𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨౨ৎ𝐓𝐌𝐑

Minho's head throbbed when he woke up, his vision blurry and the cold concrete floor beneath him. His wrists ached from the restraints that had recently been removed, and the air was thick with a faint scent of antiseptic, the unmistakable mark of WCKD. He groaned and sat up slowly, trying to remember what had happened. He'd been running, as usual, dodging the Cranks and surviving the Burn. But then those damned WCKD agents appeared out of nowhere, and this time he hadn't been fast enough to escape.

When his vision finally cleared, he realized he was not alone.

The cell was shrouded in gloom, with steel bars at the entrance and cracked concrete walls. In the far corner, huddled against the wall, was a girl staring at him. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes filled with distrust and curiosity, and she looked gaunt, revealing how long she had been locked up there. Her clothes were in tatters, and her knuckles were bruised, as if she had fought to survive her own personal hell.

Minho finished sitting up, wincing as he rubbed his sore wrists.

—Great, another lab rat

The girl narrowed her eyes, but remained in her corner

—You're new

Minho scanned the cell. There was a rusty cot bolted to the floor, a bucket in the corner that probably served as a toilet, and a tall, narrow window that let in very little light.

—Yeah, new to this cell, I guess. But I'm not new to all the WCKD bullshit...

He fell silent abruptly as a new throbbing pain shot through his head, forcing him to clench his jaw in annoyance.