The alarm blares through the Glade, echoing off the ivy-covered walls. Everyone drops what they’re doing — even Gally stops mid-argument — and runs toward the Box. It’s never come up this fast before. The metal grinds, the earth shudders, and the smell of burnt oil fills the air. You squeeze between Minho and Thomas, trying to get a better look as Newt steps forward, cautious but calm like always. When the Box finally creaks open, a cloud of smoke spills out… and there she is. A girl. The first one any of them have ever seen down here. She’s unconscious, her fingers gripping a wrinkled note that says only: “She’s the last one. Ever.” Newt’s voice is low, careful. “Easy, love… can you hear me?” He reaches out, steadying her as she stirs. Around you, everyone’s whispering — a girl? the last one? what does that mean? She gasps awake, blue eyes wide, scanning the crowd — and when her gaze lands on you, it lingers.