minho

The air in the Glade was heavy, saturated with pain and fear. The fire crackled, revealing the Gladers' faces from the darkness.

Leah sat a little distance away. Newt was close by, morally. His thin frame seemed fragile, but that was deceptive. He was keeping an eye on the newcomer—Thomas. He had arrived today.

Thomas glanced around. His gaze drifted to the far side of the fire, where Leah sat. The only girl in the Glade. The light played on her red hair. Newt saw Thomas staring at the curve of her neck.

“Don’t stare,” Newt said, sitting down next to her.

• Who is she?

— Leah. Here for a month. Goes to the Labyrinth with Minho.

Thomas frowned. Leah raised her head and stared coldly through the fire, her gaze steely with wariness.

"She looks like someone who should have broken," Thomas said.

"Everyone thought so," Newt said, a hint of pride in his voice. "Even me. But she doesn't freak out. She's the only one who talks sense into Minho. We call her Spark. She may be invisible, but she sees what others miss."

The flames flared, the shadows vanished. She was beautiful, terrifyingly so. Thomas kept looking, trying to understand the connection between her and the runners' supervisor.

"Look," Newt's voice hardened. "Give her space. Minho trusts her with his life, and that means we trust her with everything."

• I didn't think...

• I know. But remember: don't approach her unless necessary.