A MAZE RUNNER TRILOGY
"And one day someone walks into your life,
a total stranger, and they become so important
to you. And while you're only known them such a short time,
you feel you're loved them for a lifetime."
#1 Ranking for #TheMazeRunner
#1...
── # 𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 , 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑭𝑰𝑭𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑵𝑬 ↳ 'greetings from the past' ▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
❝I thought they were finally breaking me. ❞
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ılı.lıllıılı.ıllı ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ ( HEAL tom odell )
MADYLIN AND FITZ stepped out of the facility, the city slamming into them. The hum of the city was like a vibration that Madylin could feel in her teeth. It wasn't the wind through the trees of the Glade or the whistling through the mountains of the Scorch; it was the sound of a million moving parts. Engines, ventilation systems, even the distant thud of security drones. The light's burned her eyes. She'd thought the Scorch was bright, but this was different. No fire, no sun, just an endless assault of white LED and blue neon bleeding from signs she couldn't read. Every window was a screen. Every screen was a message.
The buildings around them didn't even look real. They just went up and up, swallowing the sky, too tall to believe. Madylin tried not to look at them. She knew what would happen if she did; it had happened in Jorge's camp, and the Glade, and the destroyed city before.
Madylin tried to keep her eyes fixed on the pavement. But every once and a while her gaze would drift upward, then the sheer scale of the towers would send a wave of vertigo through her. The world tilted, her stomach doing a slow, nauseating roll. She focused on the heels of the person in front of her, then on the cracks in the sidewalk.
Her hands were tight, painful knots. Her fingernails dug into the soft meat of her palms, a grounding sting she'd relied on ever since being sent of to the Trials.
Fitz ducked his head, his jaw set and his hand rested on Madylin's shoulder. He walked like someone who'd grown up running from cops, always keeping to the inside edge of the crowd, just a little slower than the rest so he could spot trouble as it came. His grip was firm, not quite bruising, but every time she hesitated he would squeeze a little, as if to remind her they were still alive and still moving. He didn't push or pull; he just guided, weaving them through the crowds.
People here looked different. They wore clean clothes, their hair styled, their skin lacking the layer of grit and sun-scald that had become Madylin's second skin. A WICKED soldier moved past them, his helmets gleaming, face hidden by black glass. Madylin's breath hitched.
Fitz turned left at the first intersection, barely slowing as he merged into a thicker, louder group of pedestrians. She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in a window—her hair a mess, her eyes hollow and bruised. She didn't recognize the person staring back.
Soldiers were everywhere. They stood at every crosswalk, scanning the crowd, fingers tight on their weapons. Madylin's heart tried to crawl into her throat every time they passed one, but Fitz kept walking, and so did she.
