neatly above the buckles that my lunch pack is secured to.

Minho hands me two slightly curved knives, each about a foot in length, which holster into the crossed sheaths built into the brace.

I tie my hair back into a braid, securing it with the elastic I found on my wrist months ago. I've found that I don't like binding my hair back if I can help it, but knotting it up when working with injuries isn't a bad idea, and keeping it out of my eyes for my first day as a Runner is a good one, too.

We're standing at the doors before the sun is up, waiting for them to grind open.

Waiting next to Minho and I, are Doug and Justin; the other two Runners. They're Maze partners like Minho and Ben usually are. Doug is tallest by a few inches and Justin has curly dark hair. Both of them send me encouraging smiles, but it's clear their minds are already locked onto the day ahead.

Frypan is already up and getting breakfast ready. He handed us our rations early so the four of us could leave. Most of the other boys are still in their hammocks.

"Remember the plan?" Minho double checks, as the doors finally let out their groaning noise and begin to crack apart.

I nod.

He's gone over it already.

We won't be mapping anything new today. Minho says they've made enough progress lately to spare one day to help me get a feel for it. So instead, he's going to get me used to the Narrows and show me ways to get to the Middle Ring, as well as give me an idea of what to look for to anticipate changes.

Neither Minho or Newt have said anything to me, but I'm sure this plan has something to do with the conversation they had the night before.

It doesn't bother me enough to question it.

I'm actually happier to be learning about the Maze, rather than blindly following Minho through it.

The Doors stop moving. They're twenty foot deep panels, at least one hundred feet high. They're a warning on their own, without the Maze beyond.

We share a look and sprint through.

…

The Maze is a very different world to the Glade.

It takes me all of fifteen seconds to realise this.

The Glade is an organic oasis from the trees and streams to the home-made huts. Everything beyond radiates with something both degenerated and clinical.

It's manufactured.

Doug and Justin throw us a salute and they race off down another corridor as soon as we reach a fork. We don't cross paths again.

I quickly learn to spot the gear teeth in sections of the walls that means they move – some pivot, others slide out or back. Whole sections open or press together, making new paths and cutting off old ones.

Memorising my route is harder.

I figure it will take several trips with a running partner before I instinctively know the way. Minho acts as my compass.

There is a lot of running.

We follow one path to the Middle Ring, where the cramped corridors of towering stone and ivy open out into long, snake-like open air tunnels. It looks a bit like an abandoned industrial complex. The walls are tall and smoother, seemingly made from massive blocks, with the occasional one missing or crumbled down leaving odd ledges.

As soon as we find the Middle Ring, we turn and run back, approaching the Glade, before Minho leads me down a new path.

He's patient, despite the speed we move at, and he does his best to help me learn cheats and tricks.

We stop in the Narrows to eat our lunch packs.

Minho draws out pieces of the maze in the dust-coated floor as the food settles in our stomachs, and then we're running again.

The afternoon drags on.

Minho says he can only take so much of the Narrows, now that they've explored farther out, and he leads me through a piece of the Middle Ring. He tells me I probably shouldn't tell Newt, which only solidifies my belief that they were talking about me yesterday.

There's an ache all the way up my legs and back as we decide it's finally time to turn back for the day.

Just one day doesn't seem bad at all. It feels freeing; exploring an ever changing playground. When I think of memorising the Maze as Minho has, and being able to just run out, find my way and make it back for supper, my blood rushes with the thrill of it.

But it's all too easy to remember Newt's expression; his limp. And I can see it the other way, too, as we run back through the Narrows.

The sun is dropping and light doesn't fall so easily to the floor, meaning we're moving through tall shadows and half light.

With sundown approaching, the Maze feels more and more sinister. The corridors seem tighter, the walls taller and the ivy more of a trap than an assist.

I can see how doing this for a year straight and never finding a solid answer could get to someone.

…

When we run back through the Doors, there's a gathering waiting for us.

Zart punches the air, beaming. Frankie and Dan both cheer and Stan races off as fast as he can for Homestead. I guess it's his job to spread the news. Eric is sitting in the grass, fingers working on whittling a pile of branches, which he sets down as we appear.

Newt stands behind them, one arm banded across his chest, his other hand rubbing the back of his neck. There's a look of mingled pride and relief on his face as he sees us run into the greeting party.

"How did it go?" Frankie asks me. His side is still bandaged up, and he moves stiffly so he doesn't pull at it but I find it means a lot to me that he wanted to be here.

"Lots of running," I say.

Everyone laughs; even Minho chuckles.

"Did Justin and Doug make it back?" I want to know.

"Nearly ten minutes ago, I'd guess," Dan says.

Eric gathers his pile of branches in a sling, and pats my shoulder. "Gotta get back," he says. "I'm glad you made it, Eva."

Though he's got an inch or two on me in height, I remember that he's probably a couple of years younger, and I wonder if other friends of his haven't come back.

"Let's go," Dan says, clapping Frankie on the shoulder. "You're on pea duty for stabbing yourself. See you later, Evie. Nice going."

Frankie is still smiling as he allows himself to be steered away.

Minho nods to Newt then looks at me.

"You did good, Eva," he says. "Thanks. I gotta go see Ben."

"I hope he's doing better," I say as he retreats at a leisurely jog. "Thanks, Minho!"

Zart throws an arm over my shoulders, his smile lighting him up. "Well, you missed a fun day," he says, steering me away from the Doors.

Newt falls into step with us.

"Someone let the goats out by mistake, and they've eaten through a row of my cabbages. I swear, Jack nearly gored the brown one with a rake before Dan was able to snatch him up. The goat, that is, not Jack."

"Pepper?" I ask, before I can stop myself.

"Bloody hell," Newt mutters to my right.

Zart's smile stretches from ear to ear. "Of course you named them," he says. "He's fine."

"She," I correct. "Pepper's a she. If she's not, I'm a little worried about the milk we've been getting from her."

Newt snorts.

Zart cracks up like this just tops his day off nicely. His arm slips from my shoulders and I realise all my limbs ache.

"You can't be a Runner, Eva," he says when he's standing straight again. "We miss you too much around here."

He nudges me, and now that I've acknowledged how worn out I am, my balance seems to be tenuous. I stumble slightly.

Newt rights me, his fingers pressing gently into my side.

I look up at him, and the look he sends back is something complex as he slowly lets me go.

"Don't worry," I say, offering Newt a half smile before I turn to look at Zart. "It's just temporary."

…

I run again the next day.

Doug and Justin don't even look at me twice as we stand at the doors.

I'm still paired with Minho. Ben's fever has broken, but he's confined to his hammock with cough that sounds like he's trying to bring up his lungs.

The Doors grind open while the Glade is still quiet, and its time to start again.

…

We race through the Narrows.

Parts of it I think I recognise; the way an ivy creeper hangs in two loops, a crack like a triangle next to a set of rusted gear teeth, a broken piece of stone in the middle of a gap…

But I don't really know how we get from one to the next, so I keep up with Minho and follow him.

My heart is beating fast but rhythmically when we finally reach a gap that opens out into the long, winding Middle Ring.

"Need a break?" Minho asks, not even short of breath as he looks over his shoulder at me.

I shake my head. My legs burn, but it feels good. Feels like doing something.

Minho gives me the briefest of approving smiles and continues on.

Today I can already tell we're not just running around the different paths. Minho runs with more purpose, and we haven't doubled back once.

The sun moves above us, the clouds skate across the sky. Blood pounds through my ears and I start listening to my breathing with each stride I take.

Finally, he drops to a brisk walk and I fall into pace next to him. He's taller than me and I have to make my steps quicker so I don't fall behind.

"We're here," Minho says.

He stops and turns to me.

I'm not really sure where 'here' is. It's just another wide expanse of the Middle Ring. The cracked cement floor grows through with weeds and the sun falls across the long segments of wall, leaving angular shadows in the corners and the ledges. I'm not sure how long we've been going, but the sun is no longer right above us.

"Where is here?" I ask blankly.

Minho just looks back at me, "The place you're going to get us back from."

I'm going to what now?

My disbelief must show on my face because Minho's expression softens. "If you start steering us really wrong, I'll set you right; but you might be surprised with how much you do remember. So…lead us back."

"Can we eat first?"

I think I see a smile crack his face. "Sure."

So we sit against one of the walls in the sun and start to demolish our lunch rations while my mind whizzes over everything I think I know about the Maze.

I'm ninety-seven percent sure I'll be getting us totally lost, but the other three percent of me is buzzing with adrenaline.

I crumble up the packet, shoving it back into the pack on my back, and as I do my eyes catch on one of the blocks missing from the wall ahead.

This one sits about the height of a second floor in a building and ivy creepers have grown through the cracks and up the side.

A vantage point.

I get up, brushing off my jeans and start over to the wall.

Minho follows without a word. He doesn't even speak when I start picking at the vines, finding the thick ones strong enough to take my weight.

And then I start to climb.

I hear his breath rush out behind me, but I don't look back.

I know he found Newt, after attempting a jump, and I figure it's taken a fair bit of restraint not to question me now.

"Just getting a look," I assure him.

Climbing up a wall doesn't feel any more unnatural than climbing a tree, strangely.

I grip the vines but also use my fingers and sneakers to seek out cracks and holds in the stone. The height doesn't bother me.

The higher I get, the more breeze there is. My hair – braided again – gets tossed down my back and escaped strands blow across my vision. The air is pleasantly cool against my skin, and catching in my clothes. It chases off the heated feeling of constant running.

The ledge has a ceiling from a block of the wall above. There's just enough space for me to crouch, and I half crawl forwards.

The walls to the left are higher than where I rest. The rest of the Middle Ring has walls all the same height. But to the right, going back to the Narrows, they're a little lower.

It's useless as a vantage point, though. While I can just see the tops of the walls from here, I can't make out any of the paths, or see the shape of the Glade at all.

The tops are all swarmed with creepers and rubble and the interlocking pieces all seem to merge together in a mass of ivy and rock.

Sighing, I turn back.

I guess I'll just be relying on…well…instinct.

I drop back to the floor and Minho gives me an expectant look.

"Had to try," I say.

I figure using the gaps to see further is nothing new to any of the Runners, but experiencing is the best way to learn, and he had to let me see for myself.

I take in a breath and turn back for where I know we came from. At least I have somewhere to start.

"Let's go."

…

I'm pretty sure that I've gone awfully wrong within ten minutes, but Minho says nothing as he runs steadily at my shoulder, waiting for me to make the decisions.

I've managed to get us out of the Middle Ring. With its wide open spaces, my mind could more easily recognise the place we entered it. There was a huge crack the shape of an F on the wall and I remember a boulder of chipped stone next to a tall weed.

So I get us back into the Narrows.

I recognise the gears in a wall and hang a left in front of it.

Then I just start to guess.

Everything starts to swim together, and my pace drops. Finally, I come to a stop in a gap with a left and a right turn in front of me.

I don't recognise it.

I haven't recognised anything for a while. In the back of my mind, I'm conscious that it's gone past noon.

I glance sideways at Minho.

He doesn't look concerned. In fact, his features are impassive.

I feel my heartbeat pick up, even though I'm standing still. Shocks zap through my blood and I take in a steadying breath. I force myself to focus.

Minho won't let us get stuck out here. I know that.

My fears are irrational.

But this is why he's done this.

I need to stop second guessing and worrying about what I don't know and just start using the things I do know.

"You want a hint?" Minho asks when I've been standing there for more than ten seconds.

My heart is steady again.

"No," I say. "We're going this way."

And I turn right.

…

I've definitely gone wrong.

But then…I guess that depends on how you define wrong.

I'm running again, legs beginning to ache and the pack with it's crossed over knives warm between my shoulder blades.

I don't recognise this path; I don't know that I've ever been down it.

I stop at another opening.

It's on my left, there's a path moving away from our current one on a right angle, but the one we've been running down continues on ahead of us.

Something is odd, though, and it takes me a moment to work out what.

The ground under us all day has been dry and solid. Weeds grew in the Middle Ring, but the Narrows just have the creepers – and many more of them.

The ground up the path ahead is dry and solid, but coated in dust, too.

The fine dirt settles all across the cramped space, from wall to wall. There are messy furrows in it, but more dust has settled in them, so they're barely visible.

Someone went down there, or came back, but it was a long time ago, and no one's gone since.

I start forwards, curiosity burning in the pit of my stomach and for the first time, Minho touches my shoulder.

"Not that way," he says.

I look up at him.

"I know," I say. "We have to go left." Somehow I know that going left will set us back on track, but the dusty path draws me. "I just want to look down here."

He hesitates, but the sun hasn't dropped behind the wall yet. I think we have time. And when Minho nods, I figure he decides we have the time, too.

I move forwards again.

The sand coloured dust appears to have fallen from the walls over time. At the end, the path turns left, and it's the only way forward.

We both walk down it.

"How did you know?" Minho asks.

"The ground," I say. "The paths you use regularly are pretty clear."

It seems obvious now, but it took this – an obviously unused path – for me to really process it.

"Not bad, Eva," Minho says, and I can't help feeling bolstered by the subtle note of praise in his tone.

"Why don't you come down h-" my words dry up before I finish the question.

Just ahead of us is a section of wall that clearly moves – the same rusted gear teeth visible in the crevice where it meets the rest of the Maze.

A black stain is smeared down the flat side of the stone.

Blood.

Years old.

"That's why," Minho answers my unfinished question.

Who? Burns on my tongue, but I realise before I ask it that I know that answer, too.

Newt told me.

"George got trapped. None of us saw what got him when night came, but when we went out the next day, we brought back what we could. He's been buried in the Deadheads for three years."

My breathing catches in my throat and my stomach turns over.

But I walk closer.

Somehow, the sun doesn't seem to reach this part so easily. Everything is cast into long, purple shadow.

Behind the moving part of the wall is a dead end.

When the gears push that wall closed, you're stuck in a tiny square of the Maze.

Deep gouges are etched into the stone. Long, single drags, some low and others far higher than my head. A shredded piece of greyed cloth, hidden beneath a layer of dust, is caught in a crack. There are more of the black stains, smeared and sprayed among the browning ivy.

The macabre patterns have dried over the years; begun to crumble, but the ghost of a murder lives in what's left.

This is a tomb.

"Wow," I mutter. My breath catches in my throat.

I feel Minho throw me a glance. "You okay?" he asks.

I nod.

It's a scene stuck in time; untouched from the day a boy died there. But it feels disconnected.

I never knew George. He's just a name to me.

Seeing the place he clearly died makes me feel a sharp stab of sorrow, but there isn't enough left here to haunt me.

"I'm fine," I say. "You brought him back, didn't you?"

Minho's eyes are clouded with the memory when I look at him. He glances behind us, and when I follow his gaze, I can see the half lost furrows in the dirt on the ground.

"We dragged back what was left," he says. "Buried him. Never came down here again."

"But you let me," I say.

Minho looks at me. His eyes are clear and firm.

"You're a Glader now; maybe not a Runner; not for good, but you're still one of us. This life is hard, Eva… If you could call it a life. This is the truth of it. Not everyone makes it."

He let me come here to help me understand. And I think I do.

We'll lose more boys before this is over.

"Time to go," I say.

Minho nods. There's something that I think might be approval in his eyes.

I turn and lead the way back out.

…

Minho has to steer me right twice as we approach the Glade.

The sun is low, the field at the end of the stone tunnel and the canopy of the Deadheads glowing gold.

We run across the threshold with just minutes to spare.

Minho turns to me, gives me a nod. "Well done," he says. "I've got to go."

I just smile at him. "Hope Ben's better," I say.

I don't regret my time in the Maze, but I remember Newt's unease with it, and after finding George's tomb, I think I've had enough of it.

Running is not meant for me. Not every day. And I'm sure Minho will be happier with Ben back at his side again.

"He should be soon," Minho says, attention wandering off towards Homestead. "We should get back out to the Outer Ring soon."

I get the strangest feeling of having an answer just out of reach when the words register, and I frown.

"Is there a reason we didn't go?"

And I suddenly realise I know the answer.

"Newt asked you not to."

I remember the night Minho said Ben couldn't run. How Newt had walked away with him and he hadn't looked surprised at all.

Minho looks very slightly guilty, but he shrugs it off and says, "He just asked me to be sure you were safe. There's more things that can go wrong in the Outer Ring. You can trip sequences, and things move during the day."

"It's okay," I say. And I do get it.

Minho nods.

"Go. Go find Ben."

He spares me a last glance and then jogs for Homestead.

I stand in the dying sun before the Doors as they begin to grind closed and realise that I'm exhausted.

I do get it.

It's what I was told; its just as much the mental exhaustion as it is the physical. Having to navigate myself, rather than relying on Minho wore me out far more than I was yesterday.

Deciding to forgo catching up with the others, I head right for the shower block.

I think I'll crash before supper.

…

I wake up when Alby enters the hut, calling my name.

It's still light out, but my hair has dried from my shower, spilling over the edge of the hammock.

I shake off the last grips of sleep and prepare to join the others. As the sleepiness leaves, so does the last fragile memory of the tomb in the Maze.

Ben is looking much better when I spot him.

Jeff is in the Medi Tent with a cough by sundown.

Apparently it's going around.

INFO:

1. This is not the start of an abrupt tone change. In the Maze, Eva starts to get exposed to the darker side of their lives; the futility of always looking for a way out. And she also happens to find the place a boy was killed. Discovering it helps her to start appreciating the gravity of the situation. But there are still good times - if you can call them that - in the Glade. So while this is the first delve into the darkness of what's to come, expect good and bad throughout the story.

...

...Sadly no teaser this time. I really couldn't find a good bit without giving away anything.

-To be posted during the week-