THREE
「recovery」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

SYLVIA SIGHED AS she closed her eyes and leant her head against the headboard. She'd been doing precisely nothing for twenty four hours. She was told she couldn't leave her room or use her leg until the next day. She wasn't exactly the type to listen when she was told to do something, but she couldn't really get out of it this time.

It was early afternoon and she'd spent her day going back through old journals, sleeping, and reading a book that had been sent up with the supplies a couple months ago. The name of it was odd and Sylvia found it to be excruciatingly boring. She hadn't been visited by anyone else since Cole and she still hasn't spoken to Nick.

She felt bad about the way she reacted when Nick told her, felt like maybe she was being dramatic. But she had dedicated her entire life to finding a way out of the Maze. She ran the Maze almost everyday and then spent hours in the Map Room analyzing the drawings brought back. If she couldn't run, she didn't know what she'd do with herself.

To her, it was like an angel losing their wings. The devil without his horns. Tragic.

The one good thing that was happening soon was that in a week, they were supposed to get a new Greenie. And a new Greenie meant a bonfire. The bonfires were one of her favorite parts of the Glade. The one time she could truly let loose, have fun and not be completely ashamed of it — at least not until the next morning.

With Gally's moonshine and the pure bliss that bonfires seemed to possess, she went a little wild at them. She would shout and whoop in joy, play drinking games with the Gladers, and if she was a little too drunk, even fight in Gally's circle.

Sylvia suddenly remembered what she had discovered before being attacked by the Griever. She dug her hand into her back pocket, wrenching out the tattered necklace and holding it in front of her face. Her fingers played over the silver spiral charm, wiping over a splotch of blood. She remembered the things she found: the crawl space, the blood, the torn clothes, the message.

The message!

Her pad of paper that she'd written the words on had been in her runner's pack. She had no idea what they'd done with it. If anything, it was in the Map Room. She wondered if her bag had been given to the Sloppers for cleaning. She couldn't let them throw it away.

Sylvia pushed herself up from the bed, nursing her bad leg and limping to the door of her room. She continued into the hallway and made it to the stairs. She started down the stairs, using her left foot lightly and following through with the rest of her weight on her right. By the time she'd gotten down the stairs, her leg started throbbing profusely and she realized she didn't have shoes on.

Since waking, she'd changed into a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded red t-shirt. She was no longer in her tattered clothing from before. She walked out the front door of the Homestead. As her bare feet touched the grass and she started making her way to the Sloppers, Gladers milling around had noticed her. Her limp worsened as she went along and the pain started to return. Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvia could see one or two of them run back to the Homestead, probably to alert Nick that she was out again.

Near the Bloodhouse, Gally dropped the hammer he was using to repair some loose planks and ran over to the girl. Sylvia didn't glance at him as he approached, her eyes set on the group of Sloppers ahead. Gally grabbed her arm and forced her to stop in her tracks.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shot out. His grip was light on her arm, which meant he was concerned.

Sylvia tugged her arm free, "Did the Sloppers get my pack?"

"Why?"

A muscle in her jaw twitched, "Because it's important. I had something important in there from the Maze."

"What kind of important?" he asked, eyebrows raised in intrigue.

"Ronan," she answered simply.

His expression cleared in understanding. Ronan had been a good Runner, smart. An extraordinary fighter. He was one of the best. Sylvia got along with him well, with his silent but deadly glare and his creation of some of the curse words they used in the Glade today. So when he didn't come back from the Maze one night, it wasn't just heartbreaking. It was unusual.

Ronan was a very particular, organized person. Used perfectly straight lines when redrawing his route, his weapons always unsettlingly clean, and always returning at the exact same time everyday. He had structure, routine, precision. She knew that whatever had happened to him, it wasn't an accident. For some reason, he had planned to stay in the Maze overnight. He must have cracked some code, figured something out, and didn't want to tell anyone else so that they couldn't talk him out of it.

Sylvia needed to figure out what it was.

NICK HAD FORCED Sylvia back to her room, once again. Though he did ask the Sloppers for her pack and the paper wasn't there. They claimed that there hadn't been any paper in the pack when they went through it, to which Sylvia accused them of lying. She knew it had been there. Where else could it have gone?

Sylvia tried to remember exactly what had been written on the wall but her memory was fuzzy from the concussion. Sylvia would have to get Minho and the other Runners gathered and tell them about it, and to look for the crawl space and the message Ronan had left.

She had been trying to evoke the scrambled words from her memory for the past hour. Writing and rewriting things on a piece of paper with no success. After a while she gave up and almost ripped her hair out from frustration. She now sat on her bed, glaring at the crutches Clint had left in her room. She didn't want to use crutches. She didn't need them. Sylvia was perfectly fine walking on her own, without any trouble at all.

As she liked to naively think.

Sylvia was about to try and stand up and walk to the other side of the room just to prove that she could do it without limping or stabbing pains, when she heard a whisper from behind her.

Her head whipped around to search behind her but there was no one there. She swore she heard someone whisper her name.

The voice sounded so...familiar.

The door to her room swung open and a tangled mess of brown hair walked into her room.

It was Nick.

He closed the door slowly behind him and gave her a weary look as he sat next to her on the bed. They sat in silence for a few moments. Sylvia felt guilty for lashing out on him the day before. She skimmed her index finger over the scar that ran along her left palm as she spoke, "I'm sorry."

He knew what her words were regarding and shook his head at her, "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you." She carried on.

"Sylvia, it's fine. Really."
When Sylvia didn't reply, Nick nudged her shoulder, changing the topic, "What do you think Ronan was trying to say?"

"I can't remember." she gestured to the paper on her bedside table, words and letters scrawled across it without any meaning. She looked back at him, "You know it was strange, right? Him not coming back."

"It doesn't necessarily mean he found something. We don't know why he didn't come back." Nick, always looking straight on at the facts, never wanting to speculate too far.

"He was one of the best Runners. You've seen him training with everyone. For God's sake, he came back at the exact same time everyday, down to the minute! He found something. It's the only explanation."

Nick stared at her for a moment. When she was this close to him, she could see the freckles that dotted his cheeks, produced from hours of being in the sun everyday. The green specks in his hazel brown eyes. The arch of his thick brows. They studied each other's features, picking out the miniscule tics and spasms and what they meant. Like looking at the art on a tarot card and pulling the meaning from the lines and colors. Speaking through their eyes, not having to say a word to know what the other was thinking.

"Okay," he finally responded, "If you think he knew something, I'm with you."

Sylvia gave a slight nod of her head, "Thank you."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments. Sylvia appreciated the energy his presence brought. It was a calm, nurturing thing. She felt better having resolved the small conflict they'd had earlier.

Nick stood suddenly and faced her, putting his hands on his hips, "But anyways, I want to tell you why I'm here." Sylvia looked at him weirdly before gesturing for him to continue. "I'm going to help you use the crutches."

Sylvia's face contorted in disapproval, "I'm not using the crutches."

"If you don't, you'll only hurt your leg more." He sighed.

"Clint and Jeff said I couldn't be on my feet until tomorrow."

"And since when do you listen to Clint and Jeff?" Nick smirked at her.

He got her there.

Her eyes dropped to the floor, "I don't want to use crutches."

"Why not?"

"Because it's..." She wouldn't finish her sentence.

Nick stepped closer to her, "Syl, no one will judge you. They know it's from the Maze. Most of these shanks are too scared to even step foot in it, let alone run it every day. They respect you."

"I'm not worried about them judging me. I couldn't care less about what they think of me." She huffed.

"Then what is it?"

"It's nothing. I just don't want to use them."

Sylvia couldn't explain why she didn't want to use them. Maybe it was just that she didn't want to seem weak, or maybe she was just too stubborn for her own good. Maybe it was something more. She didn't know.

"Will you please just try them out, for me?" He pleaded.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. Always so dramatic, she thought. She knew Nick would just keep bothering her about it if she didn't do it so she gave in, "Fine."

Nick grabbed the crutches from where they stood in the corner of her room. He used one hand to help her stand and steady her and held the crutches in his other. He gave the crutches to Sylvia, placing them under her arms.

Sylvia gripped the crutches awkwardly, not quite sure what she was supposed to do. She attempted to move forwards, and ultimately sent herself flying. Nick caught her before she could fall and the crutches clattered to the ground loudly. She cringed at the sound.

"Maybe try to move a little slower." Nick suggested, his face pulled into an awkward smile.

She said nothing as he picked them up from the ground and handed them back to her. She tried to do what he said, and moved slower this time.

She walked a step forward.

He threw his arms out wide, congratulating her as if she were a child taking her first steps, "You did it!"

"It hurts." Sylvia grumbled in reply.

"You'll get used to it." He patted her back.

They went in circles around her room, practicing with the crutches.

Just maybe, they wouldn't be so bad.

  LATER IN THE evening, Sylvia sat on her bed, picking at the cuticles of her nails. Her nails had been horrendously shortened due to biting and being roughed by the conditions of the Maze and Glade life. There were scabs across her palms and over her knuckles from falling in the Maze, along with a deep scar that ran along the length of her left palm.

   The scar was due to the amateur workings of herself and George in the early days of the Glade. They were running the Maze together and had figured out that they could cut the ivy to form a trail, and while doing so, George accidentally sliced her hand open. Initially, he looked guilty for doing it and worried that she would hate him for the rest of his life. When she brushed it off, he was surprised. Sylvia had been known for her intimidating looks and refusal to talk more than she had to.

   Now, she traced her thumb over the jagged scar. A permanent reminder of a boy who was no longer here.

   Sylvia had cooled off since her encounter with Nick, developing a sort of numbness for the news. She would find a way around it. She always did.

   She startled at a soft knock on her door, her head snapping up to face the incoming Glader. Cole stuck his head in the room, looking uncertain and dismal. He fully entered the room, his motions slow, and stood there for a second.

   He surveyed her appearance; her paled skin, eye bags, and unbrushed hair. His eyes glistened a bit.

   "I'm so sorry, Syl." Cole started, "If I had just sucked it up and went with-"

  "Stop." she interrupted, brows knitted with emotion. "Don't do that. Listen to me. This is not your fault Cole. I don't ever want you thinking that, got it?"

   Cole stared at her for a moment before nodding. He was always the emotional one, always absorbing everyone else's pain and making it his own.

   She couldn't have him blaming himself when he did nothing wrong.

   "Is there anything I can do for you?" he offered.

   Her mind felt heavy from his kindness. "I'm okay."

   His eyes dropped to his shoes and then back to her, "Can I sit with you?"

   "Don't be stupid. Of course you can."

   Cole pulled the chair from her desk next to her bed and pulled out his small sketchbook from his pocket. The only sound in the room was the drawl of pencil on paper.

   Cole didn't ask her about how she was feeling or anything that happened in the Maze because he knew she wouldn't respond. She didn't prompt him with the question of what she'd missed while she was out. She didn't want to know, or she'd learn soon enough.

AUTHORS NOTE:

pretty short chapter and sort of a filler. sorry about that. now, i know what you guys are thinking: three chapters and no minho?!
yes. but he IS in the next chapter. their story will be slow at first but it picks up as the chapters go along