Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Thirty Eight

The desert seemed to change after dark, the stillness somehow heavier. The group moved in near-silence under the stars, their makeshift coverings from the sun now folded and carried or tucked away. Lyra walked close to Minho, his presence grounding even as exhaustion weighed heavily on her. Their earlier banter had dwindled, replaced by the quiet resolve to keep going.

Then she heard it—a faint, distant scream. Lyra stopped dead in her tracks, her blood running cold.

"Did you hear that?" Thomas asked, his voice cutting through the uneasy silence.

Everyone froze, heads tilting to catch the sound. A shrill wail pierced the night again, this time louder, closer. Lyra's stomach twisted as the sound dragged on, raw and haunting.

Minho stepped forward, his body tense. "What the hell is that?"

"No idea," Thomas muttered, his eyes scanning the darkness.

The screaming didn't let up, stretching into the next day as they continued toward the distant town. It was a sound that wormed into Lyra's head, impossible to ignore. She tried focusing on her footsteps, on the jagged peaks of the mountains ahead, but the wailing followed them, like it was alive, hunting them.

By the time the sun crept lower on the horizon, her patience was threadbare, frayed by hunger, thirst, and the unrelenting sound. Thomas and Aris had started talking a few paces ahead, their voices a quiet murmur. Lyra had tried not to listen at first, but curiosity tugged at her.

Parallel Mazes? Different groups? Breeding?

The words swirled in her head, half-formed thoughts she didn't want to confront. Minho must've noticed her distraction because he leaned toward her and nudged her arm.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

She nodded, but it wasn't convincing. "Just tired. And that screaming isn't exactly helping."

Minho smirked, trying to lighten the mood. "Yeah, well, when we get to that town, you can throw a rock at whoever's making it."

Lyra couldn't help but chuckle. "What if it's another test? A psycho Crank or worse?"

"Then I'll throw the rock. Big one. Problem solved."

Despite everything, she smiled, letting him pull her closer as they trudged forward. For a moment, she let herself lean into him, her head brushing his shoulder.

But her gaze wandered again—this time to Thomas, who still walked ahead with Aris. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, his posture stiff, like he was carrying the weight of their collective uncertainty. She hated how seeing him like that still made her chest ache. It was guilt, she told herself. Nothing else.

The screaming stopped abruptly.

Lyra blinked, her attention snapping back to the present. The silence was deafening, as if the whole desert were holding its breath.

"What now?" Frypan muttered, his voice barely audible.

Everyone froze, waiting.

Then she saw her. A girl stepped out from a crumbling shack just ahead. Lyra's heart lurched at the sight. The girl looked exactly like Teresa—same sharp features, same piercing eyes.

"What the shuck?" Minho muttered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Thomas stepped forward instinctively. "Teresa?" he called out, his voice cracking.

The girl didn't respond, just stood there, watching them with an unreadable expression.

"Thomas, wait," Minho snapped as he tried to grab his arm.