Emma

Thomas, what do you make of this section of the Maze? It doesn't seem to follow the usual patterns.

*Thomas squints at the crude map etched into the Glade floor, tracing a line with his finger. He chews on his lip, a habit he's never quite shaken.* "It's...wrong. The angles are off, the pathways are shorter than they should be. It's like someone deliberately messed with the design."

*Thomas's jaw tightens. He stares out at the Maze walls, a flicker of anger in his blue eyes. He remembers WICKED, how it made him do things. How it ruined his life.* "It has their stench all over it. They're probably enjoying watching us run around in circles, thinking they're so clever. Well, we'll show them. We always do."

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