TWELVE
「a kindness &
a doubt」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

SYLVIA PANTED AS she ran, sweat dripping down the side of her face, breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth. It had been a normal day in the Maze so far, nothing noteworthy having happened. Same old gray walls and viridescent ivy. Same towering walls and cracked concrete trailing her. No sightings of beetle blades or Grievers. No magical exit appearing from the dark corners.

All had been silent until Minho decided to start speaking on their way back, "So, you're scared of Grievers?"

"I thought you said we weren't talking about this." She dismissed the question.

Minho sped up so that he ran alongside her instead of behind, "Just answer the question. Are you scared of them?"

"I'm not scared of anything," Sylvia huffed.

Minho barked a laugh, "Bullshit."

She shot him a look, "Even if I was, why would I tell you?"

"Because we need to work past our differences," Minho put on an exaggerated high pitched voice, imitating Nick's authoritative tone.

Sylvia turned her head away to hide the beginnings of a smile. She could, under no circumstances, be caught smiling at something Minho had said. The consequences would be astronomical. An ego boost for Minho, a crack in her reputation, him holding this one fact above her head for the rest of her life. She could have none of it, but caricatures of Nick were guaranteed to make her laugh.

"Shut up," she said in mock annoyance.

"Anyway," He continued, ignoring her comment, "If you are a coward when it comes to Grievers, consider this a way to work on your fears." He said this as if she hadn't been running the Maze since she'd gotten here.

"How about I work my foot up your ass?" She retorted.

"Sylvia," He said in a tone of voice that leaked sarcasm, "Stop flirting."

She threw him the dirtiest look she could manage.

Once she had returned to the Glade and made her rounds in the Map Room, she headed for the kitchen. The dining had just begun and she made her way to the empty line. Frypan dished her some vegetable soup and slices of fried potatoes. Once she retrieved the food, she sat at the Keepers table.

Chatter was present all around her and she greeted Nick with a nod as she sat down. He raised his eyebrows at her which meant: All good? She rolled her eyes at him which meant: Yes.

Troye greeted her with an elbow to the ribs and a smile through a mouthful of bread, to which she said, "Disgusting."

"Frypan cooks up some good shit," Troye said, crumbs falling out of his mouth.

Aslan punched him in the arm, "Chew your food, shuckface."

At this, Troye stuck his tongue out at Aslan with mushed up food covering it. Several people groaned and gagged.

Frypan, having witnessed the commotion, shouted "Don't be disrespecting my food like that, Troye, or I swear I'll feed ya to the pigs!"

A chorus of laughter sounded and Sylvia smiled behind her spoon of soup. Across from her, Minho picked up his plate and dishes some fried potatoes onto hers.

She stared at him curiously. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, idiot?" He gave her a 'duh' sort of look. "Giving you the crispy ones."

"Why?" She asked incredulously. Minho had never been known for giving away his food, ever, and especially not towards her. He was up to something.

"You like the crispy ones, don't you?" Minho raised a brow.

"Yeah, but why are you giving them to me?"

He shrugged. "I don't want them."

Sylvia gave him a withering look, eyeing the fried potatoes, then him. "What did you do to them?"

"What? Nothing." He said, rolling his eyes. "Can't you accept one act of kindness, sweetheart?"

Her face flushed red. She pushed the plate away from her indignantly, "You probably spit in them or something."

Before Minho could argue back, someone had walked up to the table and grabbed everyone's attention. Roger had made himself present at the end of the table.

"I'd like to ask something of the Council." He announced. All eyes turned to him as the table quieted down.

"What is it?" Nick questioned.

"On behalf of myself and a few others, we wanted to ask to be let into the Maze."

Everyone at the table had froze in their movements, the request so ludicrous it stunned them. "Absolutely not." Nick responded.

"Why not?" Roger's expression began to pinch with anger.

"What reason would you need to go in the Maze for?" Minho spoke up.

"We want to see it for ourselves. Make sure you're not lying about this." He said with an accusing tone.

"Why the hell would we lie about that?" Sylvia spat.

Nick held a hand up to her and Minho to silence them before they could make the situation worse. "I promise you that nobody is lying to you." Nick began in a reassuring voice, which just seemed to frustrate Roger even more, "We can't let you into the Maze for your own safety."

"You goddamn Council people!" Roger shouted, grabbing the attention of everyone else in the kitchen, "You think you can just keep us in here and keep us in the dark about what's really out there?! I am so sick of it!"

Nick stood out of his seat and began to speak, "Roger, we can-"

"No!" He yelled and then turned to face the rest of the Gladers, "And anyone who agrees with me can come with me now!"

He proceeded to storm out of the kitchen and into the growing darkness of the Glade. The few boys that had sat at a table with him followed, including Kaylus, the previous problem Greenie. A couple others rose to join him. Most Gladers stayed seated, looking unsure.

Nick watched as they went. Sylvia could see the gears in his head spinning wildly. His eyes slightly unfocused, narrowing and returning to normal.

"Nick?" She spoke. As if this had snapped him out of his daze, he walked off into the Homestead, opposite the way that Roger and his band of rebels took. He didn't look back to acknowledge her.

Sylvia glanced at the Keepers table with brows pinched in concern and the others looked back at her. She then stood up and followed him out of the kitchen. She walked down the hallway past the paintings Cole had made and before she could turn the corner to where the stairs were, George appeared in front of her.

"Syl," he said, "You have to watch out for those guys."

"Now's not the time." She said hurriedly, trying to go around him but he moved to block her path.

"I'm being serious." He stressed, "They're dangerous."

"You're not even real!" She whispered-shouted, "Why would I trust you? You're a delusion."

George face palmed and shook his head, "I do not remember you being this dumb," He muttered and then continued in a louder voice, "I am real. I'm just dead."

"Prove it then. Prove you're real."

George looked around the room, searching for an idea to try and prove his point. Sylvia was becoming increasingly annoyed. Finally, he spotted the end table Gally had built in the early days of the Glade. The vase with wilting flowers and the jar containing a beetle blade sat on it. He moved quickly towards it and mustered all the strength he could into slapping the vase off of the table. Sure enough, it smashed on the floor, pieces of baby blue porcelain and dried flower petals littered the floor.

Sylvia looked at George in shock and he met her eyes before blinking out of existence. She was pretty sure hallucinations couldn't break things in real life. She stared at the remains of the shattered vase in astonishment and confusion. Could this be real? Could George be real?

She remembered herself and decided she could wonder all she wanted about that later. She needed to get to Nick. She jogged up the stairs and stopped at the door to Nick's room.

"Nick?" She called out, and when she received no answer, pushed open the door lightly. Papers lay messily on his desk and floor. A combination of blueprints and scribbles of ideas and to do lists. Nick sat on his desk chair, which was pushed out into the middle of the room, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. "Nick," She said.

He lifted his head to look at her. His hair had been run through by his hands and he looked distraught, strain visible on his face and prominent in the veins of his neck. "What the hell am I doing, Syl?" He asked.

"We'll get it under control," She tried. Sylvia was never the best at comforting people.

"No, I mean, who do I think I am to tell them what to do? He's right. Why should they listen to me?"

"No, he's a douchebag," She said with disgust on her face, "The Gladers need someone to lead them. To tell them what to do, or else this whole place would be a mess. You're the best goddamn leader we could've asked for."

"I don't know, Syl..." He trailed off. He looked so forlorn it almost killed her. His eyes heavy with responsibility, his mouth set in a small frown, his brows furrowed with despondency. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was the same age as her, that he wasn't a million years older and wiser as he seemed. He was only seventeen.

"You are a good leader. You think Roger could do any better?" She used the most convincing tone she could, "Nick, we wouldn't be here without you. You built this place from the ground up."

They held each other's stares before Nick got up and embraced her in a flash of movement. He held one hand to the back of her head and the other on her upper back. His head dropped to her shoulder. She tightened her arms around the middle of his torso, running her finger along a loose thread on the back of his shirt.

"I'm so tired," Nick mumbled into her shoulder.

"I know."

THE BOY WALKED through the unchanging hallways. Every wing, every hallway, every door looked the same. All the same dull metallic gray, incessant echoing of footsteps through each corridor. Rush of doctors and labs and tests being run.

After a long day of running things around, he was finally able to retreat to his favorite room in the entire facility: the observation room.

The room contained monitors with visuals of the Glade provided by beetle blades. Thomas thought that the little bugs were a genius invention on the scientists' part but he would never admit it. He liked watching the Glade and the boys in it. Most of them were boys he knew, boys he was friends with. He felt terrible about the things he'd seen happen to them over the years. He liked to watch the monitors and make sure nothing bad was happening to them, hoping that somehow, if he was watching over them, he might be able to prevent bad things from happening.

Upon entering the room, Teresa stood out of her chair and greeted him, "Tom, you have to see this! Come look."

"What is it?" He asked, sliding into his chair next to her.

Teresa typed on the keyboard and went through recorded files, "Something happened while you were gone. I recorded it so I could show you."

Thomas braced himself, "Is it bad?"

"Not...necessarily." She pulled up the video on the screen, "Just watch."

Teresa clicked the playback button and the video began to roll. It showcased the downstairs hallway of the Homestead, thanks to the beetle blade the Gladers had trapped in a jar. Thomas thought it was a dumb move on their part-to put the beetle blade right where they would be watched.

In the video, the only girl in Maze A, Sylvia, came storming into the hallway. She then stopped suddenly, as if someone were right in front of her. She then started talking to thin air. Thomas shared a look with Teresa and continued watching.

The girl seemed to be arguing with someone, but there was no one else in her vicinity. She was talking to herself.

"Has she gone insane?" Thomas asked.

"I told the doctors about it and they said they've been seeing abnormal readings on her chart." Teresa said, "They said she's been giving them new patterns they've never seen before. Not from anyone in either group."

"What does that mean?" He questioned, "Has this been happening a lot?"

"Only after she was attacked by that Griever."

Thomas continued to watch the feed. Sylvia seemed to be staring at something that wasn't there. Her eyes followed this invisible thing until she was looking right at the table. Then something happened that had never happened before, the feed glitched out and went static for a few seconds and then appeared on the screen again. Once it came back, Sylvia was looking at a spot on the ground where a smashed vase lay. She looked aghast. The video stopped there.

"Wait, what happened? Why did the feed cut out?" Thomas looked at Teresa for an answer.

"I have no idea. I think she might've knocked the vase over but I don't know why the footage stopped." She answered.

Thomas furrowed his brows in thought, "That's never happened before."

"I know," She said and then hesitated as she spoke again, "Do you think...she's going crazy?"

"What could it be? Schizophrenia?" He pondered.

"I don't know. Do you think we should ask psych to evaluate her?" Teresa asked.

Thomas looked back to the screen, the image frozen with the end of the footage, showing Sylvia's expression. She always seemed so pulled together, even before the Maze, though he didn't really know her then. "Yeah," He told Teresa, "We should."

SYLVIA SAT ON the edge of her bed. George paced around her room, touching and poking at things (without moving them). She watched as he did so, questioning her sanity. Could it be true? That he was really a ghost and she wasn't going crazy? Is this what the afterlife was?

George poked at a wooden carving of a Griever and it toppled onto the floor.

"Can you stop touching my shit?" She grumbled, rubbing her brows out of stress.

George raised his hands at his sides and quipped in a sarcastic tone, "Sorry."

"So you're really a ghost? You're not bullshitting me?" She asked him.

"No," He said, "I am not bullshitting you. Though I do wish this was some cosmic joke."

Sylvia stood and slowly moved towards him, reaching her hand out towards him. Her fingers stretched out, approaching his arm. Her fingers brushed his skin and she let out a small gasp. She touched him. She pushed her hand flat against his arm and felt the coolness of his skin spread to her body. Where he should've been warm, he was cold.

Sylvia met George's eyes. "You're real," She whispered. Just as Nick had done earlier, she wrapped her arms around him in a flash of movement. His body was freezing but she could bear it for the chance to hug George just once. He returned the sentiment. "Oh my God," She mumbled, "I can't believe this."

"Glad you finally stopped ignoring me?" he chuckled.

"Slim it," She said, smiling. Then, a realization came to her. She pushed away from George and looked at him. "Does this mean I can see the others too?"

"I...think?" George said.

"Because I'm pretty sure I've seen Ronan," Sylvia glanced around the room as if the mention of him would summon his presence.

"I mean, I've seen the others, but I don't know if you can. We could test it out?" He suggested.

"Let's do it. Now." She agreed.

Sylvia glanced around the room again and spotted Ronan's necklace. She shoved the item in her pocket and followed George out of the room. Most Gladers were asleep by now and Sylvia could hear their snores as she made her way across the Glade. They made their way towards the Deadheads; pretty much the land of the dead.

The closer one got to the Deadheads, the thicker the trees and the rougher the roots became. The firm soil had dips and hills running throughout the small forest. Jutting roots reached out and seeked to grab the ankles of anyone who dared. Fallen leaves and twigs crunched under her feet, but not George's. He seemed to leave no impact on the world around him, unless he forcefully tried.

They walked until they reached the sullen graves of the deceased Gladers. Sylvia fished Ronan's necklace out of her pocket and hung it on the edge of the wooden cross bearing his name. She had forgotten to set it here.

"So what do we do? Can you...call them forth, or something?" Sylvia questioned.

George searched the small clearing for any signs of the dead. "You know, I'm not too sure."

"Can you try?"

"I guess," He shrugged. He then spread out his arms and started speaking in a dramatic tone, "Oh spirits of the Gladers! Come forth at once!"

Sylvia covered her face with her hand and mumbled, "For the love of..."

"Well, that's one way to do it." A voice said from behind her. She startled and stumbled back a few steps. It was Peter, a boy who had been banished to the Maze.

A few more boys became visible. Then Ronan appeared, leaning against a tree, dark and brooding. Sylvia stormed up to him and punched his arm. "Thanks for scaring the shit out of me, slinthead!" She was referring to the incident a couple weeks ago where Ronan had made her ears bleed.

"Sorry," He said, looking apologetic, "Sometimes it just happens. I can't really control it."

"Wait," Sylvia froze, "What did you find out!? About the Maze? You said something about-"

Ronan jerked suddenly and then disappeared. She looked around the clearing and they all had disappeared.

"Sylvia?" A distinctly accented voice called out to her. Newt broke through the copse of trees, bundled in a sweatshirt. "What're you doing out here?"

Sylvia glanced at where Ronan had just been standing and then back to Newt, "Just...taking a walk."

"In the middle of the night?" The blonde boy questioned.

"Yes," She responded, "I, uh...couldn't sleep."

"Well I don't figure coming here would solve that," Newt glanced around the clearing, shoulders raised to his ears and hands bundled in his pockets, "The Deadheads are as scary as a mother."

The branches of trees groaned in the wind and she thought she spotted a shadow darting between the trees, "Yeah, I'm just now realizing that."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

hey guys! i know this is a far bit away still, but should i make a separate book for the scorch trials and death cure instead of having it all under this one? let me know what you guys would prefer!!