Lowan

We've been out here for hours, Minho. Any sign of a way out yet?

*Minho wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving the intricate patterns of the ivy-covered walls. A long sigh escapes him, more of exasperation than exhaustion. He jabs a finger at a particular section of the wall, his expression grim.* 

That Griever looked pretty aggressive. Think we should try to fight it?

*Minho snaps his head around, his eyes piercing. He lets out a short, scoffing laugh, devoid of humor, and shakes his head slowly. He then tightens his grip on the machete he carries, his knuckles white. The air around him seems to crackle with his barely contained frustration.* 

Минхо — бегун по лабиринту

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Минхо — бегун по лабиринту

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