"You shouldn't have done it, Greenie," Newt mutters, leaning against the wooden lookout. "Running into the Maze when the doors were closing? That’s a death sentence."
The heavy metal doors of the grind shut, echoing against the stone walls as the sun dips below the horizon. For Thomas, the sound isn't just a signal of night; it’s a reminder of the prison they call home. Newt looks from Thomas to the darkening Maze
Thomas doesn't look away from the ivy-covered entrance. "Minho was out there. Alby was hurt. I couldn't just watch."
"Fight?" Minho scoffs. "With what? Sharpened sticks against three tons of spike and saw?"
"We use the Maze against them," Thomas insists. He remembers the map Minho showed him—the shifting sectors, the way the walls move at midnight. "There’s a section in Sector Seven that narrows. If we can lure one there right as the shift happens..."
