Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Thirty

The silence stretched on as Lyra, Minho, and Thomas ran through the twisting corridors of the Maze. The rhythmic pounding of their footsteps was the only sound that filled the air, echoing off the towering walls. Lyra's breaths came in quick, shallow bursts, but the ache in her legs and the burn in her lungs were nothing compared to the confusion swirling in her mind.

Her thoughts were filled with emotions she couldn't even begin to understand. Every glance at Thomas or Minho seemed to pull her in a different direction, her heart torn between guilt, anger, and something far more complicated. Being out here, alone with the two of them, only made it worse.

She couldn't make sense of it. How could she still feel something for Minho after all this time? After everything that had happened, why did he still make her feel this way? And why did Thomas have to complicate things even more? His presence unsettled her, made her question everything she thought she knew about herself.

As they ran deeper into the Maze, her mind kept circling back to that kiss—of both kisses. She could still feel the lingering sensation of his touch, and it made her sick with guilt. She hadn't told Minho. She should've told him.

She couldn't keep going like this, pretending she didn't feel something for both of them. But that was the problem, wasn't it? She didn't know what she felt, or who she wanted, or if it even mattered. The Maze had taken so much from them all—maybe there wasn't room for feelings like these. Maybe it didn't matter.

Section Eight loomed ahead, the walls pressing in on either side as they slowed to a stop. The air was thick, almost suffocating, as the three of them looked around. It was eerily quiet now, no rumble of shifting walls, no sound of stone grinding against stone. Lyra's breath hitched in her throat as the realisation settled in.

The walls weren't moving.

She felt a cold shiver run down her spine, and for a moment, she just stood there, staring at the unmoving stone. The Maze had always felt like a nightmare, but now it felt like a trap. The thought of it made her stomach churn.

Thomas was the first to break the silence. "What's this?" he asked, pointing at the wall.

There, etched in bold letters, were the words, "WORLD IN CATASTROPHE—KILLZONE EXPERIMENT DEPARTMENT."

Minho barely reacted, his attention elsewhere, but Lyra stepped closer, squinting at the words. She pointed at the sign and said quietly, "There's a ton of them plastered around. I never really understood what it meant."

Thomas gave her a quick glance, but she avoided his eyes, keeping her distance. She had to hate him, somehow. That would make all of this easier. If she could just hate him for what he'd done—his connection with Teresa, the way he made her feel things she didn't want to feel—it would all make sense. She needed it to make sense.

Night fell slowly over the Maze, a thick darkness settling over them like a heavy blanket. The cold crept in, seeping through her clothes, chilling her skin. They'd stopped moving for a while now, waiting, unsure of what to do next. And then, the sound came.

The low, mechanical growl of the Grievers.

The three of them stood in stunned silence as the Grievers rolled past, their monstrous bodies gliding through the Maze like shadows. Lyra felt her breath catch in her throat, frozen by the sight of them so close. They didn't attack, didn't even seem to notice the three of them crouched in the darkness. Her mind struggled to make sense of it. The Grievers had always been relentless, ruthless, but now they moved like ghosts, indifferent to their presence.

For a moment, Lyra couldn't move. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might burst from her chest. The trauma of her own sting flashed through her mind—the excruciating pain, the way it had warped her memories and twisted her thoughts.