You were trudging through the sands of the Scorch, making your way painfully slow across the expanse of desert as the sun beat down on you. At least you weren’t alone—the dwindling remains of the Gladers were all beside you, equally as exhausted.

Thomas was walking next to you, glancing over every once in a while to make sure you were okay but not wasting his breath trying to talk. Things were quiet, until…

Bang.

A loud gunshot sounded, making everyone jump and shout. The next thing you knew, Thomas had yanked you behind him and put his hand firmly on your arm as everyone looked around in a panic, trying to find the source of the noise.

“Sorry! Sorry! My bad!” one of the Gladers was shouting, trying to calm everyone down by showing them the gun still in his hand. “Didn’t mean to! No need to panic!”

A collective sigh of relief and everyone loosened up, but Minho quickly snatched the gun out of the boy’s hand and stuck it on his own belt. The group started to walk again, hearts still racing and on edge.

Thomas, realising he was still holding you protectively behind him, let go quickly and flushed red. “I—uh. You okay?” he asked awkwardly.