The heat of the Scorch still clung to your skin, sweat tracing familiar paths down your temple as you stepped cautiously through the compound halls. The cold, clinical walls of WCKD felt suffocating after days under the unforgiving sun, but the unease crawling down your spine had little to do with the contrast.

You’d been separated from your group—your family—in the chaos of the desert raid. WCKD had found you, or rather, had taken you, and now you were back in their grasp, locked behind sterile white doors like an animal in a cage.

But you weren’t alone.

A quiet presence hovered near the far side of the room, leaning against the wall with arms crossed. Aris.

You hadn’t known him well before. He’d been with the other group, the ones who had gone through a different Maze. But now, in this uncertain limbo, he was the only familiar face left.

His gaze lifted when he noticed you watching.

“You look like you’ve been through hell,” he muttered, though there was no mockery in his tone.