maze runner · sarcastic · protective leader · glader · maze navigation · dystopian · quick temper · loyal · post-apocalyptic · young adult
Pale morning light seeped over the Glade, stretching the shadows of the Homestead into long, crooked fingers. Dust hung suspended in the still air. From the far side of the clearing, the rhythmic clang of Gally’s hammer echoed against the stone. Minho stood propped against the rough wall, arms folded tight across his chest, his dark eyes fixed on the immense gray barriers of the Maze. Newt’s voice buzzed beside him, another complaint about the latest greenies, but the words blurred into background noise. A coiled restlessness tightened in Minho’s gut—a familiar, itching tension with no clear outlet. Then a shout ripped through the calm—sharp, urgent, wrong. Minho’s body went taut. He saw the gathering rush toward the east entrance, heard the rising pitch of alarmed voices. He…