The sun had just disappeared behind the stone walls of the Maze. You'd sat and watched it sink lower and lower until it was gone, and the Glade was plunged into darkness.

A few of the boys were starting a small fire so Frypan -- the incredibly hairy cook -- could roast food over it. You guessed it was their way of celebrating a new arrival -- as well as the first girl. Well, not counting the first girl, whom, from what you had heard, had come in a coma, and was still in the same condition. You had yet to visit her, eager to meet another girl.

You chuckled lightly to yourself. You'd only been here one day, and you already wanted out... but, who wouldn't?

Footsteps sounded to your right, and you saw Newt lower himself down next to you a second later, leaning back against the rough bark of the tree you had been sitting under.

"What'd you think of your first day, Greenie?" You shot him a playful glare, relieved to see the amusement in his eyes -- nothing compared to earlier that day.

"Got into a fight, been to the Med-Jacks twice now... I'd say, pretty crappy." He laughed, and your smile stretched wider.

Once he recovered, you sat in silence for a while, both watching the growing fire dance in the darkness.

"Say, (Y/N)," Newt broke the quiet. You heard him shift uncomfortably. "How... how did you know my name? When you woke up and all that -- you said my name and Minho's too." He didn't mention the "shank" thing, but he'd gotten his message across.

You let out a long sigh before meeting his curious gaze. Light from the fire danced in his dark eyes and his head was tilted slightly to the side as he waited for your response.

"I... don't know. I just... do." You mentally slapped yourself, only just realizing how stupid it sounded after the words had come out of your mouth. "I can't remember anything from before I woke up in the Box... but everything here -- it seems so familiar. Like I've lived here all my life or something."

You expected Newt to be looking at you, confused, but he just smiled encouragingly and nodded.

"I see."

More silence, save for the cheers coming from farther down the slope, where the Gladers prancing around, joking and laughing like they were at some high school party, and not a big stone Maze surrounded by flesh-eating slug monsters.

"Why am I the only girl here?" you asked suddenly. Newt continued to stare at the boys as they danced around the fire, his expression unreadable.

"You're not. There's that other girl we got a couple days ago. She's still knocked out though."

You decided not to press anymore, though it was hard to ignore the hundreds of questions swimming around in your head. But you somehow knew Newt wasn't up for answering anything more.

A large gust of wind sent your hair flying in all directions, and you sputtered, pulling it out of your mouth and eyes. Newt was smirking at you, and you just shot him another glare.

Goosebumps covered your bare arms, your mind wandered back to your jacket, which was draped over a chair in the Med-jack' shack, and you inwardly groaned. The day had been so hot, you'd forgotten it, too busy sweating your butt off to even think about putting it back on.

Newt must have noticed you shivering because he scooted closer to you. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before reaching around and wrapping one arm around your shoulders. It sent pleasant shivers down your spine.

He rubbed your shoulder a few times, trying to warm you up. You were pretty sure your face was on fire, but it was a kind gesture, so you said nothing, choosing instead let the silence swallow you up once again.

You could feel the steady beat of Newt's heart in his chest, and let his body heat wash over you.

It wasn't an awkward, or romantic gesture, you decided, but something only a friend would do, and only something you'd allow a friend to do. And his face held such a familiarity in your mind, that you knew it might not be so far off that you were friends at one point.

Soon, Newt ushered you to your feet, insisting you both went to get some dinner before sleep, which you grudgingly agreed to, not too ecstatic about eating something made by such a hairy guy -- but who were you to judge? His soup had been good, right? -- or maybe you'd just been too out of it to care.

One of the Gladers, a short, skinny boy with fiery red hair and freckles, had helped you get set up with a sleeping bag that night. You stood off to the side as he did it, wrapping a thin sweatshirt that you had retrieved on the way back tighter around you in an effort to ease the bite of the cold.

"There ya go, you're all set," the boy announced, stepping back to admire his work.

You were to sleep in the farthest corner of the Homestead, a good ways away from the others boys.

You muttered a "thanks", just wanting to burrow under the warmth of the sleeping bag and get away from the bitter winds.

As soon as he left, you kicked off your shoes and settled down, pulling the bag all the way up to your chin. It was so dark now it didn't make much of a difference whether your eyes were open or closed.

You lay awake and thought about everything that had happened that day, then about your conversation with Newt. Your heart felt like it would burst with joy. You genuinely thought you'd made your first real friend here in the Glade.

A loud screech sounded suddenly, echoing from deep in the Maze, tearing you from your line of thought. The grinding of stone on stone rose up above it as it died off into the night like the screeching thing had given up trying to scare the Gladers and moved on.

One word popped into your head.

Griever.

Then, despite all odds, you fell asleep, listening to the snores of surrounding boys and the occasional rustle of sleeping bags.

You're not supposed to be here. The voice echoed around you, repeating the same thing over and over again. It sounded a bit like a mother scolding her child.

You were engulfed in blackness but could still hear the phrase bouncing around your head. You're not supposed to be here! It became more forced, and you clapped your hands over your ears to try and muffle it. It felt like the voice was inside your mind, constantly speaking into your ear.

You're not supposed to be here! (Y/N), you're not supposed to be here!

"(Y/N)!" Someone was shaking you awake. You snapped your eyes open, alarmed, and tried to shove the hand off your shoulder, but relaxed when you saw it was only Alby. He held a finger to his lips, signaling for you to keep quiet, the beckoned for you to follow him.

It was dark, but Alby had told you it was about five o'clock in the morning. He'd led you to Frypan's kitchen, and let you pick out an apple, and a small bowl of porridge. You'd been instructed to eat quickly, and you were confused -- but then you remembered what Newt had said, about your punishment.

Today was the day you were to spend an entire day in a cold hole, alone, with Minho. You stifled an annoyed groan and finished off your food, deciding it'd be better to just go along with it. After all, doing the opposite of that was what had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

By the time you arrived at the Slammer (which had previously been hidden from view behind an untamed tangle of bushes), the sun was ascending steadily over the Maze walls, and you stood with Alby at the door.

You stepped in without a fight as Alby closed the wooden door tightly, and you heard the click of a padlock as he effectively shut you in. You didn't miss the apologetic look he'd given you as you got one last glimpse of his face. Then he was gone, probably heading back to grab Minho.

The only other object there was a rickety old chair, that stood on three spindly legs, serving absolutely no purpose whatsoever. Shafts of sunlight leaked in through the small, barred-up window that was cut into the far wall. It was stifling, to say the least.

You heard a muffled grunt outside, and your head snapped back to the door.

"Alright, slim it! I'm going." That was unmistakably Minho's voice. You imagined him being pushed along by Alby, his face twisted into an irritated expression.

The door swung open again, and the Runner stumbled through, almost losing his balance as Alby pushed him. You saw the leader's face for a brief second before the wooden door swung closed once more, and you were plunged into almost-darkness.

You'd been leaning against the wall farthest from the entrance, and you didn't move as Minho entered, only watched with a curious expression as he heaved a sigh and sat down on the dirt ground.

All was silent.

"Ya know," Minho started, breaking it after only a minute, "it's your fault I didn't even get breakfast." You didn't reply, just crossed your arms and concentrated on staring out the window, watching as millions of little dust particles, as they danced in the rays of sun spilling into your small jail. You'd decided you wouldn't start another argument with him like he was so intent on doing. You'd let your punishment play out, and then move on.

Minho was making it really hard. "So," he'd asked, "What's it like being the only girl?"

You balled your fists, squeezing them till your knuckles turned white.

He continued, ignoring the glare you shot at him: "It must get lonely, huh? Just a bunch of smelly boys to hang out with." He paused. "Actually, who knows? Maybe you prefer it that way..."

It was taking all your self-control not to run over there, and strangle him where he sat, a smug smile plastered on his face like he expected praise from you for his antagonistic remarks.

Barely twenty minutes passed in silence before you were already bored out of your mind. You paced back and forth in the cell until Minho told you to stop, though you'd ignored his request, but quickly got bored again, and sat down on the ground with your legs crossed.

By noon, you felt your sanity slowly beginning to slip away. Minho had settled himself in the corner and leaned against the wall in an effort to try and get a bit of sleep. For you, on the other hand, sleep seemed impossible. You still had so many questions, it felt like they were crowding your mind, pushing out thoughts of anything else. It gave you a headache.

Now, you resided against the wall opposite the window, trying to catch glimpses of the Gladers as they went about their work. You'd even saw a few Runners lining up at the Maze entrance before they disappeared inside. You wondered what it was like to be a Runner -- that it must be nice not having to be locked up in the Glade every day. They got to run, explore; leave behind the caged walls, and really do something useful. They really were the ones set on trying to find a way out -- and you couldn't help but want to be a part of it.

"What's it like being a Runner?" you asked quietly, not tearing your gaze from the window. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Minho lift his head and look at you, probably searching for any trace of sarcasm in your voice. Honestly, you weren't sure whether you were just talking to yourself, or you actually expected him to give you an answer.

"It's not as good as you might think," he said finally. You raised an eyebrow and turned to look at him. He was staring at you. He didn't look angry anymore, just curious and maybe a little amused. "You basically run your shuck butt off every day, only to find absolutely nothing has changed. And if you've got a bad memory, you're pretty much screwed."

"Ah," was all you said, his outburst not having swayed you in the slightest. "It must be nice though, being able to run -- away from all of this," you opened your arms, gesturing around you. He shrugged and looked at the ground, obviously wanting to drop the subject.

A loud bang sounded at the door, and you jumped, your heart beating frantically against your rib cage. A second later, Newt's face appeared through the small crack. He waltzed in and your eyes widened as you caught sight of the two steaming plates he was carrying, only just realizing how hungry you were -- it had to be at least two o'clock by now, and your breakfast felt years away.

"Newt!" you gasped, "You practically gave me a heart attack!" Minho, on the other hand, had already scrambled to his feet, and was tearing a plate out of the older boy's hands, beginning to scarf down the mashed potatoes and steak without even pausing to ask for a utensil. Newt didn't give him a second glance like he was used to this behavior by now. You wrinkled your nose in disgust, turning your attention instead to the plate of food you were being handed. Nothing had ever looked so good.

You managed a quiet "thanks," before you dug in.

This had to be the best dish you'd tasted so far, and you had to force yourself to finish swallowing the first bite before you moved on to the next.

"How much longer will I be stuck in here?" you asked him once you'd finished chewing. Newt checked his watch and his face fell a bit.

"Still about six or seven hours?" He sighed. You groaned and turned to glare at Minho. He was the reason you were both here in the first place.

The Runner had finished his food, and was now eyeing yours, like he hadn't just scarfed down enough to feed two people. You jerked your plate away from his view, turning your back on him, and continued to eat.

"Well," Newt broke the short silence, "I should get going. I'm not supposed to linger."

You nodded, placing your empty plate in the hand he held out and trying to ignore the impulse to throw yourself at his feet and beg him to let you out. You wanted to leave with whatever dignity you had left, which was barely any -- Minho had made sure of that.

You waved as Newt turned to walk out. He shot you a reassuring smile, before disappearing through the door and letting it fall closed with an echoing thud.

Minho was still staring at the spot where Newt had disappeared like he'd just vanished into thin air or something. You just plopped down again and leaned against the cold wall, letting your head fall back and your eyelids flutter closed. The only way you would be able to get through the rest of the day was if you got some sleep -- time always moved so much faster that way.

Your mind wandered back to the dream you'd had the previous night and felt a shudder shake your whole body.

But, before you could contemplate it any longer, you began to grow drowsy, and your head became fuzzy, your vision blurred. You heard Minho mutter something but didn't stay conscious long enough to hear what it was. You fell into a deep, and thankfully dreamless sleep.

You woke up to a fresh wave of pain washing over your head. You were sprawled out on your side, your head on the ground, arms sticking out in weird positions. You could make out Minho out of the corner of your eye, staring at you wide-eyed.

Groaning, you sat up, rubbing your temple where the pain was most prominent.

"What?" you snapped irritably, as the boy continued to stare.

"Why'd you go and bang your shuck head on the floor?"

You glowered at him. "I fell asleep, slinthead."

"You're the slinthead, slinthead," he growled. You ignored him.

Based on the light ebbing away outside, you decided your confinement should be almost over. "How do you speak so naturally like that?" Minho asked suddenly. You cocked your head to one side and furrowed your eyebrows. He was really starting to piss you off.

"Like what?" You asked, the frustration of everything beginning to grow inside of you.

"You called me a slinthead."

"So?"

"Well, you've barely been here a day."

"Two days," you corrected, holding up two fingers as if to prove your point. Minho shot you an annoyed glare, and you just smirked at him. "And, how do you expect me to know?"

The Runner just raised an eyebrow, obviously just as confused about the whole thing as you were, but didn't push any further.

You fell into silence -- only to have it broken by the door heaving loudly, followed by the squeaking of rusty hinges as it swung inward.

Newt appeared for the second time that day, a big smile on his face.

"You guys ready to come out?" he asked. Minho rolled his eyes and punched Newt playfully, though it was a little rougher than you would've imagined a friendly knock on the shoulder would be.

"Finally!" you exclaimed, jumping to your feet and running through the door Newt held open.

Then and there, you swore to yourself, to never end up in that hole again -- especially with someone as annoyingly cocky as Minho. Though you had to admit, he'd grown on you a little. If you really tried, you thought, you might be able to make it through without attacking him again... Maybe.