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THOMAS WAS GONE. It had been two weeks since Samson had any dreams at all, but he wasn't surprised. After the way Thomas had panicked in the last dream, he wasn't expecting a visit from him for a while. Still, he couldn't help but worry about Thomas. Through the few memories he had seen in his dreams, Samson was sure that he and Thomas had been friends before. He just hoped he was okay.
"I need you to get stung,"
He really didn't want to go into the Maze. He didn't want to get stung. And he did not want to go through the Changing, not after the way Gally had described it. But Thomas's plan made sense, there was no denying that. Samson was just afraid.
Samson was so worked up about the situation, he'd started slacking off in the Kitchen. He had nearly cut his thumb off because he'd gotten lost in a trance and if Frypan hadn't noticed, Samson would've been sent straight to the Med-jacks.
"Get out of here," Frypan said after the thumb incident. "I don't want you in here if you can't function properly. Get some rest," he ordered.
Samson obliged, feeling guilty for leaving him and Brandon in the Kitchen. But Frypan was right. He wasn't thinking straight. He knew he had to tell someone about Thomas and his plans, and soon. But that was another problem in itself. Samson had no idea who to confide in.
He'd almost told Clark and Leo one night over dinner, but he'd gotten cold feet, forcing himself to stop speaking just as soon as he had started. Samson knew he'd be able to trust them, but there was no way Leo and Clark would be on board with him going out into the Maze and risking his life. None of the Gladers would be, for that matter, at least none of the Gladers who cared about him.
That's when it dawned on him. There was one boy in the Glade who didn't seem to care about Samson at all. But, he did care an awful lot about finding a way out of the Maze.
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That night at dinner, Samson told Leo and Clark that he couldn't eat with them. To his surprise, they didn't seem to mind much. He helped Frypan and Brandon serve everyone and then got himself a plate, eventually heading back out into the dining area. Samson scanned the room for a moment before his eyes landed on Minho. He was sitting alone at a table in the back, wolfing down his meal. For a moment, Samson found himself wondering why the Keeper of the Runners was sitting all alone but quickly shook the thought away. This was his one chance to get close to him.
Samson took a deep breath and started towards Minho's table. Minho glanced up at him for a moment, dropping his fork onto his plate when their eyes met. Samson quickly took a seat across from him, slamming his plate on the table. Minho rolled his eyes and tried to open his mouth to say something but Samson beat him to it.
"I'm just wondering...are all Runners this insufferable or is it just you?"
Minho scoffed at him, tightening his grip on his utensils. "Ah, I see. You been here three months and now you think you're top dog, huh?" he shot back, his eyes bearing into Samson like daggers.
