The sun dipped below the Maze's towering walls, casting long shadows across the Glade as I wrung water from my hair. The impromptu trip to the MHA world had left me with more questions than answers, but one thing was certain—I had a Quirk now. Cell Activation.
I smirked, pulling my shirt back on. Time to see what this baby can do.
The Gladers were gathering around the central firepit, their laughter and chatter filling the evening air. I joined them just as a group of boys emerged from the Maze—lean, wiry, covered in sweat and dirt. The Runners.
Newt nudged me with his elbow. "See those shanks? Fastest we've got. Spend all day mapping that death trap."
I watched as they collapsed near the fire, gulping down water like they'd crossed a desert. One of them—a lanky kid with a buzzcut—was scribbling frantically in a notebook, muttering about "sector changes."
"So," I said, crossing my arms. "How do I join?"
Newt nearly choked on his drink. "Join? The Runners?"
"Yeah. You know, the guys who actually do something useful around here."
He gave me a look like I'd just volunteered to wrestle a Griever. "You're bloody mental, you know that?"
"So I've been told."
"Greenie, you've been here one day."
"And in that one day, I've already beaten Gally in a fight and taken a bath in my underwear. I'm basically a legend."
Newt snorted, shaking his head. "Runners don't just volunteer. Alby picks 'em. And no one gets picked unless they've survived the Maze at least a dozen times."
"That's a stupid system."
"It's a deadly system," Newt corrected, his tone sharpening. "One wrong turn, and you're Griever food. We don't send shanks out there unless we know they can handle it."
I studied the Runners again. Exhausted, yes. But there was a fierce pride in their eyes. These weren't just scouts—they were the Glade's best hope.
"I'm faster than them," I said simply.
Newt rolled his eyes. "Sure you are."
"I am."
"Prove it."
I grinned. "Tomorrow. Race me against your fastest Runner. If I win, you put in a good word with Alby."
Newt stared at me for a long moment before sighing. "You're gonna get yourself killed, Greenie."
"Not if I'm faster than the Grievers too."
He groaned. "I hate that you might actually be serious."
Midnight eventually settled over the Glade like a heavy blanket. The fire burned low, hammocks swayed lazily in the breeze, and the comforting sounds of exhausted teenagers snoring filled the air. I waited until the noise leveled out, then slipped silently from my bedroll and padded across the grass.
The forest at the Glade's edge was still and dark, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or the mechanical groan of the Maze walls shifting like clockwork nightmares. My pulse quickened.
Perfect training ground.
I centered myself, digging inward for that warm pulse—the glow of Cell Activation. It responded instantly, thrumming to life like an engine roaring beneath my skin.
I could feel every cell in my body kicking into high gear. Muscles primed. Reflexes sharpened. I clenched my fist and punched the nearest tree.
CRACK.
The bark exploded. Not a dent. No pain. No broken bones. I flexed my fingers, grinning.
Oh yeah. This was going to be fun.
I lost track of time after that.
I ran sprints between the trees, leaping over rocks and fallen logs like I'd been born in a jungle gym. I scaled trunks like a squirrel on steroids, and when I deliberately sliced my palm on a sharp stone just to test the healing factor, the wound was gone within minutes.
But about thirty minutes in, the high started to wear off.
My breaths came shorter. My limbs trembled. My chest felt like someone had replaced my lungs with burning coals.
Okay. So Cell Activation wasn't a cheat code—it was a trade-off. The more I pushed, the more it drained. Noted.
Still, I wasn't worried. It was like a muscle. The more I used it, the more I could handle. All I had to do was survive long enough to adapt.
By the time I dragged myself to the river, I was soaked in sweat and grinning like a lunatic. I dove in, the icy water shocking my system like jumper cables to the brain.
Tomorrow. Minho. Fastest Runner in the Glade.
Let's see how fast he is when I'm juiced up on anime steroids.
A twig snapped behind me.
I was up in a flash, fists clenched, adrenaline spiking.
Then I heard the voice.
"Relax, shank. It's just me."
Newt stepped from the trees, arms folded, eyebrow raised.
"Well," I said, brushing my hair back, "you've caught me. I'm actually a river spirit. Come to steal your crops and dance under the moonlight."
Newt didn't smile. His eyes flicked to the tree I'd splintered, the trampled earth, the healing cut on my hand.
"Couldn't sleep?" I asked casually.
He gave me a long look. "Or maybe I was wondering why our newest Glader snuck off in the middle of the night to punch trees and bleed in secret."
"Midnight jog. Doctor's orders."
He stared harder.
I sighed. "Fine. You caught me training. Happy?"
"You really think you can beat Minho."
"I don't think. I know."
Newt studied me for a beat longer, then slowly shook his head. "You're mad."
"I'm resourceful."
"You're reckless."
"I'm ambitious."
"You're—"
"Amazing. I know."
That earned the tiniest hint of a smile.
He looked out toward the Maze. "If you lose, and Alby finds out I let this happen…"
"You won't be blamed."
He met my eyes. "Because you won't lose?"
"Exactly."
Newt blew out a breath. "Tomorrow. First light. You race Minho. If you win—somehow—you'll get your shot."
I grinned. "Deal."
He turned to leave, muttering something that sounded a lot like "bloody suicidal Greenies" as he vanished into the trees.
I waited until I couldn't hear him anymore before collapsing back onto the riverbank.
My chest still burned. My arms felt like jelly. But my mind?
Sharp. Alive. Focused.
The Maze wasn't just a trap.
It was a riddle. A locked door.
And lucky for them…
I've always been good with puzzles.
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