Defying the Glade.

The Glade's Secrets

I slept like a stone. The bed was so warm and soft I could’ve stayed there forever. Above me, a small square of roof was cut away like a window to the sky—pale morning light pooling on the blankets. Peaceful. Almost enough to make me forget.

Almost.

I wished for a dream—any dream—to hand me a name, a face, a scrap of my old life. Nothing. Just blank, white noise. Frustration punched out of me; my fist thudded the mattress. Do I even remember my parents? Did I have any? Tears threatened. I blinked hard. Not again.

“Amelia.” A whisper, close.

I rolled and nearly jumped out of my skin—Newt was leaning over me with that maddening smirk. “Greenie. Wakey, wakey.”

My heart rocketed. I sat up, glowering. “You scared me to death.”

He clapped a hand gently over my mouth, eyes stern. “Shhhh. Quiet, yeah? Don’t wake the others.”

I nodded, and he dropped his hand.

Newt moved to the door and looked back. “Alby wants me to show you something before everyone’s up. Important. Shoes on.”

The way he said important made my stomach flip. I tugged on my boots and a jumper, zipped it to my chin, and hurried after him into the cold.

The Glade was muted, sleeping—thin mist, wet grass, soft clatter from the kitchen far off. We cut between huts until the giant stone walls loomed, swallowing the sky. We followed them, breath fogging, and turned toward a narrow alcove.

I stiffened. “Why are we going to the Maze? Did I break a rule? Am I being—”

Newt caught my hands and squeezed, steady and warm. He stepped in close, eyes locked on mine. “No. You did nothing wrong. Trust me, alright?”

I swallowed and nodded. He didn’t let go of my hands as we walked.

The alcove ended at a thick window set into stone. Ivy veined its edges; inside was only black. My reflection peered back at me, pale and wary.

“What is this?” I whispered.

“Watch,” he murmured. “And don’t scream.”

I pressed my palm to the glass. It was cold and unyielding. Condensation fogged under my breath; without thinking, I drew a tiny heart and almost laughed at myself. Minutes crawled. Nothing but darkness.

“Newt, I don’t—”

A wet, squelching sound rolled out of the Maze.

Something moved. Big.

I leaned in. A shape slithered into the faint light—metal fused with flesh, a tail lashing, claws scraping stone. Its mouth was slicked dark. Is that—blood? My stomach lurched.

The thing—the creature—lunged. It slammed the glass, claws shrieking, teeth bared. I yelped and stumbled backward, missed the lip of a step, and hit the ground hard.

Newt was there in a blink, hand over my mouth again, the other around my shoulders, pinning me gently against him and the stone. “Breathe. It can’t get through. The glass is thick.” His breath warmed my ear; butterflies imploded through my stomach at the worst possible time.

The thing raked the window, screeched once more, and vanished into the dark.

My muscles slowly unclenched. Newt eased his hand away and helped me sit. I stared at the window, shaking. “What was that?”

“A Griever,” he said quietly, sitting across from me. “There are loads of them in the Maze. Mostly come out after dark. They’re… part machine, part meat—and they sting.” His jaw worked. “The sting is poison. Without the serum, you die. Slow.”