The First Runner

Stupid boys and their stupid ideas

REWRITTEN

Jess POV

The next morning, I was awake long before the wake-up bell. Truth was, I never really slept. Every time I shut my eyes, I saw the maze swallowing them whole — three boys who hadn't listened, three boys who were already gone. I knew it. Deep down, I knew it. But knowing and saying were two different things. The Glade didn't need me giving up. They needed me steady.

I pulled on my cargo pants, tank top, laced up my boots, then yanked my hair into a high ponytail. Sharp. Clean. Functional. No weakness in the mirror, just someone who looked ready to fight the world.

"Okay, Jess," I muttered under my breath. "You can do this. They need you to do this."

The words didn't fix the hollow in my chest, but they held me upright as I left my room.

I knocked on Minho's door first, hard enough to snap him out of whatever dream he was clinging to. "Up. We've got work to do."

A muffled groan, a thud, then Minho's voice. "Alright, alright, I'm up."

"Good," I called back, already moving on.

Newt's door opened before I even reached it. He stood there, already dressed, blond hair sticking up, eyes sharp despite the sleep still clinging to his face.

"Morning, Jess," he said, and there was something almost grateful in the way he said it — like just seeing me there gave him his footing.

"Morning," I replied, steady, giving him a nod. "Kitchen. Five minutes."

No need for extra words. He got it.

By the time we gathered in the kitchen, Alec and Frypan were already awake, plates of scrambled eggs and toast waiting. Alec slid one to me. "Round two, huh? Ready for it?"

I gave him half a smile as I took it. "More than ready. Thanks, Alec."

Not a lie, not the truth either. I was ready to lead them back into the maze, ready to put one foot in front of the other, ready to pretend there was still a chance. That was my job. The truth tasted like ash in my mouth: round two didn't matter. Round two was a performance because round one had already been the last chance those boys ever had.

Minho dropped into a chair, hair still a mess, devouring his food like it might be his last real meal. Newt sat quieter, watching me, like he was measuring how much he could trust my steadiness against his own doubts. I ate quickly, focused.

Alby came in, jaw tight. "Jess. Newt. Minho. You three ready?"

I stood, slinging my pack onto my shoulder, my voice firm. "We're ready."

The boys nodded, following my lead. That was the thing about being the one with authority — it wasn't about yelling, or snapping, or being cruel. It was about giving them something solid to hold on to.

We headed to the South Doors together, their metal hinges groaning as they split open. The maze loomed ahead, shadows already twisting between its walls.

I turned to Newt and Minho, making sure my tone was clear and even. "We stick together. No wandering off, no heroics. Eyes open, every corner. We go in, we sweep, we come out. Understood?"

They nodded, their faces set.

Good. That was enough.

As the doors opened wide, I breathed in deep and steadied myself. Inside, the quiet voice whispered the truth: They're gone, Jess. You're walking in circles for the living, not the lost.