The following days feel endless—dizzying, exhausting, and filled with dust that clings to their skin and coats their throats. The water and food are running dangerously low, and the merciless heat gnaws at their already fragile spirits. Each step forward feels like a battle, the weight of their exhaustion dragging them down further with every passing hour.

The daylight begins to fade, the sky turning to an inky, oppressive darkness. There’s no shelter to be found, only the endless desert stretching out in every direction. The group halts by the flipped cargo container they’ve been using as a makeshift campsite. They settle in as best they can, knowing there’s still miles to cover before they reach their destination. Sleep comes reluctantly, but even in their weariness, the constant tension lingers.

Katherine snuggles into Newt’s side, seeking whatever warmth she can from him. His arm wraps around her, pulling her close as if instinctively drawn to her presence. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to. The silence between them is enough—comforting in its quiet understanding.

But sleep doesn’t come easy. In the middle of the night, Thomas suddenly jolts everyone awake, his voice urgent.

“Hey. Hey! Get up! I see something.” His words cut through the haze of exhaustion.

Katherine blinks, pushing herself up, heart thudding as she stares into the dark. Newt sits up too, rubbing his face in frustration.

“What is it? What—” Newt begins to ask, but his voice trails off as confusion replaces his tired expression.

“Lights,” Katherine mumbles, her voice almost inaudible as she points to the horizon. At the foot of a distant mountain, a cluster of bright lights pierces through the darkness, illuminating the desolation.

“We made it,” Newt says, his voice barely above a whisper, but his words are swallowed by a sudden, loud noise—a clap of thunder.

The clouds gather ominously, flashes of lightning tearing through the sky. The sight of it is both stunning and terrifying.

“Let’s go,” Thomas shouts, his tone urgent and sharp, snapping everyone back into action. His words are commanding, fueled by both relief and fear.

Katherine feels her breath catch as she pushes forward, desperate to escape the dangerous storm. She knows the others are right behind her, but her chest feels tight with every breath she takes, the air dry and suffocating. Her heart races as she gulps down the arid air, every step pulling them closer to the promise of shelter.

As they get closer, the lights begin to reveal structures—buildings, broken and crumbling, but they stand defiantly against the horizon. The relief floods Katherine’s chest, lifting her spirits for a fleeting moment, but she swiftly pushes those hopes down. Hope, she knows, is a dangerous thing. Not until they’ve truly made it through, not until they’ve found safety.

A bolt of lightning strikes the ground just a few feet away from them, causing the ground to shudder beneath their feet. Another follows soon after, illuminating the chaos around them. The group runs harder, faster, unwilling to be caught in the deadly storm.

Katherine’s eyes catch a figure ahead of her. Minho, lying motionless on the ground, smoke curling from his clothes.

“Minho!” Her voice cracks as she calls his name, panic rising in her chest.

Newt and Aris move quickly to him, their strides quick and determined. They lift Minho’s limp body between them, supporting him as they hurry back towards the building. Katherine rushes to her brother, who stumbles to his feet but remains conscious.

“Let’s get inside!” Frypan yells, holding the door open wide, his hands frantic with urgency.

The door slams shut behind them, and the sound of the cranks echoes through the space.

"Put him down. Watch his head," Thomas instructs as they gently lower Minho to the floor. The tension in the air feels thick as they lay him down, each movement deliberate and careful.

"Who's got a light?" Thomas reaches for his flashlight, his hands trembling slightly, but steady enough to help Minho.

They shake Minho gently, calling his name over and over. For a few agonizing moments, there’s only silence. Then, a groan. A slow, pained groan that makes the group exhale in relief as Minho stirs, his eyes fluttering open, clouded with confusion.

"What happened?" Minho’s voice is groggy, his lips barely moving as he speaks, his gaze darting between them as if trying to piece together where he is.

"I think you got struck by lightning." Thomas’s voice is steady, though the weight of the moment hangs heavily on him. He looks down at Minho, trying to assess if he’s truly okay.

"Oh." Minho mutters, his smirk appearing before his words. There’s a pride there, a quiet confidence that screams how resilient he feels, how proud he is of surviving something like a lightning strike.

"Get over yourself, Minho," Katherine chuckles softly, taking the flashlight from Thomas as he offers his hand to help Minho up. Her voice is light, teasing, but there’s a flicker of affection in her tone that softens the jab.

"You have every right to be jealous of me, Kat," Minho replies, shooting her a playful glance. Katherine rolls her eyes, though the faintest smile lingers on her lips. There’s a warmth between them, a teasing bond that has grown through shared survival and moments like these.

"What's that smell?" Teresa asks, wrinkling her nose as she turns, scanning the room. The air feels thicker now, more suffocating. The group tenses at her question, every sound amplified in the eerie quiet. They all feel it. The stench of rot and decay is growing stronger.

And then it comes—sharp, shrill, the grating screech of a crank.

"Oh, shit! Oh, my God," Newt breathes, his voice low and tremulous. His eyes are wide with panic as he stares at the infected creature staggering toward them. The sound echoes through the room, drawing the attention of others nearby. More cranks—groaning, clawing—start to lurch toward the group.

"Stay back! Stay back!" Thomas shouts, his voice trembling but filled with urgency. The group takes a collective step back, their fear laced with adrenaline. The metal bindings that keep the cranks at bay groan under the weight of their bodies, but they don’t break. Not yet.

"I see you've met our guard dogs." A female voice cuts through the chaos, calm, steady.

Katherine spins, her flashlight cutting through the dimness as she follows the voice to the doorway. There, standing just inside, is a teenage girl. Her dark hair is short, not much taller than any of them, but there’s an air of quiet authority around her. She walks with confidence along a path that the infected can’t cross, moving smoothly, as though she’s done this before.

"Stay back! Stay back!" Thomas warns, his voice more insistent, but the girl halts, tilting her head as she regards them with mild amusement.

"You guys look like shit." Her voice is laced with mockery, but there’s something behind it—cynicism, maybe, but also something darker, something that feels far too familiar in this place. She motions them forward, indicating the corridor that they’ll have to follow. "Come on. Follow me."

The group hesitates, unsure. Newt glances at Katherine, their eyes locking for a brief moment before he steps closer, taking her hand in his for comfort. The spark between them is undeniable, even now, even with the danger looming all around. They are each other’s anchor in this madness, their bond unwavering in the face of uncertainty.

"Unless you want to stay here with them," the girl adds, her tone chilling. There’s a cruel edge to her smile now. She knows what they’re choosing. It’s not really a choice at all.

"I'm going." Katherine's voice cuts through the tension like a blade, her tone steady despite the quivering in her hands. She's the first to step forward, eyes locked on the ground ahead, her jaw clenched tightly as if willing herself to stay composed.

The group hesitates for a moment, none of them sure what’s waiting for them, but one by one, they follow without question. Newt lingers by Katherine’s side, his concern clear in his expression, though he says nothing.

Brenda, the girl leading them, doesn’t look back as she continues, her steps brisk and purposeful. The group follows in silence, each step echoing louder in their ears. They pass through a large space, the once familiar faces of the infected now replaced by groups of non-infected survivors. Some glance at the new arrivals, others keep their distance, but no one speaks. The air is thick with tension, as though the past they’ve all escaped still lingers in the shadows.

"Come on, keep up. Jorge wants to meet you." Brenda’s voice breaks through the quiet, smooth and unwavering. "My name’s Brenda, by the way."

"Who’s Jorge?" Thomas asks, his brows furrowed in suspicion as he glances at Newt, who shakes his head, equally unsure.

"You’ll see." Brenda smiles, but there’s something unsettling about it, something the group can’t quite place. "No one’s come out of the Scorch in a long time. You’ve got him curious. And me too."

"Anyone else starting to get a bad feeling about this place?" Newt mutters, his voice laced with unease. He looks around, catching Katherine’s gaze briefly, his expression quiet and guarded, but his concern evident.

"Let’s just hear him out. See what he has to say." Thomas steps in, his voice firm, trying to keep their spirits steady. His eyes meet Katherine’s, and there’s a flicker of reassurance between them – their bond as siblings offering a quiet comfort in this strange, unsettling world.

As they reach the top of the staircase, the faint static of a radio buzzes in the background, growing louder with each step. The distorted voices calling out are barely distinguishable, but they fill the silence with an ominous undertone.

"Jorge, they’re here!" Brenda calls out, dropping onto a couch as she waves the group to follow.

The man who answers isn’t immediately visible. His deep voice, rough and commanding, fills the room as he shuts off the radio with a frustrated growl. "Quiet. Damn it."

Jorge, tall and broad, emerges from the shadows. His gaze flicks from the group to the radio, unimpressed. "Do you ever get the feeling the whole world’s against you?"

He grabs a glass of alcohol from a nearby table and takes a slow sip, his eyes still locked onto them. "Three questions." He gestures with the glass. "Where did you come from? Where are you going? How can I profit? Don’t all answer at once."

Thomas, steady despite his nerves, steps forward. "We’re headed for the mountains. Looking for the Right Arm."

A ripple of laughter echoes from the crowd behind them, the sound hollow and devoid of warmth. "You’re looking for ghosts, you mean." Jorge chuckles bitterly, swirling the drink in his glass. "Question number two. Where did you come from?"

"That’s our business." Katherine snaps, her voice sharp and unwavering as she takes a small step forward, shielding her brother without hesitation. There’s no room for hesitation now—this is about protecting what’s left of their family. Thomas glances at her, gratitude flashing in his eyes, but beneath it, the same fear they’ve been running from simmers just beneath the surface.

Jorge scoffs, his amusement laced with cruelty. Before anyone can react, Thomas is shoved harshly against the table, his face pressed down into the cold surface. His body tenses as he struggles, trying to free himself, but the grip on him is unrelenting. Katherine’s fists clench, ready to charge, but before she can act, Chris’s strong hand lands on her shoulder, steadying her, grounding her.

"Shut up, you big baby." Brenda’s voice cuts through the tension, mocking as she leans over Thomas, holding a scanner to the back of his neck. Thomas thrashes, but the second the scanner buzzes, he’s released, his body going limp in exhaustion and frustration.

"You were right." Brenda’s smile is wide, unnervingly sweet as she hands the device to Jorge, who accepts it without a word. His expression is unreadable as he adjusts a pair of thin glasses and peers down at the screen, the light reflecting off his face as he examines the readings carefully.

"Right about what? What is she talking about?" Thomas’s panic is evident in his voice, his eyes darting between Jorge and Katherine, who’s now standing protectively behind him. She doesn’t look away, doesn’t lower her guard, but the fear flickers in her expression.

"I’m sorry, hermano." Jorge’s voice is cold, almost mocking as he speaks to Thomas. "Looks like you’re tagged." His grin twists into something more sinister. "You came from WICKED. Which means… you’re very valuable."

Thomas’s breath catches. His stomach twists as he glances toward his sister. The panic in his chest intensifies, but he knows he can’t look away from what Jorge is about to do.

"So, which one of you is his other one?" Jorge’s gaze sweeps across the group, cold and calculating, until it lands on Katherine. His eyes narrow, and he points at her, as if reaching some twisted conclusion. "Her."

Before Katherine can even react, a pair of strong arms grab her from behind, slamming her onto the table with a brutal force. Her breath leaves her in a sharp gasp, her body resisting, but they hold her down. Fury rises in her chest as she struggles against them, her hands flailing, fists pounding against the rough surface of the table.

"Get the fuck off me before I kill you all!" Her voice is raw, filled with rage and defiance, but the grip remains unrelenting. Tears sting at her eyes, but she refuses to give them the satisfaction of breaking.

Brenda smirks, holding the scanner up to Katherine’s neck again. The device beeps once more, cold and mechanical. "Subject A2-II. She’s a tough one."

The man holding Katherine finally releases her, stepping back as if annoyed by her resistance. Katherine pushes herself up, her body trembling with anger and frustration. She straightens, turning to face Jorge with a glare that could kill.

Her fists are still clenched, the urge to fight clawing at her, but she knows—deep down—that she’s no match for them. Still, she refuses to let fear take control. Jorge watches her with a twisted amusement, but his grin falters for a brief moment under her unwavering gaze.

"Check them all." Jorge’s voice is cold and commanding. His men move to scan each member of the group. The beeps of the devices fill the silence, the sound echoing in their ears. Each scan confirms what Jorge already knows, and a cruel smile spreads across his face.

"Impressive." Jorge’s voice is laced with dark satisfaction. "Two pairs of twins. We’re gonna be rich."