── # 𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑻𝑾𝑶 , 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑻𝒀 𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 ↳ 'a game of questions'
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❝ Let's remember this moment and never listen to Thomas again ❞
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Brenda led the Gladers away from the chained cranks and deeper into the warehouse. If she was worried about the monsters, she didn't show it. She hardly glanced back, her shoulders squared, hands shoved in her pockets. "Come on," she called, "keep up. Jorge wants to meet you."
The Gladers stuck together, almost shoulder to shoulder. Madylin walked in the tightest part of the knot, sandwiched between Newt and Thomas. It should have been comforting, but her muscles ached with every step, and her casted arm felt like a deadweight she was hauling through a war zone. She tried not to think about what would happen if they got separated.
As they left the cranks behind, the warehouse changed. The stink faded, and a new scent replaced it—grease, smoke, and something almost sweet. The darkness grew patchy. String lights hung in loops from the skeletons of beams and rafters, buzzing faintly, their glow painting the faces of huddled figures who watched from makeshift platforms and scaffolding.
It was an underground city, every corner packed with people. Some clustered around oil drums that blazed with open flame, roasting rats or scavenged scraps. Others hunched close, gambling or trading goods. A few just stared openly at the newcomers, eyes hollow but sharp. Madylin felt every gaze stick to her skin.
She ducked her head, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes, but she still caught glimpses: a man with three gold teeth, a woman cradling a baby with patchwork rags, a pair of teens arguing over a length of rope. There were no children running wild, no laughter. Everything was tightly wound.
Newt leaned down to whisper in her ear. "This is mental."
She didn't disagree. "Feels like a zoo."
He gave her a tiny smile, the kind that barely touched his eyes.
Now at the front of the group, Thomas tried to keep pace with Brenda. He sidestepped a pile of shattered glass and nearly tripped on the staircase. "Who's Jorge?" He finally called to Brenda, raising his voice above the buzz of conversation that trailed them.
Brenda didn't slow. "You'll see," she tossed back, sounding almost amused. "No one has come out of the scorch in a long time. You just got him curious," She glanced over her shoulder, eyes landing on Madylin for a second. "Even me."
Madylin couldn't tell if that was meant as a threat, or just a weird compliment.
They climbed a set of metal stairs, the treads rattling under their weight. Above, the air felt different—cooler, drier, less alive. The stairs opened onto a catwalk lined with more watchers. Not a single word passed among them, but their eyes missed nothing.
