➊ 𝐑𝐮𝐧 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨, ᵗᵐʳ

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑𝟕: 𝐀 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐛

The sun sat high above the Glade, casting long, stark shadows against the walls. Sweat clung to the backs of my neck and the sour mood in the air was almost thick enough to chew.

I walked toward the homestead, where the Gathering usually took place, heart pounding but steps firm. I wasn't sure if it was the heat or the nerves, but either way, I was about to throw myself directly into the fire.

Alby and Newt were waiting. Not that they'd called for me, Chuck had overheard them mentioning my name and told me with that scrunched-up face, like he was passing along news that might get him in trouble. Sweet kid.

I liked Chuck. And I liked Simon, even if he was always elbow-deep in some guy's open wound. Most days, I even tolerated Minho. Alby? That was a work in progress.

Newt and Alby were sitting inside, standing angled toward each other like this was a casual conversation. It wasn't.

"Evelyn," Alby said as I walked up. He didn't smile. "We need to talk."

I crossed my arms. "Figured."

Newt offered me a gentler look. "Not tryin' to bite your head off, Evelyn. Just need to figure out where you fit now."

"I fit fine," I said.

Alby raised a brow. "You're not a Runner anymore."

"I'm aware."

"Which means you need a job," he said, matter-of-fact. "You've been here three weeks. We gave you time to try the others before you made it to the Runners. You've cycled through nearly everything, Builder, Cook, Track-Hoe, Med-Jack..."

"I remember," I said tightly. "I hated all of them."

Newt chuckled. "You really did. Frypan still talks about that time you nearly set the pantries on fire."

"It was one small grease fire."

Alby leaned forward, on foot on the step, elbows on knees. "Well, the fire's out, and you still need to pull your weight."

"I am," I said. "I've been pulling more than my weight for weeks. You just didn't notice because you assumed it was temporary."

He tilted his head. "And what exactly are you suggesting?"

I looked them both in the eye. "I want to be third-in-command."

Silence.

Even the breeze stopped.

Alby blinked slowly. "You what?"

"I've worked in every section. I know how the Glade works better than most of the guys you've put in charge of the jobs. I was a Runner. I've seen the Maze. I've killed a Griever."

Alby's jaw tightened. Newt's expression flickered.

"So that rumor's true, then," Newt said quietly.

"I didn't spread it," I replied. "But I'm not denying it, either."

Alby stood slowly. "You think killing a Griever makes you qualified to run this place?"

"No," I snapped. "But being the only one that ever did it, maybe does. I'm not asking to sit around giving orders. I want to help. But I'm not scrubbing plates or slicing pig guts because no one else knows what to do with me."

Alby opened his mouth, but Newt cut in.

"She's not wrong." That shocked both of us.

Alby turned. "Newt."

"How did you even manage to kill that thing?" He continued.

I sighed softly, expecting this question to come by eventually. "Hawk told you something wrong. When I was unconscious in the Med-Hut, that's when he got stung. We were in the Maze that day, and that creature wasn't totally after me, but it wasn't trying to kill me. It stung Hawk, I shot back, and then I blacked out. I didn't think an arrow would kill it. It didn't seem to want me dead, but maybe it just prefers women.

They nodded, for once not reprimanding me for anything at all.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Newt said. I guess I spoke too fast.

"I tried that, you were all rooting for the one that saw it all."

"That doesn't change the fact that a third in command isn't a necessity." Alby shrugged.

"She's got leadership instincts," Newt continued. "Some bloody shanks follow her already. Maybe fearing her, but she knows how to be respected."

Newt was right, if I was getting treated badly, I could fight. Alby exhaled sharply and looked at me again, studying. I could see the gears turning behind his eyes. Calculating.

"You got into the Slammer and broke the rules so many times. You even punched a bunch of guys."

"Three times. Four if you count Minho." I rectified.

"What would your job even be?" he finally asked. "We don't need three people giving orders."

"What happened once it's your time to get stung? When Newt ended up breaking his leg and couldn't walk anymore?"

Alby gave me a growl with his eyes, as if I had said something too much. But those were just possibilities, something that could happen at any time in a place like that. That's what I thought.

"And it could take pressure off you two. There's stuff slipping through the cracks. You know it."

"And with all the panic since this morning," I added, "you're gonna need someone who can shut down rumors before they get dangerous."

Alby's eyes narrowed. "You mean the Griever."

"Yeah. That," I said, jaw set. "The boys are restless. They know something happened, and someone's gonna piece it together."

"I already heard someone say you took it down with your bare hands," Newt muttered, half amused.

"That would've been less messy," I replied dryly.

A pause. Alby looked at Newt. Then at me again.

"You report directly to me," he said. "And you're not above anyone. You earn it, every day."

I straightened. "I will."

"You screw up—"

"Then I'm out. No second chances."

He gave a slow nod, like he didn't fully believe in the decision yet, but couldn't argue with it either.

"Fine," he said. "Third-in-command. You're on probation for a week. Then we'll see."

I felt something shift in my chest. Like the walls weren't quite so close anymore. Newt stood, clapping me on the back. "Try not to punch anymore."

"No promises," I said.

As I turned to leave, I caught a few of the other Gladers watching. Some looked curious. Others suspicious. A few—Gally included—looked annoyed. I thought that with everything that happened and the conversation we had, he would seem less hostile, but apparently not.

I also spotted Chuck and Simon near the Garden. Chuck gave me a thumbs-up so big it practically knocked him off balance. Simon just nodded, that quiet approval he always gave when he didn't feel like saying much.

It wasn't a win for the books, but it was mine. And for the first time since Hawk, since the Maze, I didn't feel like a shadow in my own skin.

Let them talk.

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