Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Twenty Two

The four of them descended the stairs of the Homestead, their steps heavy with the weight of what they had just witnessed. Lyra's mind was a whirlwind of memories and emotions, the fear from her own Changing resurfacing with a vengeance. Her breath hitched, and she felt herself starting to spiral. She stared at the worn wooden steps, each one a reminder of the daunting reality they were trapped in.

Minho, walking beside her, noticed the subtle tremor in her steps and the way her shoulders tensed. Without a word, he slipped his hand into hers, his grip firm and reassuring. The warmth of his touch pulled her back from the edge of panic. She glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips despite the turmoil inside her. His presence was a steady anchor, grounding her in the midst of chaos.

As they reached the bottom of the stairs, she turned towards Thomas and found him already watching her. There was something in his eyes—concern, confusion, perhaps even guilt—that made her heart ache. She felt a pang of guilt herself, but she didn't let go of Minho's hand, needing the comfort it provided.

Newt, his expression a mix of determination and concern, broke the silence. "Tommy, do you know anything about the girl? Anything at all? Do you remember her?"

Thomas's eyes flickered with uncertainty. "I don't," he replied, but Lyra noticed the slight hesitation, the way his gaze briefly dropped to the floor before meeting Newt's again.

Minho, ever perceptive, stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Are you completely sure?" he asked, his tone a blend of skepticism and urgency.

Thomas's frustration boiled over. He clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. "I told you, I don't remember!" he snapped, his voice echoing slightly in the enclosed space.

Newt raised a hand, his calm authority diffusing the tension. "Alright, calm it. We're going to take you to see the girl. Maybe it will jog your memory," he said, his tone firm but gentle.

Thomas nodded, the fight draining out of him. "Okay," he agreed quietly.

Lyra took a deep breath, mustering her courage. "I'll go with you too," she said, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her stomach. She released Minho's hand, feeling a momentary reluctance as she did so.

Minho's eyes softened, and he gave her a small nod. "I'll see you later," he said, his voice low and reassuring. Before she turned to leave, she leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you," she murmured, a small smirk playing on her lips, the gesture easing some of the tension she felt.

Minho's lips curved into a brief smile. "Anytime, Lyra," he replied, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and concern.

As Lyra moved away from Minho after thanking him, she caught Thomas's expression—unreadable and confusing. She couldn't decipher the emotions playing across his face, and it left her feeling unsettled. What was he thinking? Why did he look at her that way?

Newt's voice broke through her thoughts. "Come on, Lyra," he called, already heading down the corridor.

With one last glance at Minho, who gave her an encouraging nod, Lyra turned and followed Newt and Thomas towards the room where the girl was. Her mind buzzed with unanswered questions, but she pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. As they walked, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on her, but she steeled herself, determined to face whatever came next.

** **

The corridor was eerily quiet as Newt led them to the room where the girl lay in a coma. The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation and a hint of dread. Lyra's steps were hesitant, her mind a whirl of conflicting emotions. She couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had settled over her since Alby's unsettling revelations.