The medical hut was quiet except for the sound of rain starting outside. A wounded Glader lay on a cot while someone wrapped a bandage around his arm.

Near the doorway, Lula watched Newt with crossed arms.

“You shouldn’t have sent them out,” she said.

Newt looked up, tired. “Not now, Lu.”

“When then?” she insisted.

She gestured toward the injured Glader. “He almost died.”

Newt’s jaw tightened. “Everyone who goes into the Maze knows the risk.”

“And whose decision was it to send them?”

Newt sighed in frustration. “You think I don’t know that?”