Newt had shown Thomas the Gardens where he would be working for that day and I was in the Map Room with Newt, studying their model of the Maze.

"It's pretty good," I admitted, turning my head to try to see if it looked any different. Newt grinned triumphantly, but then I said, "Something feels. . . off, though."

"Off?" he repeated, looking confused. I nodded, tracing my finger on the top of Section 7. "Something here," I said, tapping the large 7. "Do you guys have maps?"

Newt opened the lid of a trunk, revealing carefully stacked sheets of paper. I flipped through them, noting the dates and stacking them back into their original order.

Suddenly, halfway to putting back another paper, my hand froze and I put the paper I was holding back onto the table, spreading it out and scrutinizing every inch of it.

"Hey," I breathed. "Hey, Newt, look at this!"

Newt scooted closer, peering over my shoulder, and shrugged. "I don't see anything weird."

"No, no! You don't understand!" I dug through the pile of maps I had already flipped through and stopped on one that read Day 703 - Section 7 - Hank. I tugged it out, marking its place with one of the sticks they used to build their Maze model.

I put the two papers side by side, tracing my fingers along the twisting path. "See? Here they both go left. . . then a left-right intersection, see? Next, if you follow this, you end up right here" - I jabbed my finger on the papers - "where you can go left, right, or straight. But if you go left on this map -"

"A dead end," Newt said, his eyes wide.

"Right! But on this map, there isn't one! You just go left until another intersection!" I explained, my pointer finger lightly outlining the path. "Who knows how many others are like this?"

"Then. . . do you know which one is right?" Newt said slowly, still staring at the maps disbelievingly.

"This one," I said confidently, pointing to the one on the left.

"Are you sure?" he asked. I nodded.

"Positive."

"Well then." He blew out a breath. "Better get sorting."

We spent the rest of the morning figuring out which maps were right and which were wrong, ending up with a pile about an inch and a half high. All of them were different, but in subtle ways barely noticeable. Maybe one path was a centimeter longer than another or ended half an inch before the other one, but the differences were there.

"It's afternoon," said Newt after we finished off the whole trunk, but there was still one more to go through. "Time for you to go to the Slammer."

"What?" I demanded. "But there's still another trunk! We haven't finished!"

"I'll finish," he assured me, but I shook my head.

"You don't have my memory or my observance. You need me to finish off. Trust me." Newt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, and nodded reluctantly.

With that, he led me out and into the Slammer, which was identical to the Lockup. I peered through the rusty iron bars and gave Newt a hard stare.

"I know," he said in a slightly whiny voice. "I won't go through them without you." I smiled, finally satisfied, and sat down, wondering how I was supposed to pass the time.

It was dreadfully boring. All I could do was talk to Chuck who visited me occasionally, but even he needed to go to do whatever his job was. I could watch the Gladers working hard, but other than that, there wasn't anything to do.

I ended up watching two birds fighting over seeds before Zart shooed them away. An hour or so later, my stomach was rumbling with hunger and I realized that I hadn't eaten anything since morning. At least I had a big breakfast.

It couldn't have been a terribly long time after, but it sure felt like it. By the time Newt came to unlock the door, my stomach was aching with hunger.

"Thank God!" I exclaimed as Newt swung open the door and I jumped out, stretching out my cramped body. "What'd Frypan make for lunch?"

"I dunno," mumbled Newt, staring at the Maze. He looked horrible, but I didn't think much about it.

"Hi, Neil!" Frypan called as I opened the Kitchen door. "Pasta?"

"Excellent," I said, grinning. "No meat though, right? Hey, how'd you know my name?"

"Word travels fast in the Glade," he said, already piling pasta into a bowl. "And yeah, no meat for you." He slid the bowl across the counter and I dove into it eagerly, savoring the slightly spicy taste it left on my tongue.

"This is good," I mumbled between mouthfuls. "Tofu?"

"Crispy," he confirmed as I left the Kitchen, still shoving spoonfuls of the pasta into my mouth. I spotted Thomas, Newt, and Chuck and plopped down next to them.

"Sup, guys?" I said, swallowing another mouthful. Thomas bit into an apple and Chuck grinned toothily at me. "Hey, Newt! You. . ."

My voice trailed off as I took in Newt's appearance. He sat on the ground like us but apart from everyone else, chewing on his nails anxiously and his eyes bloodshot. His brow was worried with creases and his eyes wandered but always returned back to the West Doors.

"Newt?" I asked, concern apparent in my voice. "Newt, what's wrong?"

"Every lovin' thing in the universe," he answered, watching the West Doors. He fell silent and my mouth opened to form another question, but then he continued. "The girl from the Box. Keeps groanin' and saying all kinds of weird stuff, but won't wake up. Med-Jacks're doing their best to feed her, but she's eatin' less each time. I'm telling ya, something's very bad about the whole bloody thing."

Thomas and Chuck looked satisfied with that answer, but as I examined him, I realized he was holding something back.

"What else, though?" I pressed. "That's one matter - what about the other one?"

"Read me like a book, won't ya, shank?" he grunted and I thought I saw the shadow of a smile flit over his face, but it disappeared before I could be sure.

Newt narrowed his eyes as he looked out at the Maze. "Alby and Minho," he muttered. "They should've come back hours ago."

I found myself back at the Map Room, my eyes tired from staring at page after page after page. Newt came in eventually to try to help, but he seemed too distracted to focus and I shooed him out.

After hours of hard work, I finally ended up with a pile about four inches high of all the incorrect maps. I had marked where they came from so I could slip them back after I corrected them, but I was too tired to do that right now.

When the time for dinner had come, I left the Map Room and made my way to the group of tables pushed together into one long rectangle close to the West Doors. Frypan and his Cooks were serving plates of steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and bread rolls. One of the cooks passed me cheesy broccoli soup instead of the steak and I sat down next to Thomas, eating quietly.

Usually, such a large dinner would've prompted chattering and talking, but no one spoke. We all watched the Maze entrances, hoping for any sign of Minho and Alby. The Runners returned at their normal time and I couldn't help noticing how Newt straightened hopefully with each return, then slumped back when he realized they weren't his friends.

I fidgeted, becoming more and more upset with every minute ticking by. I had only known them for a few days but Minho and Alby were my friends.

"I can't take it," I announced, standing up and leaving my food behind. "I'm going to go watch the Doors."

Thomas and Newt also stood up, ignoring their half-eaten dinners. Normally, Frypan might have protested, but he seemed just as distracted as the rest of us. I strode to the West Doors, standing directly in front of them and watching the Maze.

Newt and Thomas also sat in front of the other walls, and as the minutes passed, more and more Gladers joined us. Eventually, we all ended up in front of the West Doors, fear prickling at our minds.

"Where are they?" Newt said, his voice strained. My heart twinged with pity for him and I wrapped an arm around him, trying to comfort him.

"They'll make it," I said, scrambling to say something encouraging. "They'll be fine."

Newt nodded, but I could tell that he didn't actually believe me.

The Glade was silent except for the ticking of watches and quiet sniffling. I turned my head slightly to see tears starting to pool in Newt's eyes, running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin. I raised my hand and wiped them off with my thumb.

"They're survivors," I whispered. "They won't go down without a fight."

"And then?" he snapped, so angrily I cringed away. "And then they're dead, Neil. Dead." His head dropped into his hands and his body shook with audible sobs. I could feel my own eyes stinging and I looked up to the sky, blinking rapidly. 

I moved away from him, sensing that he needed to be by himself for a moment.

"The Doors close in two minutes," Newt said finally, his voice thick. "They're dead." With that, he turned away.

"No," I said. "No, they can't be. They can't be! I don't -" My voice was interrupted with a rumbling sound and my heart sank down to my stomach.

The Walls.

They were closing.

I squeezed my eyes shut, hot tears starting to spill over my eyes. I wanted to scream. They couldn't be dead, they couldn't! I refused to believe it.

But that seemed to be the case. I sank to my knees, wishing that we could do something, anything, but we couldn't.

"They got him!"

A strangled cry made me raise my head, hope fighting down panic. It was Minho, dragging another body. Alby.

I was so shocked that I couldn't react, but Thomas's scream jerked me back. "Newt!" he yelled. "Newt, they're coming! I can see 'em!"

Newt had already made it to the Homestead, but as soon as Thomas's words left his lips, he spun around and sprinted back to us, his limp barely visible.

"Come on, Minho!" I screamed, frantic. The other Gladers were screaming, yelling, shouting for them to hurry up. Minho looked utterly exhausted but kept on dragging Alby across the stone floor, but I knew it was too late.

They were too far.

They were as good as dead. 

A flicker of movement tore my eyes off of the struggling boy and I stared at Thomas, who looked horribly conflicted.

"Don't do it, Tommy! Don't bloody do it!" Newt screamed behind him and I suddenly realized what was happening. My eyes widened and I raised my arm to try to grab Thomas, but he had already moved.

Thomas slipped through the Maze Doors and they slammed together, the echoes bouncing off the Glade walls like terrible laughter.

***

WORD COUNT: 1954

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Sooooo yeah now he's in the Maze, so there's that. I'm pretty happy with this chapter cuz it's pretty long, and yeah. I'm also thinking about writing a Peter Maximoff fanfic cuz a lot of people seem to like that and I have an idea for it, so what do you think? Vote, Comment, Follow, Share! Any support is appreciated!