The wind hit like a whip as you sprinted through the narrow path, the sound of vines snapping behind you. Minho’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp, commanding, but somehow steady.

“Left! Take the left!”

You didn’t question it. You just ran.

The Maze walls groaned, stone grinding against stone as the path shifted again. For a second, you thought you’d lost him, until his hand grabbed your wrist, pulling you out of the dark and into a clearing lit by sunlight.

You stumbled, breathless, your back against the wall. His chest heaved, sweat running down the side of his neck. For a moment, the world went quiet. Just the sound of two hearts racing far too close together.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low but still carrying that stubborn bite he used to hide his concern.

You nodded. “You?”

He smirked faintly, looking away. “I don’t die easy.”

But when his eyes met yours again — sharp, focused, alive — you realized that behind the bravado, Minho wasn’t running for glory. He was running for all of you.

Especially you.