In Every Timeline: Maze Runners

Chapter 1: The Box

Clank. Clank. Clank.

She jolted upright, lungs heaving, eyes wide, darkness pressing in all around. Metal walls. Rattling floor. Cold air. A sick feeling in her gut.

The box was moving.

Her breath stuttered. The air was sharp and stale, each gasp scraping her throat. She tried to remember anything. Her name. Her age. Why was she here?

Nothing.

Only a few broken images in her head, and none that made sense.

She dragged a trembling hand through her hair, jet black, damp with sweat. Her beige skin felt clammy in the cold. And her eyes, blue, too bright for this place, darted across the shadows like they were looking for a way out.

Panic clawed its way up her ribs like a knife.

"Hey," a voice said, not far. Not threatening. Just as shaken. "You okay?"

She whipped her head around. In the far corner of the metal crate, a boy sat hunched, his legs pulled close. Blonde, maybe a little older, hair messy, and clothes rumpled. He looked just as scared as she felt.

"I woke up here, too," he said quickly, hands raised. "I don't know anything. I swear."

The box jerked again, slamming her against the wall. Her head cracked hard enough to spark white in her vision.

"Ugh, " she gasped, bracing herself.

The walls groaned, steel grinding against steel. The crate was rising fast now, light leaking in around the edges above.

Something slid across the floor beside her foot.

A small, folded note. Crumpled. Water-stained. Sealed shut with a rusted clip.

She picked it up.

There were only five words written on the outside:

"Keep them together. They're blood."

Her chest constricted. She looked back at the boy.

He was staring at her, now more wary than afraid. Like maybe he'd felt it too—that something connected them. A string neither could name.

The ceiling above screeched open, sunlight blasting down into the dark.

Voices shouted from above. Then a thud. Someone dropped into the box.

He was tall. Older. Bulkier than the blond boy. Dressed in brown from head to toe with wild hair and strong, guarded eyes. His face twisted in confusion. He looked them over with narrowed eyes, then caught sight of the note still clutched in her shaking hand.

He snatched it.

Read it.

His jaw locked.

"Shuck me," he muttered. Then louder, to the voices above: "They sent two. And they're—get this—siblings."

"What?" another voice called.

"Yeah. That's what it says."

He tossed up two crates before turning back to them. "Climb the rope. Let's go."

The boy didn't wait, he moved fast, grabbing the rope and climbing. She followed close behind, the rope rough against her palms.

Then came the light.

Blinding. Overwhelming.

And noise.

They surfaced into a square field surrounded by towering stone walls, the ground beneath their feet packed dirt. A circle of boys stood waiting. Watching.