Running with you

The pattern

You didn't sleep again that night.

Not really.

Even after you and Thomas slipped back into your bunks, your body refused to relax. Every time you shut your eyes, you saw that strange metal door pulsing faintly in the dark. You heard the low grind of the Maze shifting, walls scraping like stone lungs inhaling. You felt seen.

By morning, your hands were shaking as you tied your boots.

"You look like hell," Newt said, falling into step beside you as the Gladers began their daily routines. His voice was quieter than usual—more like concern than teasing.

"Gee, thanks," you muttered.

He didn't smile. "You dreaming again?"

"More like remembering. I think... I think I saw something like that door before. But it was in a lab. Not here."

Newt slowed. "You're saying it's real. Not just a hallucination."

"I think I worked for WICKED, Newt," you whispered. "Or maybe they built me for it. I don't know."

He looked at you sharply, but before he could say anything, Thomas appeared beside you, Minho close behind him.

"Time to get to work," Minho said, slapping a map scroll into Newt's hands. "And someone better tell me why I'm being dragged into a secret conspiracy."

Newt pulled you all toward the Map Room. It was tucked into one of the older corners of the Glade, hidden behind vines and wood scaffolding. Inside, walls were covered in sketches and grids—dozens of hand-drawn representations of the Maze, all labeled by date and time.

"Every Runner reports in at the end of the day," Minho explained, unfolding a few scrolls. "We document changes in the Maze—open paths, dead ends, walls that shift."

He glanced at you. "What are we looking for?"

You stepped forward, nervous but sure. "Patterns. Repeats. Anything that happens the same way twice."

The four of you pored over the maps in silence for nearly an hour. You traced corridors with your fingertips, reading the coordinates aloud while Minho cross-referenced older layouts. Thomas kept pace with you, jotting down every match and repeat you found.

And then—

"Wait," you said, halting in front of a map labeled Day 172. "This section. It's the same as what I saw last night—right before the door appeared."

Minho leaned in. "That shouldn't be possible. This exact formation hasn't shown up in weeks."

Thomas pointed to a date on another scroll. "And look here. The last time that configuration appeared... it was the day I arrived."

Newt went still.

"So it's not random," you said, pulse spiking. "It's reactive."

"It changes when someone new shows up," Thomas muttered.

You added, "Or maybe because someone new shows up."

Newt folded his arms tightly. "Then the Maze isn't just shifting. It's responding to us."

Minho blew out a breath. "No one's going to believe this."

"Then we don't tell anyone. Not yet," Newt said firmly. "We watch. Track. If that door appears again, we'll be ready."

But something twisted in your gut.

Because as you stared at the patterns, your mind kept drifting—not to the Maze itself, but to the metal. To the blinking red light. To wires pulsing like veins. It wasn't fear you felt.

It was familiarity.

You knew these walls.

You knew what they were made for.

And deep down, some part of you whispered something even worse:

You were made for them too.