Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Three

Lyra stirred from her slumber, the echoes of Gally's thunderous voice reverberating through the homestead, mingling with Ben's pained cries like a discordant symphony. With a sigh, she rolled over in her bed, the twinge in her ankle serving as a cruel reminder of their precarious existence in the Glade. Yet, the cacophony outside refused to be ignored, compelling her to investigate.

Emerging into the cool evening air, Lyra's gaze fell upon Gally, his imposing figure squared off against the newcomer, whose name was revealed to be Thomas. "You don't belong here," Gally barked, his voice dripping with contempt. "I saw you in my visions, during the Changing."

Thomas's expression faltered, a flicker of confusion dancing in his eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about," he replied, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

Ignoring the exchange, Lyra's attention shifted to Thomas as he approached the homestead. She felt a surge of recognition and anger as she finally got the chance to take in his features. His dark brown hair fell in disarray across his forehead, subtle freckles dotting his t-zone. But it was his eyes that captured her attention, a storm of conflicting emotions swirling within their depths. Anger bubbled inside her as she realized who he was, and the implications of his presence in the Glade.

As Thomas brushed past her, Lyra's hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms. Inside, the scene was chaotic. Gladers stood at the bottom of the stairs, their expressions a mix of fear and concern. Ben's screams from upstairs were unsettling, their intensity reverberating through the homestead.

Thomas pushed past the gladers and began making his way up the stairs, determination evident in every step. "Where's he going?" Lyra asked, her voice trembling slightly as she looked to Chuck for answers.

"He's looking for Newt," Chuck replied, his brow furrowed with concern. "But now's not the time."

Gally's voice cut through the air as Thomas ascended the stairs. "You shouldn't go up there," he warned, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. But Thomas pressed on, ignoring the warning.

Lyra watched as Thomas disappeared from view, a knot forming in her stomach. "I hope he's okay," she muttered, though whether she meant Thomas or Ben, she wasn't sure.

As Alby's voice reverberated through the homestead, its timbre laced with palpable anger, the atmosphere grew heavy with tension. Lyra watched on, her heart sinking with each sharp word exchanged between Alby and Thomas. It was as if the very air around them had turned thick and suffocating, the weight of their confrontation pressing down on her like a leaden blanket.

Thomas's descent down the stairs seemed to unfold in slow motion, every step echoing with the weight of his apprehension. His normally vibrant complexion had paled to a ghostly hue, his features drawn tight with fear. Each movement was hesitant, as if he were navigating a minefield, unsure of where to step next.

Lyra's gaze remained fixed on Thomas, her heart aching with empathy for the turmoil etched across his face. Despite her own reservations about his presence in the Glade, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the newcomer. He was clearly out of his depth, caught in the crossfire of a world he didn't understand.

As Thomas reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes darted around the room, searching for a lifeline amidst the sea of concerned faces. It was then that he caught sight of Chuck, the younger boy's expression a beacon of warmth amidst the storm. With a silent nod of gratitude, Thomas made his way towards him, his shoulders sagging with relief.

Left in the wake of his departure, Lyra felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over her. Curiosity warred with uncertainty, mingling with a flicker of compassion. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Thomas's story than met the eye, but she was equally wary of what secrets he might be hiding. With a heavy sigh, Lyra tore her gaze away from the scene unfolding before her, the weight of their uncertain future bearing down on her like an oppressive weight.