Chapter Four:

The morning sunlight filtered down through the slats in the Homestead roof, casting a warm glow that seemed almost too bright for Irelyn's liking. She rubbed her temples, trying to ease the dull headache that throbbed behind her eyes—a leftover reminder from the night before. She hadn't realized how strong Gally's "specialty" was until it hit her in full force. It was a fun night, filled with laughter, cheers, and the thrill of finally knowing her own name. But this morning… well, she was definitely feeling it.

Outside, the Gladers were already gathering, grabbing food and starting their morning routines. She spotted Newt waiting for her at the long picnic-style table, looking suspiciously cheerful as he munched on a piece of bread and fruit.

"Morning, Sunshine," he greeted with a grin as she plopped down across from him.

She squinted at him, giving a half-hearted smile. "Morning." She reached for a piece of bread, chewing slowly and hoping the food might help settle her stomach. "Is it normal for your head to feel like it's stuffed with cotton after one sip of Gally's drink?"

Newt chuckled, looking far too amused. "More than one sip, Sunshine. You were well into that jar by the end." He leaned back, watching her with that lazy grin. "But yeah, it's normal. Gally's brew is about as subtle as he is."

She laughed softly, her head already starting to clear as she sipped at the water he'd placed in front of her. "Noted. So… where am I working today?"

Newt shrugged, biting into a slice of bread. "No idea. Alby didn't tell me."

Irelyn sighed, glancing around the Glade and spotting Alby near the Slammer at the north wall, talking to one of the other Gladers. She grimaced, not exactly eager to interrupt him, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"I'll be right back," she said, pushing herself up from the bench and heading toward Alby, her boots crunching over the earth as she walked.

As she approached, Alby turned from his conversation, raising an eyebrow when he saw her. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, like he knew exactly why she'd come over.

"Morning, Greenie Girl," he greeted, crossing his arms as he watched her. "How's that head of yours holding up?"

She gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of her neck. "A little fuzzy, but I'll survive."

Alby chuckled, nodding approvingly. "Good. Part of the initiation, you know—every Greenie's gotta suffer through their first taste of Gally's special brew."

Irelyn smiled, then took a steadying breath. "I actually came over to find out where I'm supposed to be working today, but… I also wanted to ask you something."

"Oh?" Alby tilted his head, his brow arching in curiosity. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" she hesitated, then decided to just go for it. "I was wondering if I could shadow you today. You know, see how things work from your end?"

Alby gave a low chuckle, looking amused. "You don't waste time, do you?"

She shrugged, doing her best to look casual. "Just trying to learn as much as I can."

He studied her for a moment, then shook his head with a faint smirk. "Tomorrow. You'll be with me tomorrow, right before the Keepers vote on your placement."

Irelyn's shoulders slumped a little, but she didn't press. "Alright. So, what's the plan for today, then?"

"Today, you've got a choice," Alby said, his voice easy but firm. "Normally, Greenies spend five days rotating through jobs, then the Keepers vote on where you'll end up. But since you're not doing Bloodhouse work, you get to pick today."

Irelyn nodded, a thought already forming in her mind. "Could I shadow the Runners? Just for a day, to see what they do?"

Alby's expression shifted, a hint of tension creeping into his gaze. "The Runners leave at dawn, Irelyn. They're long gone by now."

"Oh." She tried not to look too disappointed, but she pressed on, hoping he might reconsider. "Maybe I could catch up with one of them later? Or just look at one of the maps?"

The flicker of annoyance was subtle at first, but she could see his patience start to thin. "There's no need for you to see the maps," he said, his tone flat. "We have enough Runners, and you're not going in the Maze. End of story."

She hesitated, wanting to push back, but something in his voice made her stop. He wasn't just brushing her off—there was a protective edge to it, like he was shutting down the idea before it could take root. "But—"

"Irelyn," Alby cut her off, his voice firm. "We've got rules here. Nobody goes near that Maze without permission. No exceptions."

Irelyn's jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling up. "Fine. Got it."

Alby sighed, softening just a little as he looked at her, like an older brother trying to explain something difficult. "I know it's frustrating, but those doors shut every night for a reason. It's dangerous out there. You'll learn what you need to know, just… not yet."

She looked away, the words sinking in, but still not quite satisfying her. "Alright."

Alby watched her for a moment, then clapped her on the shoulder, his tone a bit lighter now. "After breakfast, why don't you join the Builders again? You only got a few hours there yesterday, anyway."

She nodded, feeling a bit defeated but trying to shake it off. "Sure. I'll head back, then."

"Good. And remember," Alby added with a small smirk as she turned to go, "no more asking about the Maze. Or else I might have to start calling you 'Trouble' instead of Greenie Girl."

Irelyn gave him a reluctant smile, nodding before heading back to the breakfast table where Newt waited, her thoughts still swirling. Alby's warning lingered in her mind, but so did the growing questions that no one seemed willing to answer.

The morning felt brighter than usual as Irelyn headed back to the breakfast table after her conversation with Alby. Her headache had dulled to a faint throb, but the lingering frustration from Alby's refusal to answer her questions was harder to shake off.

Newt was still seated, tearing into a piece of bread. He looked up as she sat down, his easy smile slipping a little as he took in her expression.

"So, where is he sending you this time?" he asked, though his tone held a hint of amusement.

Irelyn huffed, grabbing a piece of bread and breaking off a chunk a little too aggressively. "Why won't anyone answer my questions about the Runners and the Maze?" she muttered, the annoyance from her earlier conversation with Alby bubbling to the surface.

Before Newt could respond, Gally dropped onto the bench beside him, holding a cup of water. His shirt was already damp with sweat from his early morning work, his hair a little mussed and sticking to his forehead. The Builders must've been taking their mid-morning break, since she didn't suppose Frypan had breakfast fully ready for anyone but the runners at dawn.

"Someone wake up on the wrong side of the Glade?" Gally teased, smirking as he took a long drink.

Irelyn shot him a look, but the exasperation in her expression softened slightly as she took in his relaxed face. "You're talking to me now? I thought the Great Builder was too busy to be bothered with Greenies like me."

Gally's smirk widened, and he leaned forward on the table, giving her a lazy, confident grin. "Too good? Nah, just too busy to waste time with questions all day. But hey, if that's your way of getting attention, Red, you've succeeded."

Irelyn's cheeks warmed slightly at the nickname—this was the first time he'd used it, and it rolled off his tongue so easily, with a hint of playfulness she hadn't expected from him. She tried to brush it off, but the unexpected attention left her feeling a little flustered.

She rolled her eyes, feigning nonchalance. "Right, because you've never asked a question in your life. And what makes you think I want your attention anyway?"

Gally shrugged, his grin never fading. "Hey, if you've got questions, ask away. But don't be surprised if I've got answers you don't like."

Newt chuckled at their banter, his eyes glinting with amusement as he also leaned forward on his elbows. "So what's got you all fired up, Sunshine?"

Irelyn let out a breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the banter lifted her mood. "I just talked to Alby. Asked him about shadowing him, which was a no. Then about shadowing a Runner, also a no. and he nearly bit my head off for asking if I could learn more about the maze."

Newt raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "Let me guess—answer was also a no."

Irelyn gave him a glare, though the corners of her mouth were tugging upward in spite of herself. "He told me to stop asking questions and go finish my breakfast."

Gally's expression softened, his usual sarcasm fading a little as he slipped on his water. "Ever think it's for your own good?" His tone wasn't dismissive, but held a hint of understanding she hadn't expected.

Irelyn frowned, looking at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

Newt answered for him, his voice gentle. "The reason we don't dump everything on you right away is because, well… it can be a lot. Alby's been here since the beginning, for over two years, and he's seen Greenies come through here month after month. I'd estimate there have been roughly 47 of us total. There are currently only 35 of us. Some can handle the truth about the Maze right away. Others… not so much." He hesitated, then continued. "It's not about keeping things from you—it's about giving you time to adjust."

Irelyn processed that, her annoyance fading into something more reflective. She glanced down at her bread, feeling a twinge of guilt for pushing so hard. "What happens to the ones who don't take it well?" she asked quietly looking between both boys.

Gally didn't say anything, just tipped his head slightly toward the shadowy line of the Deadheads. The unspoken answer settled heavily in her mind, and she swallowed hard, nodding in understanding.

"Guess I need to work on being patient, then," she murmured, the frustration in her voice replaced with a quiet determination.

Gally downed the rest of his water and stood up, brushing off his pants. "Patience is a virtue. Or so I'm told," he said with a hint of a smirk, then tossed his cup aside and nodded toward her. "So, you comin' to work with me today, or sticking with Newt?"

Irelyn crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. "I thought girls weren't cut out to be Builders."

Gally shrugged nonchalantly, that playful spark back in his eyes. "If they're as clumsy as you are, maybe not. But I'm willing to believe yesterday was just first-day jitters. Plus," he added with a teasing grin, "I like having an assistant."

She laughed, rolling her eyes. "I'm not carrying your tool bag around all day again, Gally."

He put a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "I'd never dream of it. But I might let you hold the ladder this time." He shot her one last smirk, then turned and strolled off, his easy confidence making her shake her head in amusement.

Newt chuckled, standing up and stretching his arms over his head. "You should probably go with Gally. I've got other stuff to do in the Gardens today, so I won't be around much. And honestly… I've never seen him be this nice to a Greenie before. Might be worth taking advantage of it, just in case it's temporary."

Irelyn snorted, finishing her bread as she watched Gally's retreating form. "Alright, off to the Great Builder I go," she said, brushing crumbs off her hands.

Newt gave her a warm look, his usual lighthearted demeanor softening slightly. As she turned to go, he bent down and kissed the top of her head, lingering just a moment longer than was probably normal for friends. "See you later, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice gentle.

A warmth spread through her, starting where his lips had brushed her hair and radiating outward. Her cheeks flushed, and she glanced up at him, her heart skipping a beat. His familiar nickname for her had never felt so… personal. She met his gaze, his eyes twinkling with a mix of affection and amusement, before he straightened up and walked off with a knowing smile.

Still feeling the heat in her cheeks, Irelyn quickly placed her bacon and eggs between the two halves of her biscuit and jogged after Gally. She caught up to him near the Builder's section where he leaned against a stack of wooden planks, arms crossed and waiting for her with an expectant look.

Without a word, he handed her a hammer and nodded toward the window frames she'd started on yesterday. "Think you can manage without knocking anyone off a ladder this time?"

Irelyn grinned, taking the hammer from him in one hand and offering him some of her breakfast sandwich with the other. "No promises."

Gally just shook his head, his smirk softening into something almost fond. "Let's see what you've got, Red."

—-

Irelyn was pulled from sleep by a firm shake on her shoulder. She groaned, eyes barely cracking open to see a shadowy figure standing over her in the dim light of early morning.

"Up, Greenie Girl," came the familiar voice of Alby. "It's time."

Irelyn blinked, still groggy, and tried to make sense of what was happening. "Time for what?" she mumbled, pushing herself upright, her blanket slipping off her shoulders and pooling in her lap.

"For answers," Alby said simply, his voice low but steady. "Grab your jacket. You wanna know about the Maze, I'm showing you the Maze."

That woke her up.

The Maze.

The one thing she had been asking about since she arrived, the one thing that no one had been willing to explain. Her heart gave a jolt, and she threw the blanket aside, standing quickly and fumbling for her lightweight tan jacket. The air was cold, and the chill of dawn slipped under her clothes, pressing against her skin like an unspoken warning.

As she slipped on her jacket and stepped outside, she glanced around the quiet Glade. The faint smell of smoke drifted from the kitchen hut, where the Cooks were already stoking fires, but the rest of the Glade was still shrouded in sleepy silence. She could just make out Newt, still fast asleep in his hammock, his chest rising and falling peacefully, and a pang of comfort washed over her, grounding her for just a moment. If he were awake, maybe he'd have had words of encouragement, a reassuring grin to ease her nerves.

But he wasn't awake, and it was just her, Alby, and the shadowy outline of the Maze doors towering at the center of the Glade.

Alby motioned for her to follow, and they walked quietly to the massive doors, looming over them like the entrance to another world. Even in the dim light, the stone looked cold and unfeeling, the faint etchings of moss-covered cracks running like veins through the walls. Irelyn felt her pulse quicken as they approached. She had seen the doors open before, but never like this, never with the weight of knowing she was about to get answers she'd been denied until now.

"The doors open at dawn," Alby said quietly, his voice rough and edged with something hard. "They stay open all day and close at dusk. And no one—no one—stays inside after dark. Got that?"

Irelyn nodded, her gaze fixed on the doors as her heart thudded painfully in her chest. The stone walls were massive and ancient, and in the stillness of the morning, they seemed almost alive, like they were holding their breath. "What's inside?"

Alby cast her a brief glance before looking back at the doors, his eyes dark and unreadable. "A death trap," he muttered. "That's what."

His words settled over her like a shroud. This place—the Glade she'd started to adapt to, the people she'd begun to care about, all of it was surrounded by a place he described only as a death trap.

Before she could ask more, a new voice broke the silence behind them. "So, this is the famous Greenie Girl."

Irelyn turned, her pulse quickening again as a boy approached. He moved with the ease of someone who knew every inch of this place, who saw everything as either a challenge or a game. His dark hair was mussed from sleep, his posture relaxed, yet there was an edge to him—a barely hidden readiness, as if he could spring into action at any second.

Minho.

Irelyn knew immediately who he was—the Keeper of the Runners, the last of the Keepers she hadn't officially met. She'd seen him around with the other Runners, always on the move, but this was her first time seeing him up close. He looked her over with a sharp gaze, assessing but not unkind.

"Finally decided to give her the tour, huh?" Minho said, glancing at Alby before meeting Irelyn's gaze. "About time."

"Irelyn," Alby said, nodding toward Minho, "meet Minho, Keeper of the Runners. He's the reason we know anything about the Maze at all."

"Nice to meet you," Irelyn said, her voice a bit tentative, her mind still racing.

Minho's lips twitched in a smirk, his arms crossing over his chest. "Likewise. I hear you've been asking a lot of questions about the Maze."

Irelyn nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and dread building in her chest. "Yeah… I've been curious. Alby told me no one can go in unless they're a Runner."

Minho's smirk faded, his gaze turning serious. "That's right. The Maze is no joke. It changes every day—walls move, paths shift. You get caught in there after dark, well… you don't make it out."

A chill ran through her, making her fingertips numb. "What… what happens to the people who stay inside?"

Minho and Alby exchanged a glance, a flicker of something dark and unspoken passing between them. Minho's voice was softer when he spoke again. "It's not just the Maze you have to worry about. The real threat is what comes out at night."

Alby reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to her. Irelyn unfolded it carefully, her stomach twisting as she took in the crude drawing on the page.

It was monstrous—a creature made of twisted metal and flesh, with long, spindly limbs ending in jagged claws. Its body was covered in wires and plates, and its eyes, cold and mechanical, seemed to bore into her from the page. She felt the bile rise in her throat, her fingers trembling as she stared at the thing before her.

"What… is this?" she whispered, barely able to keep her voice steady.

"That," Minho said quietly, "is a Griever. That's what waits for anyone stuck in the Maze after dark."

Irelyn's heart hammered in her chest, the word *Griever* sinking into her mind like a weight. She imagined those claws raking through the darkness, the mechanical growls echoing through the shifting walls. "This… thing is in there now?"

Alby nodded grimly. "They come out at night. If you're in the Maze when the doors close, you don't survive. Simple as that."

"But… what about during the day?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. "Is it safe then?"

Minho let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Safer, maybe. The Grievers mostly come out at night, but sometimes… sometimes they roam in the day, too. It's rare, but not impossible."

Irelyn's mind whirled. The Glade, the place she'd begun to feel safe in, was really just a fragile bubble, surrounded by death on all sides. The walls around her weren't just a prison—they were her only protection.

"Do they… do they eat people?" she asked, horrified by her own question but needing to know.

Both Minho and Alby exchanged another look, the weight of it pressing down on her. Finally, Alby nodded. "Yeah. Or worse."

"Worse?" The word slipped out, barely a breath, but her heart was pounding so loudly it almost drowned her own voice.

Minho's face darkened, his usual bravado replaced by something raw and serious. "If they don't kill you outright, they sting you. They've got venom. If you get stung by a Griever…" He paused, as if searching for the right words. "It drives you mad. Violent. And then you die anyway. So, surviving a Griever? It doesn't matter. Not really."

Irelyn's legs felt weak, her mind spinning with the horror of what she was hearing. She imagined herself in the Maze, surrounded by shifting walls and the cold, glowing eyes of a Griever lurking in the dark. She wanted to shut her mind against the image, to push it all away, but it was too late. The reality had set in, cold and terrifying.

Just then, the deep, grinding sound of stone shifting filled the air, and Irelyn flinched as the massive doors began to creak open. The sound was low and rumbling, like the ground itself was waking up, and the first light of dawn spilled through the open entrance, illuminating the dark, endless corridors beyond.

The Runners were already gathering, each of them carrying supplies and steeling themselves for what lay ahead. Irelyn felt a pang of admiration mixed with horror as she watched them, each of them stepping forward with quiet determination. Minho joined them, casting her a last, serious glance.

"That's us," he said, nodding toward the Maze.

Irelyn watched as the Runners slipped into the shadows one by one, their forms disappearing into the vast unknown. Minho was the last to go, his stride confident, and he didn't look back.

For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The Maze felt like a living thing, pulling them in, swallowing them whole. She watched the doors as they remained open, waiting for dusk when they would close again, sealing off the Maze—and anyone still inside.

"They leave at dawn," Alby said beside her, his voice a quiet weight. "They come back before dusk. That's the rule."

"And if

they don't?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Alby's gaze remained fixed on the Maze, his jaw set. "Then they're dead."

The finality of his words sank into her bones, leaving her cold despite the sunlight creeping over the walls. She'd wanted answers, and now that she had them, all she felt was fear. The Maze was no adventure, no mystery waiting to be solved. It was death, lurking just beyond the walls.

Alby turned to her, his gaze softening as he took in the shock on her face. "Go shower," he said gently. "Get ready for the day. We've got more to talk about later."

Irelyn nodded numbly, barely aware of her own movements. She handed the drawing back to him, her fingers still trembling slightly.

"Thanks for showing me," she whispered.

Alby took the sketch and tucked it back into his jacket, giving her a small nod. "You're tough, Irelyn. Just remember—patience. Don't rush into things you're not ready for."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in front of the towering doors. The early morning sunlight bathed the Glade in golden light, but to Irelyn, it felt cold, empty, a thin veneer over the darkness she now knew lay beyond.

The place she'd spent the past week trying to understand was no longer the strange, hopeful refuge she'd thought it might become. It was exactly what it seemed to be the moment she first arrived—a cage, surrounded by things she couldn't escape and horrors she couldn't fully understand.

Irelyn stood under the stream of cold water in the shower hut, barely feeling its icy sting as it trickled down her face and over her body. Her mind was racing, fragments of the morning flashing like jagged shards of glass: the towering Maze doors, the drawing of the Griever, Minho's grim expression, Alby's quiet but heavy words. She closed her eyes, but that only made it worse—the image of the Griever sprang to life in the darkness behind her eyelids, twisted limbs and glowing, predatory eyes.

How could they live with this? How could they know that death was lurking just beyond those walls every day and still carry on as if it were normal?

One week. It's been seven days, she realized, the thought sinking in with a weight that made her chest feel tight. One week since I arrived.

It felt like much longer. So much had happened, so much had changed since that first day in the Box. She remembered waking up, disoriented and afraid, but almost immediately finding a sense of relief at the sight of the Glade. It had seemed like a refuge, an island of green grass and open skies surrounded by strong, towering walls. A cage, yes—but a safe cage, a place to breathe, a place to begin again.

Now she knew better. Now she knew that the walls weren't there to protect her; they were there to keep her—and everyone else—trapped. The Glade wasn't a sanctuary, it was a prison, with the Maze waiting on all sides, hungry for any chance to pull them into its deadly grip. And every time the Runners went out there, they risked everything just for a shred of hope. The Glade was nothing more than a cage in the middle of a death trap.

Her breathing grew shallow, her pulse quickening as the realization fully hit her. The walls weren't walls; they were boundaries. And beyond those boundaries, there was nothing but shifting paths and monsters with venomous stingers, just waiting for someone to be foolish—or desperate—enough to enter.

Her hands shook, and she pressed them against the wooden wall of the hut, trying to ground herself, to steady the swirling panic rising inside her. She thought of the others, of the boys who had been here so much longer than she had. Newt, with his easy smile and comforting words, who had spent nearly two years in this place. Gally, who hid behind sarcasm and scowls, but had already shown her a glimpse of something deeper. And Alby, with the weight of every Greenie he'd seen come and go—and every one he'd lost.

How many had been lost? How many had been stung, or worse, eaten? The thought made her stomach twist, and an image rose in her mind: the rows of graves in the Deadheads, the crosses jutting from the earth like a silent forest. Those graves weren't just reminders of death; they were reminders of the Glade's terrible reality, of the endless cycle of arrival, survival, and loss that the Gladers endured. They were just kids, like her, fighting against something none of them understood.

A sob caught in her throat, and she pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle it. Tears blurred her vision as the cold water continued to trickle down her face. She had wanted answers, had pushed for them, thinking that knowledge would make her feel stronger, less helpless. But this knowledge—this terrible, raw truth—had only brought more fear, more confusion, more darkness. It felt as if she'd opened a door and found not hope, but a void, an endless, nightmarish unknown stretching out before her.

She wished she could take it back. She wished she could un-ask those questions, go back to the blissful ignorance of not knowing. She wished she'd listened to Newt, to Alby, to everyone who'd tried to shield her from this, who'd told her again and again to let it go. They were right. She hadn't been ready to know, and now that she did, it felt as if she'd lost something she couldn't get back.

All the warmth and security she'd felt in the Glade, the camaraderie, the strange sense of peace she'd been building over the past week—it all felt hollow now, fragile and exposed in the harsh light of the truth. She was back to that first feeling, that first instinct when she'd opened her eyes in the Box and seen the towering walls around her: trapped, helpless, cornered.

Another wave of tears spilled over, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs as she let herself grieve—not just for herself, but for every Glader who'd come before her, for every boy who had woken up here, lost and scared, and fought day after day just to survive. She grieved for the ones who hadn't made it, for the ones who had faced the Maze and never come back. She grieved for the innocence she felt slipping away with every passing second.

After a few moments, she forced herself to take a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the storm inside her. The others had been here much longer than she had, she reminded herself. They had learned to survive, to find moments of peace even in this nightmare. If they could do it, then she could too. She had to.

Wiping her eyes, she splashed her face with the icy water one last time, letting the shock of it clear her mind. She reached for her towel, forcing herself to push aside the panic and dread, if only for now. There would be time to process it later. She had work to do, a place to find, people who were counting on her to keep it together. She couldn't let the darkness consume her, no matter how terrifying it felt.

She quickly dressed, pulling on her dark jeans and light olive shirt, and tying her ginger hair back into a quick ponytail. As she tied it, she caught a glimpse of her own reflection in a small shard of mirror someone had propped up near the door. Her face looked pale and drawn, her eyes wide and filled with the remnants of fear and sadness. But there was something else there too, a flicker of determination she hadn't realized she still had.

They may have taken away her sense of safety, her peace—but she would find a way to survive. For herself, and for the ones who hadn't. The ones who had left behind graves in the Deadheads, who had faced the Maze and its horrors so that the others might live another day.

Straightening, Irelyn took one last steadying breath. She didn't feel ready. She didn't feel brave. But she was still here, still breathing, still standing.

And that would have to be enough. For now.