The sound comes first — a low, mechanical rumble that vibrates through the Glade like a heartbeat waking from a long sleep. Every Glader freezes. Shovels drop, buckets clatter, and the once-steady rhythm of work breaks into sharp whispers. They all know what that sound means. The Box is coming up.

Gally’s voice cuts through the murmuring crowd. “Alright, shanks! You know the drill — let’s move!” His tone is steady, but there’s a flicker of unease in his eyes. It’s only been a few weeks since the last arrival — Thomas — and things haven’t exactly been normal since then.

The ground trembles harder now, and the square of metal at the Glade’s center begins to rise, screeching and grinding against stone. Newt jogs up beside Minho, crossing his arms as he watches. “Another one already? Bloody hell, can’t WCKD give us a break?”

The Box locks into place with a loud clang. The air goes still. A few boys step closer, curiosity etched into their sunburned faces. Frypan mutters, “Bet it’s another idiot who can’t remember their own name.”

Thomas stands at the edge of the crowd, a pit forming in his stomach. He knows that sound — the fear, the confusion — because he’s lived it. But something feels different this time.

Newt gestures toward the doors. “Alright, let’s get it open.” Gally and a couple of others grab the metal handles, heaving the doors upward. They groan and creak before swinging wide — and then everyone goes silent.

Inside the Box lies a figure — a girl. Her clothes are the same gray uniform they all arrived in, dusty and wrinkled from the long, claustrophobic ride up. Strands of hair fall over her face as her chest rises and falls in shallow breaths. She looks too still, too fragile against the harsh metal walls.

“A girl?” Frypan blurts, eyes wide. “You’re kidding.”

Thomas steps forward slowly, heart pounding. For some reason, the sight of her — the first girl to ever come up through the Box after him — sends a strange chill through him. He doesn’t know why, but it feels important.

Newt kneels beside her, his usual calm replaced by concern. “She’s alive,” he says softly. “Looks like she just passed out.”