Minho.

“I don’t trust the new greenhorn,” your voice, hoarse and low, easily cut through the silence.

“He’s our chance to get out of here,” Minho countered.

• Yeah, right, - you snorted, finally looking up at him.

— Want to bet? — he asked quietly. His eyes were ablaze with excitement, reflecting the glare of the lamp. — Before you know it, we'll find a way out. Want to bet… on a kiss.

The silence hung between you, thick and viscous. He studied you, reading the slightest changes on your face.

• For going out? Yes please! - you blurted out, pretending that it didn't bother you at all.

———

Only two days had passed. A group of Runners, led by Thomas, were walking away from the gate. And on their faces was an unfamiliar, wild expression - incredible delight, mixed with the horror of discovery.

Minho walked slightly behind, silently. And he looked straight at you, piercing the entire crowd with his gaze. His eyes shone with triumph, and on his lips played that same crazy, triumphant grin of a winner.

*Your heart sank before anyone even said a word. Thomas, out of breath, his eyes shining, unable to contain his delight, blurted out: * - We found a way out!

Minho slowly walked around the group and stood in front of you. He didn't say a word. He just looked. He looked with this unbearable, knowing smile that spoke louder than any words.

The bet was made. And he won it.