The First Runner

Bonfires and Bad Ideas

The fire was alive tonight, crackling and spitting as though it wanted to keep us awake. Orange light spilt over the little circle we'd made, painting our faces in shifting shadows. The smell of smoke clung to everything—our clothes, our skin, even Bark's thick black fur as he sprawled in the dirt like he'd claimed the place.

I leaned back against the log, one leg stretched out toward the fire, the other bent, my arms draped loose over my knees. The warmth soaked into me, steady and familiar. I'd done this almost every night since I got here—a month of fires, a month of watching the walls move, a month of pretending this place wasn't swallowing us whole.

The boys, though... they were still too new, still wearing their nerves on their sleeves. Every time the Maze shifted—stone on stone grinding in the distance—their bodies jerked. Alec's head would whip around, Nick's fingers tightened on the stick he was jabbing into the dirt, Leo's hand paused on Bark's fur. Even Alby, sitting up on the log above me, tensed like he was waiting for something to come crashing out of the dark.

Me? I didn't move. Not anymore. You learned fast here, or you broke.

Bark, at least, wasn't bothered. The Lab had claimed Leo as his own, that much was obvious. His wide, glossy head rested heavy on Leo's thigh, amber eyes half-shut, ears twitching only when the fire popped too loud. Leo's hand moved lazily through the fur, absent but constant, and Bark gave a deep sigh that sounded more like contentment than anything I'd heard all day.

"Guess we know who he likes best," Alec muttered, flicking his stick at the dog. "Figures the mutt would pick you."

Leo smirked, eyes on the flames. "What can I say? I'm magnetic."

Nick barked out a laugh. "Magnetic? More like you smell less like pig slop than the rest of us."

"Least smelly? That's the best you've got?" Leo shot him a look, mock outrage painted across his face. "You'll regret that when Bark picks me over you every single time."

Bark let out a low groan, shifting his weight even closer to Leo's leg as if proving the point.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Face it, Leo. He's not loyal to you. He just knows who's got the best scratching hand."

That earned a round of quiet laughter, even from Alby, though he kept his eyes on the fire.

The laughter thinned out quick, though, like it always did now. The silence after Stephens still lingered in the Glade, stretched taut and uncomfortable. I could see it in the way Alec picked at the dirt like he wanted to dig a hole straight through it, or how Nick kept looking anywhere but the flames. They were trying to fill the space Stephens left behind, but none of them had figured out how.

I tugged at a loose thread on my sleeve, breaking the quiet. "You'll get used to it. The Maze, the noises, all of it. Took me about a week to stop jumping every time the walls shifted."

Nick's eyebrows shot up, disbelief sharp across his face. "Used to it? You're telling me that sound—" the Maze groaned again, right on cue, and he flinched—"that ever feels normal?"

"Not normal," I said, calm and steady. "Familiar. You stop fighting it. That's when you stop wasting energy."

Alec shook his head, muttering under his breath. "Doesn't make it less creepy."

"Creepy doesn't go away," I replied, nudging the dirt with the heel of my boot. "You just learn when to breathe with it instead of against it."

That earned me a look from Leo, half skeptical, half impressed. "And that's what? Wisdom from the month-long veteran?"

I grinned faintly. "Something like that."

Alby shifted above me, finally dragging his eyes away from the fire. "She's right. Might as well listen. No one else here knows better."