The First Runner

I know you

REWRITTEN

Jess POV

The last two weeks had been brutal. The kind of brutal that sits heavy in your chest, pressing down until even breathing feels like an effort. But the world doesn't stop just because you lose someone. The sun still rises. The Maze still shifts. And somehow, we keep moving.

We buried Stephen's shirt and watch in a quiet corner of the forest, our makeshift grave marked by two crooked stones. It wasn't much, but it was what we had. His name's already been crossed off the wall in the homestead, and every time I see it, it's like the air gets punched out of me all over again. Permanent. Gone.

I told myself I'd take a break from the Maze after that. Just a day to... I don't even know. Sit still? Breathe? But the Maze doesn't leave you alone. By morning, the urge to go back out was chewing at me. The running, the mapping—it's the only thing that makes sense here, the only place I feel like I'm doing something. Control in a place where we don't have much of any. So I laced up, and I went back.

Every day since, my boots have hit those shifting stone paths. The walls loom like prison bars, but they're also the only puzzle left to solve. I scribble notes in my battered notebook until my hands cramp, sketching intersections and dead ends like if I just try hard enough, the Maze will give up its secrets. Maybe that's how I cope. Running until my lungs burn, mapping until my fingers ache. If I stop, I think too much about Stephen. About how easily the Maze swallows people whole.

This morning started no different. I woke before most of the boys stirred, pulling on my worn running kit, braiding my hair back, boots double-knotted tight. The homestead smelled faintly of smoke and last night's fire, but as I pushed through to the kitchen, a much better smell hit me—bacon, rich and salty, curling through the air. My stomach tightened in response.

Alec stood at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping eggs like he'd been born to do it. The guy hadn't been here long, just two weeks, but he already moved like he was trying to settle into some rhythm. Bacon sizzled on the pan, popping and spitting oil, and I couldn't help but smile a little at the sight of him concentrating like it was some delicate science experiment.

"Morning," I said, sliding into the kitchen, snagging a piece of toast from the pile.

"Morning," he echoed, with that soft Scottish lilt of his. "You're up early. Again."

"Not really 'again.' More like... always." I grinned faintly, though my eyes kept drifting toward the window, toward where the Maze's shadow stretched past the Glade. "You'd be surprised how much you can get done before everyone else drags themselves out of bed."

He gave me a look, amused but tired. "You ever stop, Jess?"

The question caught me mid-bite of toast. I swallowed, shrugged. "If I stop, I think. And thinking's worse."

For a second, Alec didn't answer, just watched the eggs firm up in the pan. Then, quieter, "Stephen, aye?"

I nodded. The name still felt like a stone in my throat. "Yeah. Him." My voice was rougher than I wanted it to be. I shoved the last bit of toast down, reaching for a strip of bacon to cover the silence.

Alec slid a plate my way, eggs steaming, edges crisp. "Eat. And before you ask—yeah, I'll make sure the others don't burn the place down while you're gone."

I snorted, tucking one piece of bacon into my pocket for later—a trick I'd learned the hard way after hours of running left me starving. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

"You mean breakfast-saver."

That pulled a laugh out of me, real enough to surprise myself. "Both."

He tilted his head, curious. "Maze again?"