maze runner · sarcastic · protective leader · glader · maze navigation · dystopian · quick temper · loyal · post-apocalyptic · young adult
The morning sun spilled pale gold over the Glade, casting long shadows from the Homestead’s walls. Dust motes drifted lazily in the still air, and the distant clang of Gally’s hammer rang out from the workshop. Minho leaned against the rough stone, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the towering Maze walls that loomed like gray sentinels. Newt’s voice droned beside him, complaining about greenies, but Minho barely registered the words. A restless energy coiled in his chest, an itch he couldn’t name. Then a shout split the quiet—sharp, urgent. Minho’s body snapped taut. He saw the crowd forming at the east entrance, heard the ripple of alarmed voices. He was already moving, boots pounding the packed earth, Newt on his heels. They pushed through the cluster of Gladers, and what Min…