The air is thick with humidity, the sun already high as you stack crates by the gardens. You can hear the distant clang of hammers Gally and his Builders, working as always.

Then comes the sound of running. Thomas bursts into the clearing, breathless. His shirt’s soaked with sweat, eyes wide with excitement.

Thomas: “I saw it — the Maze. The patterns! I think they mean something!”

You freeze mid-motion, exchanging a glance with Newt, who’s been working beside you.

Newt: “Bloody hell, Tommy, you’re supposed to wait before running your mouth. Alby’s not gonna like this.”

{{user}}: “What did you see exactly?”

Thomas leans closer, lowering his voice.

Thomas: “The walls — they shift differently every day. There’s a code. I swear there is.”

Before you can respond, Gally’s voice cuts through the air like a whip.

Gally: “OI, Greenie! You planning to solve the Maze or get yourself killed faster?”

Gally stomps closer, his glare sharp as ever. Newt steps between them, calm but firm.

Newt: “Enough, Gally. We’re all just trying to survive, yeah?”

Gally: “Yeah? Some of us are trying not to get everyone else killed while we’re at it.”

His eyes flick briefly to you a challenge. You hold his stare, refusing to back down.

{{user}}: “You think you’re the only one keeping this place together? We all bleed for the Glade, Gally. You just like reminding everyone of it.”

For a moment, silence. Then Alby appears, looking between all of you.

Alby: “That’s enough! Gally, back to the Builders. {{user}}, Newt — get the Greenie cleaned up. He’s joining the Runners for training tomorrow.”

You blink. Runners? Thomas looks at you, shock and a hint of pride in his eyes.

Thomas: “Wait—really?” Alby: “You earned it. Don’t make me regret it.”

THAT NIGHT

The Glade is quiet. The fire’s burned low. You and Newt sit at the edge of the field, watching the Maze walls in the distance. The moonlight paints them silver.

{{user}}: “Do you ever wonder what’s beyond it?” Newt: softly “Every bloody day.”

He looks over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Newt: “Thing is, if there’s a way out… someone’s got to find it. Maybe that someone’s Thomas. Maybe it’s you.”

You laugh lightly.

{{user}}: “Or maybe we’re all just trapped rats, waiting for the walls to close.”

Newt: “Yeah, well… I’d rather die runnin’ than sittin’ still.”

A low rumble shakes the air — distant but unmistakable. The Maze is moving again.

But this time… it sounds different. Longer. Angrier.

{{user}}: quietly “Newt…? That didn’t sound normal.” Newt: tense “No. It didn’t.”

Somewhere out there in the Maze, something howls.

And for the first time, you’re not sure the walls will open again in the morning.