Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Twenty Seven

Lyra awoke with a start, her body immediately recoiling from the cold, hard ground beneath her. Her muscles ached, stiff from the most uncomfortable sleep she'd had in a long time. Her eyes fluttered open, but instead of the gentle morning sun filtering through the trees, there was... nothing.

No warmth. No sunlight.

A strange unease curled in her gut as she blinked, trying to adjust her eyes, but something was wrong—something was terribly off. The usual feeling of waking up to a new day in the Glade, the sun stretching its rays across the expanse of sky, was missing. Lyra strained to see, but all she could make out was a dull, grey expanse overhead. It wasn't the sky. Not the sky she'd grown accustomed to, anyway.

Her heart thudded in her chest, panic prickling at the edges of her mind. The sky wasn't the sky—it was a ceiling. A solid, unmoving, suffocating ceiling. An illusion.

Lyra's breath hitched as she shivered, pulling herself up to sit, rubbing her arms as if the movement could shake the eerie feeling that had settled over her. This had never happened before. Ever. She glanced around the Glade. The others were still asleep, scattered around her on the grass, completely oblivious to the strange grey dome that now hovered above them. Her heart thumped in her chest, her mind racing.

The girl in the coma. Thomas. The thought flared in her mind, sharp and unsettling, and she instantly recoiled from it, her gut twisting in discomfort. She clenched her fists. Whatever was happening—whatever was wrong—she couldn't shake the feeling that they were behind it. Somehow. She had no proof, no logical reasoning, but she couldn't shake it.

And that kiss...

Lyra grimaced, the memory of it washing over her like ice. She'd let herself slip again, and for what? To feel even more confused, more trapped? Thomas had made it clear the day before that the kiss was a mistake, but now she felt like she was the one who had made a mistake. Guilt burned in her chest, and she felt grimy for even allowing herself to feel something for him, especially now.

Without a second thought, Lyra stood up, careful not to wake anyone around her as she tiptoed across the grass. The air was heavy with tension, a strange chill hanging in the stillness of the morning. She moved quietly, heart pounding, her eyes darting between the still-sleeping Gladers.

Find Minho, she told herself. If anyone would know what was happening, it would be him.

She made her way toward the center of the Glade, her steps quickening as she searched for him. The eerie silence hung thickly in the air, making her feel more anxious with each step. Finally, she spotted Minho standing alone in the open, his back turned to her, his hands resting on his hips as he gazed up at the ceiling that now covered the sky.

"Minho," she called out, her voice low but urgent as she hurried toward him.

He turned his head, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked back at her. His expression was tense, a rare vulnerability creeping into his usually calm demeanor. "Lyra," he said, voice quiet, "what the hell is this?"

She shook her head, stopping beside him, her eyes following his to the grey dome overhead. "I don't know," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It's... it's like the sky just... disappeared."

Minho's silence only unnerved her further. He always knew something—he always had an answer, a plan, a way to make sense of things. But now? Now he looked as lost as she felt, his gaze darkening as he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

"This has never happened before," he muttered, more to himself than to her, his jaw clenched tightly.

Lyra's stomach twisted painfully, fear clawing at her throat. If even Minho didn't know what was going on, then things were worse than she'd imagined. "I have this... feeling," she said, her voice unsteady as she tried to find the right words. "Like... this has something to do with the girl in the coma. And Thomas."