"𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮 𝙗𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙄 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪."
When Thalia wakes up in the lift, the only thing she can remember is her name. She's surrounded by strangers-boys whose memories are also gone.
She awakes with another girl as wel...
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Apparently Thomas had ran out into the maze after, Thalia couldn't help but feel worried. How did she do that? Why did she say that to him?
She was waiting outside the doors, which, Newt told her how everything worked. After lots of scoffs and snarky remarks, Newt finally convinced her.
Thomas ran from out of the maze, panting slightly. The sound wall quickly moved, closing for the night; he leaned forward until it stopped. Minted later, his back once again comfortably pressed against thick layers of ivy, about to fall asleep.
"How was your time in the maze?" Thalia asked, fiddling with a stick as she sat next to Thomas.
He let out a breath, "who are you?" He asked. Thalia furrowed her brows, "whatever do you mean?" she asked.
"I feel like— like I know you, but I don't. It's like this little glimpse of something.. something, about you that's different from anyone else." He said, opening his eyes and looking at her.
"I don't know who I am. Only my name, Thalia." She answered. Thomas' eyes widened, "Thalia?" he asked.
She nodded, "Yeah. Like, from the voice in our head?" Thalia said.
"You—" Thomas was wide eyed, and Thalia interrupted him with a "Yes. I have them too, Thomas."
"How—"
"I don't know what it is. But I can also speak in your mind too. But you can't do that . . how?" Thalia asked, furrowing her brows.
"I don't know." Thomas answered, his gaze averting to the ground in front of them. There was a comfortable silence, and Thalia lay her head on his shoulder.
"Why are we here?" Thalia asked.
". . . I don't know." Thomas sighed, and they both closed their eyes, drifting into a deep slumber.
The next morning, someone gently shook them awake.
"Thomas, Uh, girl, wake up." A voice muttered, making Thalias eyes flutter open, she removed her head from Thomas' shoulder and looked at the boy.
Short and Pudgy, staring at us. He was young—probably the youngest of any in the group she'd seen so far, maybe 12 or 13 years old.
His brown hair hung down over his ears and neck, scraping the tops of his shoulders. Blue eyes shone through an otherwise pitiful face, flabby and flushed.
Groaning, Thomas leaned forward, stretched out his hand and arms. A couple of blankets had been placed over them during the night—some one playing the Glade Mother.
"What time is it?" Thalia asked, grunting as she stood up and stretched her arms.
"You're almost too late for breakfast." The boy tugged on Thomas' arm.
