The First Runner

One stupid Greenie

Thomas POV

As I sprinted through the maze, my lungs burned with every breath, but the adrenaline surging through me kept my legs moving. Jess and Minho were ahead, weaving their way through the twisting labyrinth like they'd been born for this. I wasn't too far behind, but I could feel myself slowing down.

"Not much further!" Minho shouted, glancing back for a split second. He had said that at least five times since we started, and I was beginning to doubt him.

"Stay close, Thomas!" Jess called, her voice carrying through the maze. She was trying to sound reassuring, but I could hear the urgency.

I nodded, though I doubted either of them saw. I just focused on keeping up, my heart pounding in my chest, my legs ached, but I had no choice but to push on.

The maze around us was twisting and unrelenting, the ivy-covered walls stretching up into the sky, blocking out most of the sun. We ran through section after section, the walls numbered in fading paint. Section 1, Section 2, Section 3, 4, 5, 6. Then we hit Section 7.

That's when things got strange.

Minho slowed down, and Jess stopped beside him. They exchanged glances, confusion etched into their faces.

"What's wrong?" I asked, catching up and stopping just behind them.

Minho furrowed his brow. "Seven's not supposed to be open for another week."

"Maybe the maze is changing faster than we thought," Jess suggested, though I could hear the doubt in her voice.

I glanced around. The walls looked the same, the path ahead just as twisting and deceptive as the others we'd passed. But the air here felt... different. Colder. Heavier.

Still, we pressed on, deeper into the section, the tension building with every step.

"What the hell is this place?" I asked, the words slipping out as the ground ahead of us suddenly shifted, revealing a field of metallic, flat spikes that stretched out like some kind of deadly landscape.

"We call them Blades," Minho responded with a grim chuckle. "Watch your step."

The Blades loomed in front of us, sharp and unforgiving, but we had no choice but to move forward. As we ran, something caught my eye—an old, tattered T-shirt on the ground, stained with dark, dried blood.

I swallowed hard. "That's Ben's, isn't it?"

Minho's face hardened. "Yeah."

Jess knelt beside it, her fingers brushing the bloodstained fabric. "A Griever must've dragged him down here." Her voice was quiet but determined.

A renewed sense of urgency shot through me. We were here to find a way out. Ben's death, his blood on the ground—it reminded me why we couldn't stop. We had to get out of this nightmare. I could see it in their eyes too—Jess and Minho felt the same.

We kept moving.

Newt POV

I hated being in charge.

It was always Alby's thing. He was the leader, not me. But with him out cold after the grief serum, the responsibility fell on my shoulders, and I wasn't cut out for this shuck leadership role. I paced outside the medjack hut, my eyes drifting to Alby, lying on the bed inside. Sweat poured down his face, his body twitching slightly as the black veins crawled over his chest.

Teresa had given him the serum, but I couldn't help but wonder if it was too late. The Changing had broken so many before him. Alby was strong, but was he strong enough to survive this?