➊ 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨, ᵗᵐʳ

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓: 𝐋𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡

Newt led me to a large clearing surrounded by thick tree trunks arranged like stools. Boys sat on them, eating off dented metal plates balanced on their knees. Near the seating area was a makeshift table, more like a plank on crates, behind which stood a boy serving food from a steaming cauldron. The whole place smelled... edible, but not exactly appetizing.

I was about to head toward the seats when Chuck grabbed my arm.

"Hey, you need to come here if you want food," he said, tugging me toward the line.

Then, realizing something, he turned to me. "Wait—what's your name again?"

"Evelyn..." I answered quietly, hoping this time it was really mine. The last thing I needed was to find out there was already an Evelyn here, too.

Chuck's eyes widened, not at my name, but at whatever he saw ahead.

"Whoa! For once the food looks good, Frypan!" he bounced on his heels as we reached the front of the line.

The cook, apparently Frypan, raised an eyebrow and gave him a look.

"Hey! Don't say false things in front of the Greenie, besides, my food is always good Chuck!" He gave me a huge smile and extended his hand.

"Name's Siggy but everyone calls me Frypan. I heard you already remember yours?" Nothing could happen without the whole place knowing it.

"Um, yeah. Evelyn," I said, shaking his hand.

He handed me a plate—slightly brown, a bit chipped, but warm.

"Don't mind the color. Doesn't mess with the taste," he said with a wink before turning back to the next Glader.

Newt led Chuck and me over to one of the tree trunk seats. Chuck plopped down on the right, Newt took the middle, and I sat on the left. The food smelled a little better now that it was closer, and I was actually kind of hungry.

I glanced at my wrist, instinctively checking the injury I got earlier. But... nothing. My right wrist was clean. Confused, I turned it over, then checked my left one. Still nothing. No blood. No cut. But I knew I'd been hurt. Newt had seen it too. It wasn't just in my head.

Before I could think more about it, I noticed the two boys staring at me.

"What?" I asked, puzzled.

"Minho asked you something," Chuck said, pointing.

I looked up and immediately felt small. Standing in front of me was the Asian boy from earlier. Even taller now that I was seated, his head seemed miles above mine. He stood confidently, arms folded, a little too casually. His dark eyes were focused directly on me, unreadable.

He was strong. That much was obvious from the way his muscles shifted under his shirt with even the smallest movement. His styled black hair caught the light, and his sharp jawline didn't exactly scream friendly. And by the look on his face, he was not happy with me, probably because of the way I punched him. I swear I could distinguish a blue tint on his face.

"You done staring, or are you gonna give me my damn jacket? You're sitting on it," he snapped.

Heads turned, his friends behind him watching with interest. Great. An audience. Newt gave Minho a familiar side glance, the kind you give a sibling who always causes problems.

I shifted, realizing I'd been sitting on a navy-blue running vest with white stripes. It was streaked with dirt. Definitely his.

"Oh, sorry," I mumbled, standing up quickly and handing it to him.

He snatched it back and walked off, muttering something under his breath as he rejoined a group of boys near Ben. My brother threw me a quick "Sorry 'bout that," then turned back to his conversation.

Minho didn't even look back. Typical.

Newt sighed, breaking the awkward silence. "Well, I guess we can confirm Minho's recovered from the punch."

"Hum, hum" I simply said, taking a bite of my food. It wasn't as bad as I expected, but it wasn't a five-star meal either.

I glanced over at the group Minho had joined. "Who are those guys with Ben and Mean-Minho?"

Newt didn't seem fazed by the nickname.

"They're Runners. One of the eight jobs Alby probably mentioned."

"Alby?" I asked, trying to recall.

"Our leader," he explained, nodding toward the older boy I'd seen earlier. The one talking with the curly-haired blonde.

"Right..." I paused. "Ben was about to tell me what's on the other side of the wall before you showed up. Why do people even run into it?"

Newt stiffened slightly. "Ben, huh? Not sure he was supposed to."

"That didn't answer my questions," I stated, disappointed.

"I don't see why you're so curious about the Maze, Evelyn—" Chuck cut in mid-sentence, but his eyes went wide the second the word slipped from his mouth.

Newt choked on his drink, almost spilling it onto the ground.

Did he say Maze? Maze? A maze out there? But the walls were way too high for it must have taken years to create! And those Runners, how could they find their way? Did they have a map? What did it look like?

"A... A Maze?" was all I managed to say.

"Haha, That's so silly imagine that..." Newt lied so bad that I could see the worry in his eyes. I definitely wasn't supposed to know that.

I turned to Chuck. "There is a Maze, isn't there?"

Chuck shrugged innocently. "Yeah, but you better not go in it or they'll kill you."

They?

Newt pressed his hand over the boy's mouth to stop him. "I think you have said enough for today Chuck." But in response, he licked the British hand with his tongue.

"Ew, Chuck!" Newt yanked it back, wiping it furiously on his pants. Chuck just giggled.

I laughed too. Okay, that was kind of funny.

But then I remembered what he said.

"They? Who would kill me?" I asked, remembering what Chuck mentioned earlier. It slipped out before he realized it.

Newt looked stunned, choking this time on his food. "Okay—enough questions."

"You wouldn't need to answer them if you'd just left me with Ben."

That struck a nerve. His eyes went wide.

"Don't think Ben should've told you anything."

I didn't care. "Why go into the Maze at all if you're getting killed!?"

Newt didn't reply.

"I think you already know too much for one day, Greenie," he said, shifting uncomfortably. "Chuck, maybe you should give her the tour, instead? Gotta talk to Alby."

"Alright!" Chuck said, already grabbing my arm. Before I could respond, he was talking again, something about the Gardens and the Homestead, and we were off.

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