EUNEIROPHRENIA:
•the peaceful state of mind that comes after waking up from a pleasant dream.
after they finally found their way out, they were met with yet another danger: the scorch. will they survive and get to the safe place?
TMR, MINHO
-STATU...
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WE TOOK SHELTER in the rotting remains of an old shipwreck for the night. The nights were cold to contrast with the blistering heat during the day To ward off the chill, we started a bonfire. Aris and Julian had gathered enough logs from around the place to keep it burning through the night. They were an odd pair—Aris, calm and reserved, and Julian, loud and full of energy—yet somehow, they got along perfectly.
I sat staring into the flickering flames as my mind wandered to Winston. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get the image of Cloe lifting his shirt and revealing those deep scratches marred into his skin. And they were getting worse, despite everything we'd done. I hadn't talked to Winston all that much, but the thought of losing him stung anyway. He was a good guy, and if he hadn't just risked his life to take out those creeps we'd all be dead right now.
I was yanked from my thoughts as Minho sat down beside me. I gave him a quick smile, which he returned before pulling out a little pocket knife and absently fidgeting with it.
"I thought we were supposed to be immune," he murmured, his voice tinged with frustration.
"Not all of us, I guess," Teresa replied, her gaze fixed on the fire.
" If Winston can get infected, we should assume so can the rest of us," Newt said, his expression troubled. I couldn't blame him, I was just as concerned. The whole idea of turning into one of those things, of losing myself completely, freaked me out.
Rosa huffed loudly, then started doodling in the sand at her feet, drawing stick figures. "How do we even know if we're immune? What if none of us are, and they just want us to die out here?"
"I never thought I'd say this," Frypan began, tears welling up in his eyes, "but I miss the Glade.
Cleo nodded, wrapping her arms tightly around her knees. "Me too. Especially all the people we had to leave behind."
Julian suddenly spoke up; he was lying on his back, staring up at the stars. "What do you guys think happened to those who didn't leave with us?" The question hung in the air as the rest of us turned puzzled glances his way.
Nick broke the silence, throwing in a grim theory. "They probably got eaten by those giant, slimy monsters." As out of this world as that sounded, none of us could say with absolute certainty that it wasn't an impossibility.
»Grievers,« told us Thomas. That's what they called them.
Alan, who had been nothing short of silence since we lit the fire, hadn't moved an inch. I half-expected Julian to get the idea of poking him or burying him in the sand just to see if he was still awake.
I turned to Minho, who was still fiddling with his knife. He looked up, catching my glance, and raised an eyebrow. We shared a silent moment; neither one of us said a word. I looked away, fast, a little self-conscious. I didn't dare glance back, afraid he'd still be watching me.
