Running with you

Fault lines

The van didn't stop for miles.

Just the growl of the engine, the blurred lights of a dead city, and the heavy silence between you and the others.

Thomas sat across from you, jaw tense, fists clenched around the hem of his shirt. He hadn't let go of you once during the drive, not until the van hit smoother roads and the adrenaline began to crash like waves behind your eyes.

The folder labeled CURE: PHASE THREE rested on your lap. You hadn't opened it again. Couldn't. Not after what you saw. What you remembered.

What you were.

"Say something," you whispered into the dark.

Thomas looked up. His eyes searched yours like he was checking for broken pieces.

"I don't know what to say," he admitted.

You flinched. Not because of his words — but because they echoed your own thoughts.

Brenda glanced at you in the rearview mirror. "We'll stop soon. Safehouse in Sector Seven. Unmapped."

Minho was waiting there. Maybe. Hopefully. And Newt... you hadn't dared to ask.

You clutched the folder tighter.

"I saw more," you said quietly. "In the lab. Before the lights cut out. Not just me."

Thomas leaned in. "What do you mean?"

You hesitated, then opened the folder again. Inside were coordinates. Scans. A list of serum prototypes. But at the very bottom—one name.

SUBJECT 00 — THOMAS.

His breath hitched. "That's not possible."

You passed him the sheet, your fingers trembling. "They didn't just use me to monitor you. They built the experiment around you."

He stared at the paper like it might catch fire.

"I was never supposed to survive the Maze," you whispered. "I think I was meant to watch you suffer. Record it. Report on it."

Thomas dropped the folder like it burned him.

Then, slowly, his hand reached for yours again.

"You broke the script."

You blinked.

"I wasn't supposed to care about anyone," he said. "They told me that. They said emotional ties would compromise the data. But you... you changed everything. Even when I didn't remember why, I couldn't stop looking for you. Trusting you."

His voice was low now. Raw.

"You made me feel things they never planned for."

For a moment, the van wasn't a van. The war wasn't a war. There was just you and Thomas, hearts full of static, sitting inches apart in the dark, holding on like the world might end any second.

Maybe it already had.

Brenda cleared her throat. "We're here."

The safehouse was buried beneath a rusted overpass, camouflaged with tarp and debris. Ivy clawed up the walls. The air smelled like old smoke and ash.

Minho opened the door before you could knock.

He looked tired. Pale. But alive.

You exhaled a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Where's Newt?" you asked.

Minho's face shifted. Just a flicker.

"He's stable," he said. "For now."

Brenda passed him the folder, sparing you the sight of it again. "We got it. CURE: PHASE THREE. It's all there."

Minho whistled low. "About time we caught a break."

But as the others stepped inside, Thomas lingered at the threshold with you.

"You okay?" he asked.

You wanted to lie. To say yes. To say it didn't matter anymore what WICKED had done or what your role had been. But your mouth stayed shut.

Because the truth was splintering inside you.

"I don't know who I am," you finally said.

Thomas nodded. "Then let's figure it out together."

And for once... you believed him.