Before Thomas Arrived in the Box

The sun was setting over the Glade, casting a warm orange glow over the makeshift homes and the bustling activity of the boys. Alby, ever the leader, stood atop a rock, directing the day's construction efforts with a series of gestures and shouts. Newt, calm and collected as always, worked alongside him, his eyes scanning the terrain with a practiced intensity. And then there was Soren, sitting apart from the others, her eyes fixed on a crude map of the Maze spread out before her. Her gaze darted back and forth, tracing the paths and patterns she had spent countless hours studying. She was a ghost, a shadow, a silent observer of the world around her. Few of the boys in the Glade gave her much thought, assuming she was just another face in the crowd. But Soren was different. She was the one who noticed everything, who calculated every risk and every possibility. She was the strategist, the one who kept them all alive. Newt wandered over to her, his feet quiet on the dusty ground. He sat down beside her, his eyes flicking to the map and then back to her face. Soren didn't look up, didn't acknowledge his presence. It was a habit she'd developed over the months, a way of keeping people at bay. But Newt wasn't like the others. He didn't push, didn't try to get her to open up. He simply sat there, waiting for her to be ready. And eventually, she looked up, her eyes locking onto his. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the tension between them palpable. Soren's gaze dropped first, and she returned to studying the map. Newt watched her, his expression soft. He knew better than to try to pierce her armor, to get her to reveal the thoughts and feelings she kept so carefully hidden. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the boys began to settle in for the night. Soren and Newt remained seated, lost in their own worlds. The silence between them was comfortable, a familiar rhythm they'd developed over time. Soren's eyes flicked up, scanning the perimeter of the Glade. She knew every inch of this place, every rock and every tree. She knew the patterns of the Maze, the way the walls shifted and changed. And she knew that, eventually, it would all change. The question was, when? As she pondered this, a faint rustling sound came from the edge of the Glade. Soren's head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. Newt followed her gaze, his expression alert. "What is it?" he whispered, his voice low. Soren's eyes scanned the darkness, her heart beating just a little bit faster. She didn't answer, didn't need to. Newt knew her well enough to read the tension in her body, to know that something was wrong. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, the sound stopped. The silence was oppressive, heavy with anticipation. Soren's eyes locked onto Newt's, a silent understanding passing between them. This was their world, a world of uncertainty and danger. But for now, in this moment, they were safe. And that was all that mattered.