𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 - ᴍᴀᴢᴇ ʀᴜɴɴᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴏᴍᴀꜱ ➀

²⁴, ʸᵒᵘ ˢᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵛᵉ ᵐᵉ ᵇᵘᵗ ᴵ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ⁱᵗ

The air in the Glade is thick with tension the next morning. After yesterday's run, the reality of how much the Maze is changing weighs heavily on everyone. Even the sky seems more oppressive, the clouds dark and heavy as if they too can sense the storm brewing.

I wake up earlier than usual, the remnants of an uneasy sleep clinging to me like a shadow. My body is sore, my mind already racing through the possible outcomes of today. The Maze has been getting more unpredictable, and there's a gnawing feeling in my gut that something big is coming.

After dressing quickly, I make my way toward the center of the Glade. The others are starting to stir, some already gathering in small groups to discuss the day's plans. The atmosphere is tense, conversations hushed and serious. Even Frypan, usually one of the more lighthearted Gladers, is unusually quiet as he dishes out breakfast.

Minho catches my eye as I approach, giving me a nod. His expression is grim, matching the mood of the Glade. I grab a piece of toast and join him at a table, where Newt and Emmette are already sitting.

"Rough night?" Newt asks, glancing at me over his cup of tea.

I shrug, taking a bite of my food. "Yeah, you could say that. Just couldn't shake the feeling that something bad is coming."

Minho grunts in agreement. "You're not the only one. Everyone's on edge. We need to be extra careful today."

Emmette, who's been quietly listening, leans forward. "Do you think it's because of that last section you mapped? The one that seemed like it was shifting even as you ran?"

"Maybe," I reply, swallowing down my unease. "Or it could be something else. We don't know what's happening, and that's the scariest part."

The conversation falls into a heavy silence, each of us lost in our thoughts. Eventually, I push back from the table, the weight of the day pressing down on me.

"I'm heading to the Map Room," I say, needing to clear my head before the run. "See if I can spot any patterns in those new sections."

Minho nods, his expression still serious. "I'll join you in a bit. Need to make sure everything's ready for today's run."

Newt and Emmette exchange a glance before Newt speaks up. "We'll meet you there after breakfast. We've got some things to discuss, anyway."

I give them a small nod and head toward the Map Room, my mind already running through the possibilities. The Maze has always been a challenge, but lately, it's felt like it's actively working against us, changing faster than we can keep up.

The Map Room is quiet when I enter, the only sound the soft rustling of paper as the maps shift slightly in the breeze from the open door. I take a deep breath, trying to push down the anxiety gnawing at me. I've been through worse—this is just another puzzle to solve.

I lose myself in the maps, tracing the lines with my fingers as I search for any clue, any sign of what's coming next. The Maze is like a living thing, always shifting, always adapting, but there has to be a pattern. There has to be a way out.

I'm so focused on the maps that I don't hear the door open until someone steps inside. I look up, surprised to see Thomas standing there, his expression unreadable.

"Esmerelda," he says, his voice softer than usual.

"What is it?" I ask, keeping my tone neutral.

He hesitates. "About our conversation yesterday.."

I shake my head, cutting him off. "I'm fine. You don't need to worry about me, Thomas. Focus on Teresa. She's the one you should be concerned about."

A flicker of frustration crosses his face, but he quickly masks it. "It's not like that—"

"Isn't it?" I interrupt, my voice sharper than I intended. "You made your choice. You don't get to play the concerned friend or whatever you were to me before now."

He takes a step closer, his expression pained. "Princess please, I never meant to hurt you. I just—"

"Just what?" I snap, my anger bubbling to the surface. "You chose her, Thomas. You made it clear where your priorities lie."

For a moment, he looks like he wants to argue, but then he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, almost too quietly for me to hear.

I want to say something, to tell him that his apology doesn't change anything, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I turn back to the maps, dismissing him with a slight shake of my head.

"You keep saying that, Thomas. We've had this conversation so many times. Honestly I basically have it mesmerized. Just go Thomas." I say holding back raw emotion.

After a moment, I hear him leave, the door closing softly behind him. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, my hands gripping the edge of the table. The weight of the situation presses down on me, but I can't let it get to me. I can't afford to be distracted by emotions right now.

By the time Minho, Newt, and Emmette arrive, I've pushed the conversation with Thomas to the back of my mind. We spend the next hour analyzing the maps, discussing possible routes and strategies for the day's run. The tension is still there, but we manage to keep it at bay, focusing on the task at hand.

As we prepare to head out, I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn to see Minho, his expression serious but with a hint of concern.

"Stay sharp out there," he says quietly. "We're getting closer to something, and I don't want to lose anyone."

I nod, appreciating the sentiment. "You too, Minh. We're in this together."

With that, we head out into the Glade, the day's run looming ahead of us. The Maze is waiting, its walls towering and imposing as we approach the entrance. The doors grind open, revealing the darkness beyond, and I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever lies ahead.

As we step inside, the familiar sounds of the Maze surround us—the grinding of stone, the distant echoes of movement. But there's something else, something new in the air. A sense of urgency, of danger lurking just out of sight.

We move quickly, navigating the twisting corridors with practiced ease. But no matter how fast we run, the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, never leaves.

Hours pass in a blur of motion, the Maze becoming more treacherous with each step. The walls shift faster, the paths more unpredictable, and it takes everything we have to stay ahead.

Finally, as the sun begins to dip low in the sky, we make our way back to the entrance. The relief that usually comes with seeing the Glade is muted, overshadowed by the knowledge that the Maze is closing in on us, that time is running out.

We regroup near the Map Room, our bodies exhausted but our minds still racing. There's a heaviness in the air, a sense that the worst is yet to come.

As we head back into the Glade, the sun setting behind us, I can't shake the feeling that today's run was a turning point. The Maze is changing, and if we don't find a way out soon, we might not survive the next shift.