Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Thirty One

Lyra felt her body slowly come out of the haze of sleep, the world around her gradually coming back into focus. She blinked against the dim light of the med hut, her body heavy and groggy as if she hadn't moved in hours. A hand touched her shoulder gently, and she turned her head to see Newt sitting beside her, watching her with quiet concern.

"How long have I been out?" Her voice came out rough, her throat dry.

Newt gave her a small smile, a mixture of relief and something deeper. "Long enough. You were out cold, honestly. Haven't seen you sleep that deeply in a while. How are you feeling?"

Lyra pushed herself up, propping her back against the wall. She felt disoriented, like she had missed something important, the weight of the world pressing in on her as reality snapped back into place. The Glade. The Maze. Thomas. Minho.

"I'm okay," she mumbled, though her body still felt sluggish, the remnants of her breakdown and the comfort Minho had given her still lingering in her muscles. She couldn't even remember falling asleep. Maybe it had been the stress. Her mind flickered back to the way Minho had held her, the rare gentleness in his touch that had unsettled her in ways she hadn't expected. She pushed the thought away.

"Thomas?" she asked, her stomach twisting at the mention of his name.

Newt's face softened slightly, but there was a tension in his eyes. "He's still going through the Changing," he said, his voice low. "It's rough. You wouldn't have heard much. You were... pretty out of it."

Lyra's brow furrowed. She hadn't heard anything? How could she not have heard Thomas struggling through the Changing? The screams, the pain—it was impossible to miss. Her chest tightened with guilt. She had always been alert, on edge, ready to face whatever was thrown at them, but now... she had slept through it all?

"Stress, probably," Newt added, as if reading her mind. "You've been through a lot."

Lyra shrugged, still feeling the weight of something she couldn't quite shake off. "Guess so," she muttered, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of the blanket still draped over her legs. Her thoughts drifted back to the whirlwind of emotions from earlier—Minho's rare vulnerability, her own breakdown, and the guilt that had come flooding in afterward. She didn't know how to untangle any of it.

Newt studied her, his gaze steady, but she could tell he was holding back from asking too much. Instead, he just leaned forward slightly, his voice soft. "You sure you're alright, Lyra? You look a bit... shaken."

"I'm fine, Newt. Really," she said, though she wasn't sure who she was trying to convince more—him or herself. There was too much she was trying to bury: the kiss with Thomas, the look in Minho's eyes when he had calmed her down, the way everything felt like it was spiraling out of control.

Newt nodded slowly, but his eyes lingered on her face, as if waiting for her to open up more. When she didn't, he sighed and stood, offering her his hand. "Come on then, let's get you out of here. We need to talk about the state of things."

Lyra hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, pulling herself to her feet. As they walked out of the med hut, the cool air hit her, and it felt like a slap to the face, forcing her back into the harsh reality they were living in. The Glade looked eerily calm in the grey light, but she knew better. There was tension in the air, an unspoken urgency that gnawed at her.

"So," Newt began, his voice low as he glanced around. "We're running out of supplies faster than we thought. No new resources from the Box. We're thinning out the food stock."

Lyra's stomach dropped at his words. Of course, they were running out. Everything in the Glade felt like it was breaking down. "How bad is it?" she asked, her voice tight.