Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Twenty Six

The next morning, the dawn's light barely kissed the horizon when Lyra's eyes fluttered open. The early hour felt alien, an uninvited guest dragging her from the comfort of sleep. This was her first day back as a Runner, and no matter how heavy her limbs felt, she had to get moving. Her body protested as she slowly pulled herself out of her makeshift bed on the grass, where most of the Gladers slept. The ground was cool beneath her fingertips, the dew soaking into her clothes as she pushed herself up. She yawned, blinking sleepily at the scene around her. The Glade was still quiet, the only sound being the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle snores of her fellow Gladers.

As Lyra stood, she noticed Chuck nearby, curled up in a ball, snoring lightly. A small smile tugged at her lips as she watched him for a moment. Despite everything, Chuck still had that innocence, a childlike quality that made her want to protect him. He looked so peaceful, so unaware of the horrors that surrounded them. For a brief second, she envied him.

She carefully tiptoed over the sleeping forms of the other Gladers, making sure not to wake anyone. Her movements were slow and deliberate, every step calculated to avoid disturbing the fragile morning peace. As she reached the outskirts of the sleeping area, she let out a small breath of relief, glad to have made it out without stepping on anyone.

The cafeteria was her next destination, the place where she hoped a hot meal would chase away the remnants of sleep clinging to her mind. But as she rounded the corner to the outside of the cafeteria, she was met with a sight that made her inwardly groan.

Minho was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, a smirk already tugging at his lips. His eyes sparkled with amusement as they landed on her, taking in her slightly disheveled appearance. Lyra braced herself, knowing what was coming.

"Well, well, look who decided to roll out of bed," Minho drawled, his smirk widening as he pushed off the wall and sauntered over to her. "You sure you're ready for this, Sleeping Beauty? You look like you wrestled a Griever in your sleep."

Lyra rolled her eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Minho's sarcasm was as sharp as ever, but there was comfort in the familiarity of it. "Bite me, Minho," she muttered, swatting at him playfully as he reached out to ruffle her already messy hair.

Minho chuckled, clearly enjoying her sleepy state. "I would, but I don't think you'd survive it," he shot back, his tone light and teasing. "Seriously, though, your hair—did you forget to fight off the wind before you got here?"

Lyra swatted at him again, this time with more energy. "It's too early for your shuck face," she grumbled, though there was no real heat in her voice. She was tired, yes, but Minho's playful banter was waking her up more effectively than she'd expected.

As she stepped closer, she noticed Thomas standing beside Minho, oddly wide awake. His hair was perfectly in place, not a strand out of line, and it made Lyra huff in frustration. How was he so put together this early in the morning? It was unfair, and it only added to the irritation that had been simmering in her since the day before.

Thomas didn't say anything, but she could feel his eyes on her, watching her closely. It made her skin prickle with a mix of unease and annoyance. She didn't want to think about him, not now, not when she was about to run again for the first time since her injury. But the memory of their kiss was still fresh in her mind, lingering like a ghost she couldn't quite shake off.

As much as she was dreading spending the day with Thomas, the excitement of running again—of feeling the wind in her hair and the ground beneath her feet—kept her from dwelling too much on it. This was what she needed, to remind herself of who she was, outside of the tangled mess of emotions she'd been caught up in recently.