The First Runner

It shouldnt have happened

The sun was barely over the horizon when me and Minho set out into the Maze, our footsteps echoing in the cool morning air. It was a day like any other—running, mapping, and searching for a way out. The Maze seemed almost peaceful in the early light, the walls towering silently around them.

"Think today's the day we find something?" I asked, half-joking, as I ran beside Minho.

"Every day's the day we find something," Minho replied with a grin. "Just usually, it's more walls."

I chuckled, trying to keep the mood light. The Maze had a way of weighing on us all, and humor was one of the few things that kept us going. We spent the morning exploring new sections, keeping track of shifts and changes, and working seamlessly as a team.

But even as we worked, I couldn't shake a feeling of unease that had settled in my stomach since we left the Glade. It was as if something was off, a tension in the air that I couldn't explain. I pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. There was no room for distractions in the Maze.

As the sun began to dip in the sky, signaling the approach of evening, Minho called for us to head back. We turned and started our run back to the Glade, picking up the pace to ensure we made it back before the walls closed.

When we finally broke through the final corridor and into the open area of the Glade, I felt a rush of relief—only to have it immediately replaced by a sense of dread.

Something was wrong.

The Glade was unusually quiet, and there was a crowd gathered near the Homestead. Gladers who would normally be busy with evening chores were standing still, their faces pale and their voices hushed.

I exchanged a concerned glance with Minho. "What the hell happened?" I asked, my heart beginning to race.

The crowd was silent, a heavy, suffocating kind of quiet.

"Let's find out," Minho said, his tone grim as we pushed through the gathered Gladers.

As the sea of bodies parted, my stomach twisted into a cold, hard knot. The sight in front of me froze the air in my lungs. Nick lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, his face pale and slick with sweat. Alby was at his side, hands pressed against Nick's chest in a futile attempt to stem the bleeding.

I dropped to my knees beside him without hesitation. The moment my fingers found Nick's wrist, my heart sank. The pulse was there, faint and unsteady. Weak. Too weak. I didn't need Clint or Jeff to tell me there was nothing to be done.

"What the hell happened?" I demanded, my voice sharp with barely contained fury.

Alby glanced up, his face taut with grief. "The East Hut collapsed. Two builders were reinforcing the roof.  Nick pushed two of them out of the way when the beams gave out."

My jaw clenched, my hands curling into fists. "Where's Gally?"

"He's—"

"Gathering Hall," I snapped, cutting him off. My voice was cold, steady. "Anyone involved in the incident. Now."

Alby gave a tight nod and stood, barking orders at the nearby Gladers.

"The rest of you shanks, clear out," I added, my voice rising above the murmurs of the crowd. "Get back to your jobs. Now!"

There was hesitation, faces turned toward me with shock and unease. I glared at them, my expression leaving no room for argument. Slowly, they scattered, leaving me alone with Minho, Alby, Newt, Clint, and Jeff.

"You too," I said, looking at Clint and Jeff.

"But, Jess—" Clint started, his voice laced with guilt.