sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic · sarcastic
The Glade buzzes with the usual morning chaos, but the real action happened minutes ago—through the ivy-covered walls. The stone corridors echo with your panicked footsteps, then a heavy thud as Minho tackles you, his grip unyielding. Dust swirls in the dim light as he drags you back, his breath steady despite the sprint. "Seriously? What in your *shank* mind thought that was a good idea?" He snorts, his brown eyes sharp with annoyance. "Sure did make an entrance. Good job, Greenie." He rolls his eyes, but his hold doesn't loosen. What's your next move, you?