𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - ᵗʰᵒᵐᵃˢ ᵗᵐʳ

𝟎𝟒, death sentence.

INVISIBLE STRING ; death sentence.

LUCY ༄

Thomas nods, and we walk side by side toward the Med-Jack's hut. Clint and Jeff aren't here, probably somewhere outside. Inside the hut, it's dim and smells faintly of antiseptic and damp wood. I scan the shelves quickly until I find what I need: a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a clean rag, and some bandages.

"Sit," I say, motioning to the cot.

Thomas lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, the old mattress creaking under his weight. I sit next to him, close enough that our legs almost brush. He holds out his injured hand, palm up, revealing the ugly gash.

"Alright, full disclosure—I have no idea what I'm doing," I admit with a grin, unscrewing the cap on the rubbing alcohol and dousing the rag.

He chuckles, but there's a seriousness in his voice when he replies. "I trust you."

Those three simple words make something twist inside me, and I pause, glancing up at him. His eyes are steady, locked on mine. There's something about the way he says it, like it means more than just this moment, more than the bandage I'm about to put on his hand. I swallow hard and nod, shifting my focus back to his wound, trying to ignore the strange sensation creeping up my spine.

I take his hand in mine to steady it, his skin warm and rough from work in the Glade. The second our fingers touch, my stomach drops, but I force myself to ignore it. I press the alcohol-soaked rag to his palm, and Thomas tenses immediately, his breath hissing sharply between his teeth. His fingers twitch in my grasp, and I instinctively tighten my hold to keep him still.

"Does it hurt?" I ask softly, glancing at his face, studying the tightness in his jaw.

He shakes his head quickly, though I can see the strain in his expression. "No, I'm fine. Keep going."

I continue dabbing at his palm, careful but thorough, wiping away the dried blood. I can feel his gaze on me the entire time—intense, curious.

"So, why don't you run with Minho every morning?" he asks, breaking the silence.

I shrug, focused on cleaning his wound. "Because I'm the only girl here, they sort of let me do my own thing. No one really bothers me about it."

Thomas raises an eyebrow but doesn't comment, watching me as I set the rag aside and reach for the bandages.

"How did you become a Runner?" he asks, leaning forward slightly, his voice low and genuinely curious.

I laugh, unraveling the bandage and wrapping it around his palm, slowly and carefully. "When I first came up in the Box, all the boys freaked out. Alby helped me out, but I panicked. I was scared and confused, so I did the only thing I could think of—I punched him right in the face and ran."