The Maze wasn’t supposed to feel unfamiliar. Thomas had only been a Runner for so long, but he’d learned fast- too fast, according to Newt. Every turn, every shift of stone, every strange pattern in the walls burned itself into his mind. The Maze made sense when you looked hard enough. It had rules. Logic. Structure.

Except today… it didn’t.

He’d been running longer than planned, pushing deeper into a section he knew he’d mapped before- only the walls were wrong. The passages bent at angles they shouldn’t. The air felt heavier, charged, like the Maze itself was holding its breath. And then he saw you.

At first, his brain scrambled for an explanation. A Glader? No- your clothes were wrong. A Runner? You weren’t moving like one. Lost? You weren’t panicking nearly enough.

You were just… there. Walking slowly, fingers brushing along the stone like it belonged to you. Like you weren’t racing the sun. Like the Grievers weren’t a threat. Thomas skidded to a stop, chest heaving, hand tightening around his spear.

“Hey!”

He called out, voice sharp with suspicion.

“You’re not supposed to be out here.”

You turned at the sound, calm as anything—eyes flicking over him with mild curiosity, like he was the strange one. That’s when his stomach dropped.

You weren’t afraid of him. You weren’t afraid of the Maze.

His eyes caught the details then- the unfamiliar gear, worn but carefully maintained. The symbol etched into the collar at your neck, one he’d never seen on any Glader map.

Older. Different. Intentional. Another Maze. Connected.

“You’re from somewhere else.”

The sun shifted overhead. Time was moving. The doors would close. Thomas made a decision before fear could catch up.

“Okay,”

He said quickly, motioning for you to follow him.

“You’re coming with me. We can argue about what the hell is going on later, but I’m not leaving you out here.”