Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Seventeen

As evening approached, tension hung thick in the air of the Glade. The usual bustle and chatter among the Gladers gradually dwindled as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. Everyone watched the Maze entrance intently, waiting for any sign of Minho and Alby's return. Lyra stood near the edge of the clearing, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a mixture of worry and determination etched on her face.

Thomas stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the looming Maze walls. He glanced at Lyra occasionally, silently acknowledging the gravity of the situation. They had to wait, they knew that, but with each passing minute, the knot in Lyra's stomach tightened.

"They have to make it," Lyra muttered under her breath, her eyes never leaving the Maze opening.

Thomas nodded in agreement, his voice equally subdued. "They will. They have to."

Hours passed with agonizing slowness. The shadows grew longer, stretching across the Glade as the day slipped into dusk. A collective unease settled among the remaining Gladers, evident in their restless movements and hushed conversations.

Newt, weary from hours of waiting, approached Lyra and Thomas. His expression was grim as he shook his head. "They're not coming," he stated flatly, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Chuck, who had been hovering nearby, glanced at Lyra with concern before sighing heavily and turning away. "I guess we should head back," he muttered softly, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Lyra clenched her fists, frustration simmering beneath the surface. She couldn't accept that Minho and Alby might not return. Not after everything they had been through together in the Maze.

Thomas exchanged a knowing glance with Newt before he stepped closer to Lyra. "We should stay a little longer," he suggested quietly, his tone gentle yet determined. "Just a bit longer."

Lyra nodded, her jaw set in determination. She couldn't abandon hope just yet, not without knowing for certain. "Yeah," she replied, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "We wait."

They stood vigil at the Maze entrance, the fading light of the setting sun casting long shadows around them. Lyra's mind raced with memories of the Maze runs, the dangers they had faced, and the bonds they had forged. She stole glances at Thomas, his silhouette outlined against the darkening sky, and found a silent reassurance in his presence.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity. The air grew cooler, and the first stars began to twinkle overhead. Lyra's shoulders sagged with weariness, but she remained steadfast, unwilling to give up hope.

As the last glimmers of daylight faded, leaving only the eerie glow of the fading bonfire, the Gladers dispersed with heavy hearts. Thomas and Lyra remained at the Maze entrance, a sense of unease settling over them as they watched the colossal doors begin to creak shut. The air was thick with tension, anticipation mingled with fear.

Then, against all odds, they saw him—Minho emerging from the depths of the Maze, carrying Alby on his back. Lyra's breath caught in her throat, relief flooding her momentarily before reality set in.

"What do we do?" Lyra's voice was urgent, eyes wide as she turned to Thomas for guidance.

Thomas stared at the closing doors, his jaw clenched in determination. "We have to help them," he replied firmly, his voice resolute.

"No!" Lyra's protest was instinctive, fear gripping her as she glanced nervously at the closing gap. "Thomas, we can't. It's too dangerous."

But Thomas was already moving, his mind made up. The Maze doors scraped and ground against the concrete, threatening to seal shut. He looked back at Lyra with a determined glint in his eye. "I have to do this," he insisted, his voice unwavering despite the urgency of the situation.