Rogue | Group B → The Maze Runner¹

i.three

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● [ iii . the third month ]

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SHE WAS KICKED awake by Ximena at the first light of dawn. "Wake up, stick. The doors are open."

She stirred groggily. The sensation of rough cloth beneath her and the faint scent of charred wood from the remnants of the previous night's fire had become familiar.

A month had passed, and things had changed.

She pushed herself into a sit, the weariness of sleep clinging to her stiff limbs. Rubbing her eyes, she reached for her shoes and socks lying beside her. Every morning began this way.

"My legs still hurt from yesterday," Sonya said, her voice gruff. "Can we take it easy today?"

Over the past month, their days had fallen into the monotonous routine of running. They were only a few weeks into mapping out the corridors of the maze.

"No," said Ximena, stern. "We have a whole other section to map today, Son." Sonya offered a low groan, but didn't resist. "Rogue, Miyoko, get a move on."

Initially a joke, 'Rogue' had become more of a name to her than Rosalind. She felt as though she had earned it, through many a stark (and perhaps inappropriate) remark. It felt like hers.

It wasn't just Rogue, either. As Jailer of the Cooks, Lise had adopted 'Hashslinger' an endearing, and only slightly insulting, alias.

"Sorry boss," said Miyoko. She had cut her hair, shoulder length with a blunt knife only a few days in. It was choppy, but it framed her face well. She hurried to put on a shirt. 

"You will be," Ximena said. "The later we set off, the later we get back."

Rogue stood, brushing the dirt from her pants and surveying the green. In the morning mist, the Glen was pretty. Dandelion seeds floated in the breeze; it lent an air of whimsy.

She turned to watch Beth lug logs over to the nearby lodge, nosily stacking them, one on top of the other through exasperated sighs.

"She's up early," she noted.

"Mm. The little shit," said Ximena, hands on her hips as her eyes followed the girl. "Harriet gave her a hard time last night. Said if the Lodge wasn't done by the end of the week, she'd be clogging."

Rogue whooshed. "Harsh."

"Not really," said Sonya. "I'm sick of sleeping on the floor."