The mute [Maze runner Minho X OC]

Chapter ten

As they ran through the Maze, Piper couldn't shake the eerie sense of déjà vu. It all looked the same—silent, motionless. No Grievers. No danger. Just the rhythmic sound of their shoes hitting the concrete, each step heavy against the stillness.

She could hear Thomas panting behind her, his breath coming in ragged bursts. Minho, however, seemed to be handling it better, his breathing quicker but not as strained as Thomas's. They stopped often, taking breaks in the maze's dead air, sitting in a tight circle as they ate.

Piper sat cross-legged, listening. The quiet was unnerving. Their breathing. The rustling of food being eaten. It was almost as if the Maze itself had gone still, as if it was waiting for something—waiting for them. The only other sound that sliced through the silence was the faint buzzing of Beetle Blades, their presence unseen but undeniable. Piper couldn't see them, but she knew they were watching.

After two more breaks, Minho slowed to a walk. They were nearing the end of another long corridor, one that dead-ended abruptly. He stopped, glancing at the wall, then back at Piper. She stopped too, leaning against the dead end. Her mind was still racing, and despite the exhaustion weighing on her, she didn't feel like eating.

Thomas joined them, unwrapping their sandwiches with quick, frustrated movements. The food tasted bland, almost like they weren't even hungry anymore.

"This is it," Minho muttered after swallowing a bite, his voice hard as he looked at Piper. She was still standing a little in front of them, eyes glazed. "We've already run through this whole section. Surprise, surprise—no exits."

Piper pursed her lips, exhaustion dragging at her limbs as she slid down the wall to sit. She rested her head back against the cold surface, closing her eyes for a moment, listening to the faint hum of the Maze around them. There was nothing new. The same dead end. The same dead air. Her stomach churned, but not from hunger.

They had another meal. Another search. Another nothing. As the time passed and the wall-closing hour approached, Piper's senses sharpened, though her body was heavy with fatigue. She started scanning every corner, machete in hand, alert for any sign of the Grievers. But nothing came.

That was, until almost midnight. Minho, his eyes darting like a hawk, spotted the first Griever disappearing around a corner. It didn't return.

Thomas saw another one half an hour later. Same thing. And then another hour later, another Griever passed them, doing the same—a quick flicker in the corner of their vision, vanishing before they could react. It was like they were being toyed with.

"I think they're playing with us," Minho said, his voice tinged with something close to bitterness. They had given up on searching the walls and were now heading back to the Glade, walking in heavy, defeated steps.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked, his gaze flicking from Piper to the darkening corridor ahead.

Minho's words cut through the air, low and grim. "I think the Creators want us to know there's no way out. The walls aren't even moving anymore. It's like... this has all been some stupid game, and now it's time for the end. They want us to go back, to tell the others. How much you wanna bet that when we get back, we find out a Griever took someone just like last night?"

Piper's stomach twisted at the thought, and she kept her head down, her face hidden by her blonde hair. She signed quickly, her hands quick and sharp, but Minho didn't seem to understand.

"What was that?" 

Thomas frowned, glancing at Minho. "Even you didn't get that?"

Minho shook his head, stopping to turn toward Piper. He studied her for a moment, before asking softly, "What did you mean?"