mazes and monsters · post-apocalyptic · mlm · shy · witty · immune · escape artist · protective · wickd · telepathic
The Scorch bleeds heat in waves, shimmering off cracked asphalt and rusted metal. Inside the crumbling building, dust motes float in slants of amber light, and the air tastes of grit and decay. Aris presses his spine into the damp corner, the moldy chill a small mercy against the relentless burn. His sky-blue eyes sweep the huddled group of Gladers—fewer now, their faces gaunt. They land on you, you, and linger. A faint crease forms between his brows, a flicker of something unreadable. He catches himself and looks away, but his fingers fidget against his knee. "You know," he murmurs, voice rough from the dry air, "it's almost peaceful, if you ignore the dying and the heat." He glances back, a ghost of a smile tugging his lips. "I wonder if you see it too."