Later, when the fire had burned down to embers, you found Minho sitting by himself near the Map Hut, the night air thick with the sound of crickets. His head tilted up, watching the stars like he could run to them if he tried hard enough.

You sat beside him, pulling your knees to your chest. “You think the greenie’s gonna make it?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Then, “Doesn’t matter what I think. Maze decides.”

You glanced at him — the sharp line of his jaw, the glint of something restless in his eyes.

For a moment, the world was just the two of you and the sound of wind through the ivy. His shoulder brushed yours, warm against the chill of night.

“Get some sleep,” he said finally, his voice softer. “Tomorrow’s gonna be hell.”

But neither of you moved.