𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

"They'll be okay," Gally says abruptly, attempting to convince himself more than I think he is me.

"Doubtful."

"Always the optimist."

"Always a gentleman," I shoot back at him.

His mouth strains into a forced smile before he leaves me alone by the wall, the only thing to comfort me being the ever-looming stone and the wind that will never cease its howling. It's almost as if the wind itself was mourning the sentenced Gladers. They aren't dead. Yet.

I prise my gaze from the wall, that one motion being a finality. But they were already as good as dead. It was foolish to pretend otherwise. I whisper my goodbyes into the cold nights air, though even I could not detach my voice from the cries of the wind.

❀

My hammock feels cold without him that night.

No position I fidget into could ever be comfortable enough, either my limbs dug into me at sharp angles, or the fabric I lie upon was too itchy. I had neither problem last night.

Where were those three right now? Separated? Scared? Dead? My mind lingers on that last word; the dreaded possibility of that bloody outcome branding into my head. Death.

I hope for their sakes it's a quick one.

Unable to think about my friends stuck with the Grievers any longer, I haul myself out of my hammock, making note of Chuck, who is wide awake, belying his position — curled up into a ball.

"Where are you goin'?" he whispers to me.

"Away."

Chuck grumbles, sitting up in his hammock and glaring at me through wet eyes. "No shit."

"I'm not allowed to be alone, now?"

"Didn't say that."

I pause for a moment, taking in Chuck's ruffled hair, leaves from the trees above stuck in it, his red face and tearful eyes. Sorrow pangs through my heart. He's only twelve. I can't imagine what it must be like to see all of this at his age. I don't think even I could have handled it. I realise my great respect for the boy and give him a slight smile, though not enough to come off as piteous. "Ya want me to stay with you?"

"No," he says sharply before falling back down onto his bed and his eyes close.

"Got it."

I'm not sure how long I linger, looking at the distressed boy until I will my feet to move, each step I take away from Chuck a heavier weight upon my chest. I brush past the sharp spikes of the leaves; they're no longer a beautiful sight to me. They only cover the walls. It shields us from the truth — the inevitability of all our deaths. There's no point in hiding from the walls. They're there either way.

Anger seeping through my muscles, I tear the branch in front of me, a satisfying snap ringing through the air before it drops to the floor. I kick it. And I don't care if I woke anyone up.

The broken branch reveals Newt, sat on the edge of the clearing of trees, his knees pulled into his chest. A wave of sadness hits me, paradoxically drowning my ability to feel anything. Its now empty.

"What did the branch ever do to you?" Newt's voice is dull; he doesn't even bother turning around to know it's me.

"It existed."

"Such a crime."

"It is when those three won't after tonight," I snap, plonking myself down next to him. I force myself to look away from him. I don't wish to see another person I care about in pain.

"Nice sentiment."

"Nice sarcasm."

Newt shuffles away from me, grumbling. "I'm not in the mood, shuck-face."

"Neither am I," I reply instantly.

An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of us — a direct contrast to the way our conversations usually go. At that moment, rain topples from the sky, as though the closing of the doors had triggered a downpour. I watch as the water splashes against the grass, so hard that mud flicks up at the contact. Cold water trickles down my face, and it immediately soaks my hair. I don't care. At least now, if I were to cry, no one would be able to tell. But I don't think I'll cry tonight.

"Do you want to talk?"

"No," he says, the slight twitch of his lips betraying his words. Attempting at decency, I don't question it.

Instead, I agree with him. "Don't suppose I do, either."

Another silence before he turns to me, tears filling his eyes. "I lied."

"I know," I say softly.

"I just can't picture it," he continues. "A life without those ungrateful shanks in it... it doesn't seem right."

I hesitate before I speak, taking my time to process his words. I know exactly how he feels. Even now, the three of those absences are already evident in the atmosphere in the Glade. I knew I'd miss Minho and his sarcasm. I never thought I could ever miss Thomas and his constant questions. Or Alby's orders, for that matter. "As much as I want to believe they'll survive—"

"You've already said your goodbyes," Newt finishes.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?" I say dryly before another pause. Newt drags a shaking hand down his face slowly, wiping the rainwater dripping from his nose.

He says slowly, "I'm not sayin' goodbye until I know for sure."

My chest sinks: he's only setting himself up for disappointment.

"You're gonna catch a cold."

I ignore him, standing to my feet and walking away from the thicket of trees, the water trickling down my body. I shiver as drips of water freeze down my spine.

"Shucks sake, Thea," he curses. "I'm not dealin' with you sick tomorrow on top of everythi— what are you doin'?"

"You said the rain helps, so come on." I extend my hand to him, yet he doesn't take it, looking at me sceptically.

"What are we doing?" He quirks his brow.

"Forgetting."

—
Sorry for the lack of updates recently! However, there will be many more now, and I'm going to spend my next two weeks writing :)

I want to say thank you to those of you who correct my spelling and/or word order, it really helps me and makes this book that much better. I'm glad you have a better eye for these things than I do ;)

I want to say a huge thank you to everyone reading this right now. It truly means everything. <3

Have a great day, shanks. And Happy Easter!

~ sophie xx