Thomas shifted in his bed, felt a darkness around him like
air turned solid, pressing in. At first he panicked; his eyes snapped open as
he imagined himself back in the Box―that horrible cube of cold metal that
had delivered him to the Glade and the Maze. But there was a faint light, and
lumps of dim shadow gradually emerged throughout the huge room. Bunk beds.
Dressers. The soft breaths and gurgly snores of boys deep in slumber.
Relief filled him. He was safe now, rescued and delivered to
this dormitory. No more worries. No more Grievers. No more death.
A voice in his head. A girl’s. Not audible, not visible. But
he heard it all the same, though never could he have explained to anyone how it
worked.
Exhaling a deep breath, he relaxed into his pillow, his
razor-edged nerves settling down from that fleeting moment of terror. He spoke
back, forming the words with his thoughts.
Teresa? What time is it?
No idea, she replied. But I can’t sleep. I
probably dozed for an hour or so. Maybe more. I was hoping you were awake to
keep me company.
Thomas tried not to smile. Even though she wouldn’t be able
to see it, it would be embarrassing all the same. Didn’t give me much
choice inthe matter, did you? Kind of hard to sleep when someone’s
talking directly into your skull.
