For what seemed like eternity, there was only darkness.
I lay in the dirt, facedown. I barely registered Minho and Thomas sprawled next to me. There were only the stars flashing in my otherwise black vision. The stars caused by the echo of the Doors slamming shut.
The stars, and Newt's face.
I could never forget the panic in his eyes when he saw me pelting towards him, the Griever just feet behind me.
Nor could I forget how he'd lunged forward, nearly running into the Maze himself. Nearly running straight into the Griever's jaws. He would have, if Zart and Winston hadn't grabbed him at the last second. Then there had been the struggle to escape their grip. To break away, to get to... me.
For it hadn't been Minho or Thomas he had locked eyes with before I'd crashed into the soil.
Me.
I groaned and rolled over onto my back. The stars gradually disappeared, and the pale face of a boy slid into focus. The fear wasn't fully gone from his eyes, which were wider than usual. The fear... It showed that he cared. More than I'd thought.
As much as I cared?
I doubted it. He couldn't know about my inconvenient, idiotic want for him. There was no time for that klunk here.
But did it really matter?
I reached up, needing to touch warmth. Needing to touch him. He caught my hand in his own before my icy fingers reached his face. The heat flared into life, spreading through my body like sunlight.
"Are you alright?"
His voice brought me crashing back to reality. Noticing the boys standing around us, I quickly released my grip on his hand and unsteadily got to my feet. "I think so," I muttered, not meeting his eyes.
"Dude, what happened?" Chuck demanded, pushing through the crowd. "That Griever almost got you!"
"The shuck thing didn't go off the Cliff this time," Minho panted, leaning forward on his knees.
"But... why?" someone asked. "Why the sudden change?"
"I don't know," Minho said darkly. "But when we get out, we'll ask the Creators ourselves."
"Then we'll rip off their bloody heads."
I turned to Newt, shocked. I'd never heard him say something so violent. He looked really, really mad. The look in his eyes was so murderous that if it had been directed at me, I would have chosen the Griever over having to face him.
Minho looked at me, then Thomas. I'd never seen him look so tired. Nonetheless, what came out of his mouth next suggested otherwise. "You guys go to bed. I'll draw the map."
I opened my mouth to object, but he shook his head and started towards the Map Room, his gait void of his usual swagger.
The rain had started up again. It pattered against the soil, turning it to mud. I wished that we could break free of the "mud" that bound us. Break free from WICKED. But you will, soon, a small voice in my mind reminded me. Just a few more trips into the Maze. Then you can go into the Griever Hole and escape this place.
Could we? Or would the Grievers get us first?
A hand closed around my forearm, and I turned, meeting Newt's dark gaze. "Come on," he said quietly. "You need to sleep."
I was too tired to object.
§ § §
The Grievers had caught up to us.
