Shadows in the Maze

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The Maze loomed around Aurora like an endless, twisting nightmare. Every turn, every corner was a jagged memory from her first time lost within its walls. But this time felt different. It was darker, colder. And now, there was no one coming for her—not yet, anyway. She wasn't sure they even knew she was here.

Her small legs trembled as she tried to keep moving, every sound in the Maze amplified by the silence around her. She didn't know how long she'd been wandering, but night had fully settled in, and the walls seemed to close in with every minute that passed.

It was then that she saw the same small hole hidden behind the vines, the same one she had crawled into before. Aurora wasted no time, scrambling toward it, her hands shaking as she pulled back the vines and squeezed herself inside.

But this time, she wasn't alone.

The low, mechanical growl of a Griever echoed through the Maze, growing louder and closer. Aurora's breath caught in her throat as she huddled deeper into the hole, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst out of her chest.

Suddenly, her thigh scraped hard against something sharp—a jagged rock buried within the dirt of the hole. She gasped, feeling a burning pain as the rock sliced into her skin. Blood trickled down her leg, staining the ground beneath her. But she couldn't make a sound. Not with the Griever so close.

She tucked herself deeper into the hole, pressing her body against the cold stone as tightly as she could. The Griever passed by, its grotesque body slithering and whirring as it patrolled the Maze. Aurora held her breath, biting her lip to keep from crying out. The pain in her leg was unbearable, but the fear of being found kept her frozen in place.

After what felt like an eternity, the Griever's noises faded into the distance, and Aurora finally allowed herself to breathe again. She crawled forward, desperately trying to escape the confines of the hole. When she finally emerged, she found herself in an unfamiliar part of the Maze.

Ahead of her was something new—a vast, open desert stretching out before her, the heat already palpable even in the darkness of the night. Aurora limped toward it, leaving behind a trail of blood as she moved, her thigh burning with each step.

Back in the Glade, Newt and Minho were already up, their faces grim with determination. They had barely slept the night before, worry for Aurora gnawing at their minds. The moment the doors to the Maze opened, they bolted inside.

Hours passed as they searched, calling her name at every turn, hoping for a response—any sign of the girl they had grown to care for so deeply.

It was Minho who found it first. A small pool of dried blood, stark against the stone floor of the Maze. His heart dropped into his stomach.

"Newt!" he shouted, his voice hoarse.

Newt came running, his eyes widening when he saw the blood. "Shuck it..." he muttered, his breath catching. "Aurora."

But there was no sign of her—just the blood, a haunting reminder of her presence. They searched that area for hours, retracing their steps and scouring every inch of the Maze, but it was like she had vanished.

Day after day, Newt and Minho returned to the Maze, searching desperately. But Aurora was nowhere to be found.

A week passed. The hope that once filled the Glade slowly drained away with each passing day. Even the most optimistic of the Gladers began to lose faith. It wasn't like Aurora to go this long without being found.

The decision was made to stop searching. The weight of the reality was too much to bear, and devastation swept through the Glade like a storm. The boys, many of whom had hardened over time, found themselves shedding tears for the young girl who had stolen all their hearts.

Newt stood beside the makeshift grave they had set up for her, his eyes wet with unshed tears. He placed the bracelet she had made him on the grave, his fingers trembling as he gently set it down.

George, who had been one of Aurora's closest friends, stood beside him, silent and stoic, but his heart was shattered. The Glade had lost something precious, and now it seemed even the sun refused to shine as brightly.

But not everyone grieved.

Trevor, pacing the far side of the Glade, couldn't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction. His plan had worked. The girl was gone, and the Gladers were so caught up in their sorrow that no one suspected him.

It was at dinner that night when Trevor's ego finally got the better of him. He leaned back, a smug grin on his face as he made his boast.

"Well," he said loudly, his voice carrying over the quiet murmur of the meal, "looks like I did everyone a favor, getting rid of that girl."

The table went silent.

George froze, his hand tightening around the knife he had been using to cut his food. His eyes, usually soft and gentle, darkened with a rage that no one had ever seen before.

"You what?" George growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Trevor's grin only widened. "I threw her in the Maze, and now she's gone. Should've done it sooner."

Before anyone could react, George was on his feet, his knife in hand. Without a second thought, he lunged at Trevor, his fury unleashed. The two collided, knocking over the table as they grappled.

Trevor, always ready for a fight, grabbed his own knife, and soon the two were locked in a deadly struggle, their blades flashing in the firelight. The Gladers around them shouted, trying to intervene, but neither boy listened.

Blow after blow, they fought with everything they had, fueled by hatred and anger. But in the end, George's strength—and his love for Aurora—won out. He drove his knife into Trevor's chest with a guttural scream, ending the battle.

But not before Trevor made one final, fatal move.

With his dying breath, Trevor slashed George across the stomach, the blade cutting deep. George staggered back, his eyes wide with shock as blood poured from the wound.

The Gladers rushed forward, but it was too late. George collapsed to the ground, his life slipping away even as the others tried desperately to save him.

In the span of minutes, two lives were lost, and the Glade was left in ruins.

The next morning, a second grave was dug, right next to Aurora's. This time, it was for George. Newt placed the bracelet Aurora had made for him on the grave, tears streaming down his face as he did so.

The Glade was quieter than it had ever been. The loss of both Aurora and George left a void that couldn't be filled, and the weight of the grief hung heavy over everyone.

Minho stood by the graves, his jaw clenched, his fists tight. He had been the first to say that life in the Glade was hard, but this... this was something else. This was unbearable.

As the sun set over the Glade, casting long shadows over the two graves, Newt whispered a promise under his breath.

"We'll find her... we'll find out what happened."

But in his heart, even he wasn't sure if there was any hope left.

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