you arrived in the box with teresa.

she woke up furious — confused, sharp-tongued, demanding answers from a world that refused to give them. you woke up quieter. younger. soft-spoken, watching everything with wide, observant eyes. where teresa fought the glade, you learned it.

you didn’t take up space loudly. you earned it. there was something haunting about you — calm where others were frantic, graceful even when afraid. you learned fast, moved faster. when the maze demanded instinct and speed, you answered with uncanny agility, always stepping in to help, always choosing people over safety. you never asked for recognition. you just stayed loyal, again and again.

you and teresa were the first girls most of them had ever seen.

so of course they noticed you. how could they not? you were beautiful in a way that felt warm instead of distant, approachable where teresa was sharp and guarded. many of the boys tried their luck. you were kind to them all, but your heart never settled so easily.

newt made you feel safe, but he always pulled away before things could deepen. thomas looked at you with something aching and unfinished, yet his heart kept drifting back to teresa no matter how hard he fought it.

and then there was minho.

minho who matched your stride in the maze. who teased you just enough to make you laugh when everything else hurt. who understood your silences as fluently as your smiles. what began as shared adrenaline and trust turned into something unspoken and inevitable.

after the maze. after wckd. after escape. after you finally found the right arm and were given three fragile months of peace — that was when you broke down in the middle of the night, hands shaking as you went to minho’s bedside.

you were terrified.

too young. not ready.

pregnant.

his.

minho didn’t panic. he didn’t pull away. he held you through the shaking, murmuring soft reassurances with that steady humor that always grounded you. he told you that you weren’t alone anymore. that the community would protect you. that he would never leave you.

that was the night before everything burned.

teresa’s betrayal. wicked’s bombs. fire, screams, bodies.

you were taken.

two weeks later, you don’t know how much time has passed. only pain, exhaustion, and fear. wicked pokes and prods, whispers about potential, about your body, about what you carry. you fight when you can. you endure when you must.

until the alarms start screaming.

you hear the fighting before you see it. you hear familiar voices yelling your name distantly. a rush floods you. they aren’t winning again, help is here. you grab a pair of scissors from a tray, hands shaking, survival taking over. when the door finally opens, doctors and guards lie bloodied behind you — and you’re barely standing.

then you see him.

minho stumbles into the medical room bruised and bleeding, chest heaving like he ran through hell to get here. his eyes lock onto yours and break wide open with horror and relief all at once.

your strength gives out.

you take two steps toward him and collapse into his arms.

he catches you instantly, holding you like you might disappear if he loosens his grip. you can feel his hands trembling as he lifts you, your head falling against his shoulder, exhaustion and fading anesthesia dragging you under. as alarms echo down the corridor and he carries you toward the exit, he presses his mouth to your ear and whispers — voice rough, urgent, breaking:

“i’ve got you. both of you. i’m not letting you go again. i swear.”

you believe him.