A Group B fanfiction following Group B's Keeper of the Runners (Minho's equivalent), Rogue. Read the Scorch Trials through the perspective of Group B.
'Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them-her friends and their bodies. She saw Rachel and Ada...
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THE GUN was aimed directly at them, and the girl's finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger.
Rogue's grip on her own gun tightened instinctively. She immediately halted, raising the pistol higher, aimed straight at the girl's chest. But she didn't pull the trigger—she wouldn't. The girl was young, a few years younger than Rogue, her face pale under the dim light. Her eyes were wide and scared, but her hands didn't waver.
Rogue watched her, struggling to find any words at all. The girl's stare flicked nervously between Hashslinger and Rogue. 'Who are you?' she asked. She shook her gun slightly as she spoke—her expression teetered on the edge of fear.
The girl was almost ghostly, with long black hair cascading down her shoulders. Slim—delicate, almost, with piercing blue eyes. She was rather beautiful.
For a split second, Rogue assumed the girl might have been another Glenner, someone she hadn't yet become familiar with. That thought quickly dissipated. The girl didn't belong with them—she could read it on her face.
'Who am I?' Rogue echoed, her voice low and sharp. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the girl. 'Who are you?'
She wore the same kind of clothes they had all been given a few days prior. Clean, light blue and grey pyjamas with a button-up shirt. The innocent look of surprise on her face was the only thing stopping Rogue from putting the gun against her head.
'Well, come on,' Rogue urged, 'answer me. Who sent you?'
Something in the girl's stance shifted. Her shoulders untensed, moving her weight between her feet. Rogue watched, her finger brushing the trigger lightly. But then, the girl began to lower her gun. Slowly, hesitantly, like she was unsure if it was the right move, but she bent down, inch by inch, as she placed the pistol by her feet.
Rogue kept her gun aimed at the girl, but something in the girl's movements—the careful way she lowered herself, the way her hands trembled as she set the weapon down—told her this wasn't an ambush.
The girl stood up again and raised her hands in surrender. Her expression was more conviction than hostile.
'My name's Teresa,' she said.
Rogue's gaze shifted to Hashslinger for a split second, as if to silently ask what they should do next. Hashslinger, for once, was speechless.
Rogue lowered her gun, slipping it into her back pocket with a soft sigh. Teresa wasn't with the attackers—that much she was sure of. Still, she needed to know whether the girl was dangerous. The tension between them changed, and Teresa seemed to notice it, too.
