When two girls arrive in the Glade, everything changes. The boys are used to routine, to order, to surviving, but 𝓐𝓻𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓼 is nothing like what they expected. With sharp instincts, a guarded heart, and no memory of who she is, Ari throws herse...
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Darkness.
That was the first thing she knew. A suffocating black that pressed against her eyes, against her skull, until she wasn't sure if they were even open.
Her palms met something cold and unyielding-the ridged surface of some kind of metal grate beneath her fingers. A faint hum vibrated through the floor, mechanical and alive, like the world itself was breathing. This room-box thing she was in...it was slowly moving upwards.
Panic flared. Her chest tightened. She sucked in a shaky breath and screamed at the top of her lungs, "Help! Somebody-please, help me!"
Her own voice crashed back at her, bouncing off the walls in jagged echoes. The sound startled her so badly she broke off in a fit of coughing, her throat raw as she tried to force air into her lungs.
She pushed herself upright, legs trembling, the walls tilting around her. Then her foot caught on something-no, someone. She stumbled and dropped back to her knees.
The faint blue glow along the walls gave just enough light for her to see the outline of a girl lying motionless on the floor. Long, dark hair. Pale features.
Her heart thudded painfully as she crawled closer. "Hey-hey, can you hear me?" She pressed two fingers against the girl's wrist. There was a faint pulse. She lowered her ear, catching the shallow rise and fall of breath. Relief washed over her in a shaky exhale. She was still alive.
"Please, wake up," she whispered, shaking her shoulder. Still nothing. Her hand brushed against the girl's fist, something crumpled and stiff, clenched tight inside. Paper.
She had just started tugging at it when the floor jolted violently. Metal groaned, the entire room shuddering as it lurched upward. She slammed back against the wall, her skull cracking hard against steel.
White hot pain flared, and then nothing.
***
The sound was unmistakable.
A deep, grinding rumble shook the ground beneath their feet, followed by the blaring of alarms echoing across the Glade. Boys froze mid step, glancing at one another.
"I know that sound," Thomas said, his voice sharp.
"It's the Box, its coming back up!" someone yelled at him over their shoulder.
"It shouldn't be," Minho replied, already jogging toward the Source of all the commotion. The others followed in a rush, boots pounding the packed earth.
The massive steel doors in the center of the Glade shuddered, metal groaning as the doors to the box began to rise. The noise dragged every Glader to the edge, hearts hammering, breaths caught tight in their throats.
Newt and Gally reached the top first, throwing their weight against the grate. It screeched open with effort, the smell of stale metal rising with it.
Without hesitation, Newt dropped down inside. His boots clanged against the floor of the Box, eyes adjusting to the darkness below.
Two shapes lay sprawled on the cold steel.
The crowd above gasped, boys craning to see. Frypan leaned closer to the edge. "Newt-what do you see down there?"
He stiffened. "Girls," he said slowly, disbelief heavy in his voice. "Not one...but two."
Newt crouched, his throat dry. The still forms didn't stir, didn't speak. He swallowed. "I think they're dead."
More gasps rippled through the Gladers, some murmuring like they were staring at creatures from another world.
That's when Gally's sharp voice cut through the noise. "What's in her hand?"
Newt blinked, eyes darting to the taller girl-ginger hair matted against her forehead. Her fist was tight around something crumpled. Paper.
Carefully, he bent down and pried it free, unfolding it with steady hands. His voice echoed in the Box as he read it aloud:
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"They are the last ones. Ever..."
A ripple of unease swept through the boys.
Newt frowned, staring at the words. "What the hell does that mean-"
A sudden movement cut him off. The dark-haired girl's eyes flickered open, revealing dazed and unfocused ocean blue eyes. They darted past Newt, straight to the edge of the shaft where Thomas stood frozen.
Her lips parted. "Thomas."
The name hung in the air like a strike of lightning before her eyes fluttered shut again.
Silence. Every Glader turned, staring at Thomas with wide, accusing eyes.
Gally's mouth curled into a grim smile. "Told you," he muttered, his gaze never leaving Thomas.
On the ground, the ginger-haired girl groaned softly, still unconscious. A thin line of blood trickled from her temple, staining her befreckled skin.
Gally's expression hardened. "Get them out. Both of them. Take 'em to the Med-jacks."
Newt hesitated only a second before signaling for someone to come down and help him. As the rest of the Gladers cleared out, he looked again at the crumpled note in his hand.
The last ones. Ever.
And for the first time in months, a cold chill crept up his spine.
