STATIC → newt , tmr [EDITING ; VERY SLOW UPDATES]

chapter vii

"I changed my mind, hermano," Jorge said darkly, giving Marcus a light tap on the chest. "I do enjoy hurting you."

Jorge kicked Marcus in the chest, sending the chair flying backwards. Marcus yelled out in pain as he toppled over. Tiago's entire body went rigid, and before he knew why, he was making a mental note of all the exits in the room. Another bad habit he'd picked up from his troubled childhood.

"Jorge," Tiago said warningly.

Jorge didn't seem to hear him, instead pulling out the pistol attached to his belt. Marcus let out another maniacal chuckle, while Thomas and Minho stepped forward slightly. Newt rose from his chair, his hand still on Tiago's hip. Tiago knew they were afraid of what Jorge could do. If Tiago was honest with himself, he was a little afraid too. He felt Newt's hand clenching into the fabric of his pants. His own hand hadn't let go of Newt's shoulder, his harsh grip returning.

Jorge crouched over Marcus, pressing the pistol to his throat. Marcus let out a choked cry, and this time Tiago knew it was from fear and not pain.

"Talk!" Jorge yelled. Marcus didn't reply, only continued making choking sounds. "Talk!"

"Okay, ok―Jesus! But I'm not making any promises," Marcus finally relented. "These guys like to move around." Jorge moved off him and lifted the chair back up, standing it on four legs again. Marcus let out a few loud breaths of relief. "They have an outpost in the mountains. But it's a long way away. You've got half of WCKD on your ass, you're never gonna make it," he finished condescendingly, another dark laugh leaving his mouth.

"Not on foot," Jorge said. He leaned down, eye to eye with Marcus again. He clapped his hands down on Marcus' shoulders. "Where's Bertha?"

Marcus' face was suddenly overtaken by an uneasy look.

"Not Bertha."

― ➶ ―

Soon enough, Tiago was situated in the back of an old station wagon. Turns out the Bertha Jorge had been referring to was what Marcus had named his car. Tiago had his legs stretched in front of him, his head turned to stare out the back window. Brenda was sitting next to him, her head resting on his shoulder and her eyes closed. She wasn't asleep, but she could've fooled anyone. Frypan was sitting opposite her, his eyes closed as well.

Tiago reached his arm down to the bandages on his leg. He squeezed lightly at the flesh around the wound, wincing slightly. It was swollen for sure; it felt like a bruise when he squeezed it. He gently pulled the bandage away from his leg, looking inside them. The injury wasn't bleeding out anymore. The edges of the gash were purple. Tiago had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing. It felt a lot better than it had been a few hours ago. He almost felt like he could walk on it, but he didn't want to push his luck.

Tiago put the bandages back over the wound. He grabbed one of the arrows from his quiver beside him. He had forgotten his bow existed the past few hours, his mind too occupied with pain, hunger and thirst, and Newt. He still wasn't sure what those feelings were about at all, but he knew he couldn't ignore it for much longer. He knew bottling it up would just make it worse. He'd learned that much from Kim and her many emotional escapades.

Kim. Tiago hadn't had much of a chance to think about her either. He had no idea how to feel. Obviously they were friends, at the very least, but he didn't feel sad about her death. He mainly felt anger. Why the hell would she run into a collapsing building just to save him? What if Jorge had followed her, where would they be now? There's no way any of these teenagers would've survived without that man. One thing Tiago could settle on was that he missed Kim already. He knew she had harbored some sort of romantic feelings for him. He wasn't sure how deep those feelings ran, but he knew for sure that they existed. He wondered if he ever would've accepted her feelings, if they could've been some sort of happy in the future if they never found anyone else for themselves.