I wander aimlessly around the Glade.

Minho's words keep repeating in my mind. The cold tone to his voice. The hatred in his eyes. And the fear.

The fear. Forgetting me is one thing, and then hating me is another one, but he seems genuinely frightened.

Why? I might still be taller, yet he is stronger. Both physically and mentally. He even used to brag about how he beat me with arm wrestling.

Other than the Slicer thing, I can't think of any scary sides I have.

How could it all have gone so wrong? A tear slips down my cheek as I rest my back against the Maze wall. The ivy presses against me in a soft manner, yet it feels threatening.

I thought maybe reminding him of everything that made us us would help. It clearly didn't. He was disgusted.

Nothing feels the same now. The Glade. Minho. Me. Minho is what made the Glade the Glade. Obviously he made himself what he is. And I don't know who I am without him.

My first friend. First kiss. First person to give me butterflies. First everything.

"Zee?"

Nick's voice makes me jump. As fast as possible, I wipe my tears away.

He is wearing a concerned but calm expression. Somehow, he is always calm and somewhat joyful. And nothing flies past him, no matter the drama that is going on: he cares about everyone.

Exactly the one quality a leader should have.

Embarrassed, I watch him join my side. We're silent for a moment, while the trees sway softly. I hope he leaves it like that.

But he says, "I'm sorry about what's going on with Minho."

I swallow. Shrug, as if it's nothing. I guess at some points, it is nothing. Minho's memory of me is nothing.

"Look, you've got to understand that memory loss changes people. He only remembers you coming up the Box. After that, it's blank in his mind. Filled with some... sick images. He's reacting the way he only knows how."

"I know." I nod. "He always reacts with anger– but he wasn't like this before, Nick. He can't have turned that cold. It's like he is a completely different person."

"He's afraid, angry, and confused. He has to remind himself what happened to George over and over. He doesn't know who to trust. He doesn't know if he can trust his own mind, because, as I said, it's filled with all kinds of images."

I quickly wipe away another tear. "Can we fix it?"

Nick sighs. "I don't know. But forcing it won't help. Just let him find his own way back. In the meanwhile, you can focus on your own abilities or something. This place is tough. And I have a feeling we're gonna need to be able to do more than simple jobs like the ones we have right now."

My breath comes like some kind of hiccup. Again, I nod.

"You're more than your relationship with Minho, Zee," Nick adds.

After that, he leaves. His words hang in the air along with a soft buzz in my mind. I remain sitting, staring down at my nails. Dirt has made their way below them, and the edges are red from picking.

Then I watch the boys work. My eyes move slow, and they move super fast in front of me. Walking from place to place, digging, wiping sweat off their foreheads... It's slippery.

Every object carries Minho's name. At the edge of every thought. On loop.

I rub my eyes. Thinking about him will only make me more insane. I need to listen to Nick.

But over and over again, it crashes back at me. How we used to laugh, and argue, and tease.

Just give him time.

No, explain it again. He'll remember.

He has to remember– no, he has to take his time.

The thoughts won't leave me alone. Not even when I make my way over to the Bloodhouse.

My feet want to take me straight to Minho, wherever he is right now. But I force myself to the Bloodhouse. Might take my mind off things.

Inside, Winston is wiping a wet cloth across the table. He looks up.

I sniff. The metal smell of blood barely gets through my nose. "Hi. Got anything left to slaughter? Or clean... or... I don't know– anything?"

"Err." He looks around. "I was just finishing it up for today. We could carry the meat to Fry, though."

"Okay." I grab a string that's full with raw chicken wings. Winston grabs the other side of it.

Together, we make our way to the kitchen, past the huts Gally and the Builders are making for the Keepers.

"Fry!" Winston knocks on the door loudly before opening it. Both of us hop inside, the string swinging with us.

Two chairs scoot at the same time. I look up, alarmed.

Fry walks over to us, taking the chicken wings to the sink. "Minho, can you help me wash–"

But as the boy continues getting up, his chair falls onto the ground. Then he hurries past Winston and I. His shoulder bumps into mine, so hard that it makes me wince.

The door slams shut. The force of it blows against my back.

"Well," Fry sighs out. "Guess you two have to help me, then."