𝗣𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗦𝗦, minho (tmr)

Epilogue

Florence's eyes fluttered open, and for a second all she could remember was the dark infection she had seen on her leg. Her hand shot down to her leg, throwing off the cotton covers previously laid over her to inspect her skin. 

But there was not a single mark. 

As she sat up, a pain in her side - that she had somehow forgotten about - caused a strangled groan to escape her lips.

"Hey, hey." A voice interrupted her panic and her eyes fell on Minho.

He was sat on a wooden chair by her side, his hair flattened and his expression soft and calming. At her panic, he had shot forwards and placed his hand on her shoulder comfortingly. She relaxed, but still disorientated, she looked about the unfamiliar room.

She was lying in a small wooden shack; with sand on the floor and a lamp hanging from the ceiling to give them light. She was on a small bed shoved against one of the walls, with soft covers piled on it. The bedside table with fresh unused bandages and simple medical equipment led her to realise it was some sort of medical room.

Had we made it?

"Are we-?"

"In the Safe Haven?" He finished her question, his blank stare scaring her for a second. Then, his face broke out in a smile, and she felt all of her worries melt away.

And when she said all, she meant all.

No more cautiousness over their every move, because there was no more WCKD. No more wariness over every person they came across, because there were no more Cranks.

They were safe.

Finally.

And then her heart tugged. Right before she drifted off into unconsciousness, she watched from the ship as the burning building collapsed on Teresa, and she was engulfed in flames.

She was dead.

She had betrayed them, but she was also their friend. She was doing what she thought was right, and although it hurt them, she thought she was saving everyone.

And she gave them the cure.

Florence was still confused as to why Thomas was immune to the Flare and not her, but she supposed that it didn't matter anymore. None of it did.

Whatever grudge they had previously against Teresa was irrelevant, and Florence only missed her friend. She knew that Minho likely felt a little different, as she was the reason of his torture for months, but again, his grudge was irrelevant now.

Why hold something against a dead person?

"Where is everyone? How long have I been out?"

Of course, she had fallen unconscious due to the blood loss. Or was it the cure being administered? Newt's Crank-like state seemed a million years ago now, but Florence knew realistically it was at most a couple of days.

"You've only been out for about a day. The camp's pretty much all set up. You're lucky you didn't have to help." He grumbled and she rolled her eyes at his laziness.

Standing up from the bed, she wobbled a little; Minho's hand shooting out to balance her. She took it gratefully, the pain in her side still stinging slightly, but she ignored it.

Minho pushed open the door, flooding her vision with blinding light. When her eyes adjusted, she wanted to cry with joy.

The camp was filled with wooden shacks just like the one she had come from, and marquees with hammocks spread out beneath it. People were milling about the place; doing jobs, chatting, playing.