𝐖𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘, 𝖺 𝗀𝗅𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝖻𝗎𝗆

trust earned, without asking

The sky had long since faded into twilight, the horizon painted with fading streaks of gold and blue.

Most of the Gladers were spread across the training field behind the safe house, setting up makeshift defense stations just in case another WCKD patrol passed too close.

It wasn't likely — but Minho didn't like "likely." He liked certain.

Minho hauled a crate of supplies toward the edge of the field, his eyes scanning for threats and inefficiencies like second nature. That's when he saw Nico.

A few yards away, Nico was crouched near a rusted generator, sleeves rolled up, dirt on his cheek.

The thing had been broken for days — no one had figured it out yet. But there he was, quietly tinkering with its guts, adjusting wires and stabilizers.

Minho slowed.

He didn't announce himself. Didn't speak. Just watched.

The others used to talk about Nico in whispers. The ex-pirate. The guy who was on the enemy's side once.

The guy who could turn at any second. Minho had never trusted easily — and Nico had been no exception.

But now, as the sun dipped lower and shadows stretched across the field, he watched Nico pause to wipe his hands, adjust the final connection, and—

whrrr... The generator buzzed back to life.

Soft lights blinked on along the safehouse wall. The training field hummed faintly. Someone shouted in surprise from the other end.

Nico didn't stand and soak it in. Didn't grin or brag.

He just wiped his hands on his shirt, gave the generator a soft pat like a horse that had finally listened, and turned to grab the tools.

That's when he saw Minho watching.

They locked eyes.

For a moment, it was quiet. Tense.

Minho approached, arms crossed. "Where'd you learn to fix a generator like that?"

Nico shrugged. "Pirate ships break down a lot. Someone had to fix things while the rest of the crew was drinking."

Minho studied him. "So you were the smart one."

Nico gave a crooked smirk. "Just the one who liked not dying at sea."

Silence again.

Then, to Nico's quiet surprise, Minho offered his hand.

Firm. Calloused. Solid.

"You're not bad to have around," he said.

Nico blinked. He didn't move for a second. Then slowly, he reached out and shook Minho's hand.

No fanfare. No dramatic speeches. Just a gesture.

A weight lifted.

Minho turned and walked off, shouting something about how the next person to break the power line was running extra drills.

Nico stood alone in the dusk, watching the soft lights now glowing across the field. He didn't say it aloud, but the corner of his mouth lifted.

Finally.

★