tmr safe place

The cafeteria was louder than usual. Clusters of survivors sat around tables, talking in low voices, trays clattering, the air heavy with that uneasy calm that came with supposed safety. Thomas could still feel the hum of tension under his skin—too clean, too quiet, too controlled.

At a nearby table, one of the boys from another group was telling a story.
“And Aris was the only guy in a group full of girls,” he said, almost laughing like it was some kind of miracle.

Minho looked up from his food, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah,” the boy replied. Then his eyes flicked toward the door. “Hey, Nina, Come here a sec!”

Thomas followed his gaze.

A girl had just walked in—tall, lean, sharp around the edges, like she’d been carved out of something tougher than the rest of them. Her skin was pale against blonde fall of her hair, wavy and long enough to brush her ribs. Her eyes were the kind that pinned you where you stood—dark and steady.

She crossed the room without hesitation, wiping her hands on her pants. Looked like she belonged anywhere she wanted to be.

“What’s up?” she asked, voice low and even. Then she glanced at the unfamiliar faces. “New arrivals, I’m guessing?”

The boy grinned, clearly enjoying the attention. “Yeah. Group A. These guys made it out of their Maze.” He turned back to them. “This is Nina—kind of our unofficial boss around here. If you get hurt, start a fight, screw something up, or just need someone to fix it, she’s the one you go to. Fastest, strongest, probably the scariest too, depending on who you ask.”

Nina shot him a look. “You’re really selling it,” she said flatly.

Minho leaned back, smirking. “Sounds like you run the place.”

“Someone has to,” she said.

Thomas caught the faintest trace of humor behind her tone, but it didn’t last long. There was something about her—sharp, watchful—that told him she’d seen enough to know not to trust the word safe.