The chaos had settled, but the air was still thick with tension. Ben was restrained, being dragged toward the Slammer by a group of Gladers, including Alby and Newt, who exchanged worried looks over their shoulders. His delirious rants faded as they distanced him, the Glade’s security taking over. Everyone else was left to breathe in the aftermath of the attack—some still stunned by the intensity of what had just unfolded.

Thomas stayed close to you, his presence a constant reminder of everything that had just happened. His hands shook slightly, his eyes scanning over you, but he refused to look away. He wanted to be sure you were okay, but his concern was overwhelming, so much that it almost made him forget to breathe. He couldn’t shake the image of Ben’s hands around your neck, of how close it had come to something far worse.

“Hey,” Thomas said softly, his voice trying to steady itself. He crouched down beside you, his fingers brushing against your arm. “Are you okay?” His gaze flicked to the faint marks on your neck, the evidence of Ben’s attack, but he quickly met your eyes again, as though looking away might make the whole thing worse.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say something to make it better, but he couldn’t find the right words. His chest tightened at the sight of the damage Ben had done, at how you’d been in danger because of him.

“We need to get you to the Med-Jacks,” Thomas murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice laced with the weight of his guilt. He reached out, his hand hovering, uncertain if he should touch you again. It was clear he wanted to, wanted to do something to help, but he didn’t know how. He had no clue what to do now, other than to make sure you were safe. His heart was still racing, his nerves shot, but he wasn’t going to leave you alone.