Discoveries | TMR | Three

3:2

A five day trip; that is how long this is expected to take. Four days travelling, one day at the Glade - or, at least, they will try to do it all in that time frame, but Lord only knows what snags they may hit along the way, and Lord only knows what awaits them when they arrive at their destination.

That is all Nick has been able to think about. As he is squished between Adeline and the inside of the car door, listening to the sound of idle chitchat from Oscar and Lenny; one of Vince's men that offered his services, should they be required. As his left leg jackhammers with such velocity it feels like he may take off at any given moment; the rhythm of it jumping in time with the bouncy melody of whatever CD Oscar plays whistles through the speakers. The only thing that commandeers his thoughts is the prospect that this is all just a silly game.

A foolish charade. A trap created by Wicked that will undoubtedly force them back into capture, and then what? Are they supposed to live the rest of their lives being trialed and tested? Stripped of their memories and thrown back into another Maze? Nick does not believe he has the gall to dare try and beat them in another fight, or the capacity to withstand another three years of torture.

"Hey." His breath hitches when Adeline's hand gently trickles over his kneecap. "You okay?"

"Yea, I'm fine," he spits out, a little too quickly. "I'm just nervous."

"Don't be, man," Oscar assures, gazing at the boy through the rear view mirror. "Nothin's gonna happen, and if it does, we'll be right around the corner." He slaps the drivers shoulder. "Ain't that right, Lenny?"

"Auch aye, loon," Lenny agrees. "Me n' Herman hae plenty practice in th' Scorch. Fuck, if it weren't fur Vince needin' us tae fix up that rusty auld cruiser, it'd be us oot 'ere instead'o ye."

Those words and the thick, highland accent in which they sound do nothing to ease the burden on Nicks mind.

"Noo, ah telt Vince plenty o' times that it shuid be us oot 'ere. Awft much trauchle thae folks ur causin' ye, bit- weel, he isnae takin' th' bait sae far," the old man continues. "faster we git that ship fixed up, quicker we git yer buddies, th' quicker we git th' bugger outta dodge. That's his mind, anyways, ye kehn?"

He makes no sense, but honestly, he rarely does. Nick has only shared a low number of conversations with the man, yet each time, he has never been capable of deducing more than two or three of the words he speaks.

"Suppose we should count ourselves lucky you were even allowed to come on this one, Lenny." Alby, on the other hand, seems to have no issue in understanding him.

"Vince is a tough one'ta convince, that's sure, bit he gets it."

"He gets that we're walking straight into a trap, you mean?" Nick asks, and he immediately feels a glower coming from Alby and a faint back-handed smack from across the back seat.

"He his'nae said it in sae mony words," Lenny advises. "Bit, let's just say he's no hinkin' it's no a trap."

''Great,'' the brunette boy mutters sarcastically, rolling his eyes and slouching on his chair. "So he's letting us walk right into it then?" The tone in which he speaks does not go unnoticed by the rest of the people in the car, but truthfully, Nick could not give less of a shit right now.

"My dad's not letting us walk into anything." Oscar, however, is irked by the harsh way he talks of his father.

"Why else would he let two of his own men go on this trip if it weren't a trap?" Nick is undeterred.

"To make sure nothing goes south."

"Yea, to make sure we don't fall into whatever they're planning," the brunette counters. "To make sure that he doesn't lose a son to Wicked."