Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Seven

As Lyra stirred from her slumber, the discomfort of the night before lingered, a dull ache in her ankle a constant reminder of the day's events. Blinking against the morning sun, she squinted, her eyes adjusting to the brightness as she surveyed her surroundings.

To her surprise, a pillow was propped behind her back, and a blanket draped securely over her form. It took a moment for her groggy mind to register the unusual comfort, and she couldn't help but wonder who had taken the time to ensure her rest.

As she attempted to sit up straight, her movements sluggish from sleep, a familiar figure caught her eye. Chuck was making his way over to her, his expression bright with the warmth of morning.

"Morning, Lyra!" Chuck greeted cheerfully, his voice cutting through the early morning stillness. "Frypan left some breakfast out for you. Newt wanted me to make sure you got it."

Lyra offered Chuck a grateful smile, touched by the gesture. "Thanks, Chuck. Tell Frypan I appreciate it," she replied, her voice still thick with sleep.

As Chuck settled down beside her, the morning sunlight casting a golden glow over his features, Lyra's gaze wandered, searching for Minho among the waking Gladers. However, he was nowhere to be seen, leaving her with a pang of disappointment.

"No problem. How'd you sleep?" Chuck's voice pulled Lyra's attention back to the present, his concern evident in his expression.

Lyra sighed, the events of the previous day weighing heavily on her mind. "Not great, to be honest," she admitted, her gaze drifting to her throbbing ankle. "But better than I expected."

Chuck nodded sympathetically, his eyes reflecting understanding. "Yeah, yesterday was rough. But hey, at least it's a new day, right?" he remarked optimistically, a hint of his usual enthusiasm shining through.

Despite her lingering fatigue, Lyra couldn't help but smile at Chuck's infectious optimism. "Yeah, you're right. Thanks, Chuck," she said sincerely, the warmth of gratitude spreading through her.

As Lyra's gaze drifted across the Glade, she observed the familiar bustle of activity that marked the start of another day. Her eyes lingered on Thomas, who was stationed at the Blood House, his brow furrowed in concentration as he dutifully carried out Winston's instructions. There was a small smirk of satisfaction on her lips as she noted that Thomas seemed to be assigned the least desirable task first.

Turning her attention to the other end of the Glade, she spotted Newt overseeing the trackhoes, his authoritative presence evident as he directed the Gladers in their tasks. It was reassuring to see him in his element, orchestrating the workings of the Glade with ease.

Glancing back at Chuck, Lyra nodded in determination. "Well, I guess it's time to get on with the day," she said, her voice laced with resolve.

Chuck offered her a supportive smile, reaching out to help her to her feet. With his assistance, Lyra rose from her makeshift bed beneath the tree, the blanket slipping from her shoulders as she steadied herself.

"Thanks, Chuck," she replied with a forced smile, accepting his help. Leaning on him for support, they made their way towards the cafeteria, the aroma of breakfast doing little to ease Lyra's unease.

Once seated at a table with their plates piled high with food, Chuck leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial. "So, guess what Thomas told me yesterday," he began, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Lyra's interest piqued, but a sense of suspicion gnawed at her. "What?" she asked, her tone guarded. "Did he finally decide to spill about what he's really up to?"

Chuck chuckled, shaking his head. "No, nothing like that," he replied, his tone light but Lyra sensed an undercurrent of something else. "He said he wants to be a runner."