Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Nineteen

Lyra and Thomas stumbled into the infirmary, exhaustion etched into their faces. The med-jacks hurriedly checked them over, ensuring there were no serious injuries beyond scrapes, bruises, and Lyra's still tender ankle. The harsh, sterile light of the infirmary made the shadows under their eyes look even darker, highlighting the weariness that clung to them like a second skin. As the med-jacks worked, Lyra's adrenaline ebbed away, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness and a gnawing sense of vulnerability.

Jeff, a tall, wiry Glader with sharp eyes, approached Thomas first. "Sit tight, Greenie. Let's see the damage," he said, his tone brisk but not unkind. He gently lifted Thomas's arm, inspecting the scrapes and bruises that marred his skin. Thomas winced slightly, his muscles tensing under Jeff's touch.

"Does this hurt?" Jeff asked, pressing lightly on a particularly nasty bruise.

Thomas shook his head, though the pain was evident in his clenched jaw. "Just a bit," he admitted.

Jeff nodded, applying antiseptic and carefully wrapping a bandage around Thomas's arm. "You'll live," he said with a faint smile. "But try not to get into any more trouble, alright?"

Thomas managed a small, tired grin. "No promises."

Clint, stockier and with a reassuring presence, turned to Lyra. He knelt beside her, his hands gentle as he took her injured ankle in his grasp. "How's the ankle?" he asked, his fingers probing the swelling with practiced care.

Lyra winced but didn't pull away. "Better," she replied, though the discomfort was still evident on her face.

Clint nodded, his expression focused. He began wrapping her ankle with a fresh bandage, his movements efficient and precise. "You did a number on it, but it's healing. Try not to strain it too much."

Lyra nodded, biting her lip to suppress another wince as Clint tightened the bandage. Her thoughts strayed to Minho, the tension from the Maze still lingering in her mind. "What about Minho?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry. "Is he okay?"

Jeff glanced over at Clint, then back at Lyra. "We just checked him up. He's resting in the room next door. He'll be alright, just needs some sleep."

Thomas, who had been watching the interaction, looked at Lyra with a mixture of concern and curiosity. Lyra caught Thomas's look and felt a rush of guilt and confusion. She and Minho had history, a deep bond forged through shared trials. But her feelings for Thomas were new, confusing, and intense. She didn't understand why she felt so strongly for someone she had only known for a few days. Her eyes met Thomas's, and for a moment, neither of them spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions.

As the med-jacks finished their work, they gave Thomas and Lyra a final once-over. "You're both lucky," Jeff said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Most people don't make it out of the Maze at night."

Lyra nodded absently, her mind still racing. The memory of the Griever's shrieks and the close call in the Maze haunted her, making her skin prickle with lingering fear. Clint gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.

"Try to get some rest," Clint advised, his voice gentle. "You've been through a lot."

Lyra managed a small, grateful smile. "We will. Thanks."

With the med-jacks finished, the infirmary grew quiet. The only sounds were the distant murmurs from the Glade and the soft rustling of sheets as Lyra and Thomas shifted on their beds. Thomas sat on the edge of his bed, his fingers absently tracing the edges of the bandages on his arms. Lyra lay back on her own bed, staring up at the ceiling, her mind replaying the events of the day. The tension in the room remained, but knowing that Minho was safe, for now, provided a slight, much-needed reprieve.