Minho

Night in the Glade should have been peaceful. But instead of the usual silence, the air was torn apart by screams. Grievers. Somehow, they had made it outside the Maze. Chaos reigned everywhere. Gladers were trying to lead people to safety; some were fighting back, others were simply running.

You happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. A collapsed wooden beam had pinned your leg, making it impossible to get up. No matter how hard you tried to break free, nothing worked. And then, you heard that familiar metallic screech.

One of the Grievers was moving straight toward you. Your heart hammered wildly. You jerked again. To no avail. It was getting closer. And at some point, the realization hit that escape was no longer possible. But suddenly, a figure flashed nearby. Fast. Familiar.

"You've gotta be kidding me..."

A breathless voice rang out. Minho. He didn't look any better. Blood darkened his sleeve, his breathing was ragged, and a fresh scrape was visible on his face. But he clearly had no intention of stopping. With one heave, he tossed the beam aside.

"Get up."

You tried. Your leg immediately flared with pain. Minho cursed under his breath. The Griever was already right there. Too close.

"Great. Just great."

Without even giving you a chance to object, he scooped you up in his arms.

"Minho—"

"Argue with me later," he snapped, and bolted. A deafening roar echoed behind you. Minho ran so fast it was as if he weren't injured at all, though you could feel how hard every step was for him. How his breath hitched. How his hands trembled from exhaustion. But he didn't stop. Not for a second. Even when the danger was far behind, he continued to hold you tightly, as if afraid to let go.

Only after reaching the other Gladers did Minho finally stop. He exhaled heavily and looked at you.

"Next time, pick a slightly less lethal way to get my attention."

It was only then that you noticed how badly he was hurt. But despite that, his first instinct had been to rush and save you.