Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Thirty Nine

The darkness of the tunnel pressed down on Lyra like a physical weight, the air thick with dust and the lingering stench of dirt and sweat. Her lungs burned, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she leaned heavily against the cold, damp wall. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to steady the wild rhythm of her heartbeat.

Her mind raced, a frantic loop of unanswered questions and worries. Minho. Newt. Were they okay? Had they made it out of the rubble? Every scenario that played out in her head seemed worse than the last. She clenched her fists, the frustration mounting with every second. She hated this—the not knowing, the helplessness, the lack of control.

Thomas stood nearby, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Brenda, as infuriatingly poised as ever, was close to him, leaning in with an almost predatory ease. Lyra's eyes narrowed as she watched the other girl. Brenda's hand rested lightly on Thomas's arm, her voice low and coaxing as she spoke.

"Promise me," Brenda murmured, her head tilted slightly, her long hair cascading over her shoulder. "Promise me you'll take me all the way to WICKED. Don't leave me behind. I can't stay here."

Lyra felt her jaw clench, the irritation bubbling up before she could stop it. She let out a scoff, the sound echoing in the narrow space. Brenda's head snapped toward her, a glare flashing in her eyes.

"Something funny?" Brenda asked, her tone sharp, her body language bristling with annoyance.

Lyra crossed her arms, pushing off the wall to stand straight. "You're making him uncomfortable," she said evenly, nodding toward Thomas, who shifted awkwardly under Brenda's touch.

Brenda's lips curled into a smug smile. "Isn't your boyfriend outside somewhere? Or did I miss the part where you decided to stick with Thomas instead?"

The comment hit its mark, and Lyra felt the sting of it settle deep in her chest. She opened her mouth to snap back, but Thomas intervened, stepping between them with a look that brooked no argument.

"That's enough," Thomas interjected, stepping between them. His hands were up, palms outward, in a gesture of peace. His eyes darted from Brenda to Lyra, his expression torn between irritation and exhaustion.

Brenda leaned back against the wall, her arms crossing loosely over her chest. "Touchy, aren't we?"

"I said enough," Thomas repeated, his tone sharper this time.

Instead, she turned to face the tunnel ahead, her shoulders stiff. "I'd rather die than stay in this place and go insane," she muttered. "You know that, right? That's what happens to Cranks. We lose ourselves. Completely."

Lyra frowned, her irritation briefly giving way to unease. Brenda's words struck a chord, and she forced herself to focus on what was being said instead of the growing tension between them.

Brenda continued, her voice quieter now. "The explosion? That was probably Barkley. He's... farther gone than the rest of us. He and the others probably thought Jorge and I were planning to turn on them. So they made the first move."

Lyra's stomach churned. The idea that their situation had been sabotaged by paranoia was almost too much to process. "Great," she muttered under her breath. "More Cranks to worry about."

Thomas straightened, his expression resolute. "We're going back," he said firmly.

Lyra nodded immediately. "That's a good idea. They're probably looking for us now."

Brenda, however, was less enthusiastic. "Why?" she asked, her tone incredulous. "Why go back to them? We could do this on our own—the three of us. We don't need anyone else slowing us down."