𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ༒ minho, tmr

forty-four ~ if we make it

☾

"There." Thomas pointed to a scribbled ring on the tattered old map spread across the table. His shaky index finger lingered on it for a second as he addressed his friends, whose dinner he had interrupted. "That's it."

He rested his arms on the table, leaning against it. "It's a few hundred miles," he said, licking his lips. "Based on the railways, everything that Aris told us, that's gotta be where they're headed."

His wide eyes met Londyn's, mirroring the same almond shape. She chewed on her nails nervously before stepping forward to glance at the map. "You think that's where they're taking Minho?"

Thomas nodded, then locked eyes with Vince. "We take everyone who can fight. Follow roads where we can. We can make it back within a week."

"A week," Vince repeated dryly, frustration steaming beneath his words. He jabbed a finger at the map. "It took us six months to get here. We got over a hundred kids here now. We can't just hang out here forever. After what we just pulled, you wanna wander off to some random point on the map? You don't even know what's there!"

"I do," Jorge interrupted, his voice carrying from the damp study as he stepped into the room. He moved toward them slowly. "It's been a few years, but... I've been there. The last city. That's what WCKD called it. It was their whole base of operations."

His finger landed on the same spot Thomas had pointed to. "If that city is still standing, that's the last place you wanna go, hermano. That's the lion's den."

Thomas' expression didn't waver. He only blinked once Jorge had finished. "It's nothing we haven't done before."

"Yeah, with months of planning," Vince shot back. "With reliable information, the element of surprise. None of which we have now."

"Vince, I've thought this through, just hear me--" Thomas started, but the older man cut him off.

"Hey!" Vince snapped, his palm smacking against the table. "Last time we went off half-cocked, I lost everything! You remember that?"

The air in the room grew impossibly heavier, the weight of Vince's grief settling over them like a suffocating fog. The pain in his voice was undeniable, Mary's absence was still a fresh wound as if it was yesterday she'd died.

Thomas lowered his head, staring at the map as if searching for an answer. His gaze eventually lifted, meeting Londyn's.

Londyn's lips parted slightly before her eyes flicked to Vince. "Sorry, Vince," she said guiltily. She understood why he refused to risk everything again. He'd already lost too much.

But it didn't make this any easier to swallow.

"Look, I know it's Minho, all right?" Vince said, reaching across the table to address her and Thomas. "But you can't ask me to put those kids on the line for one man. I won't do it."

Silence followed. Thomas and Londyn struggled to come up with anything that might sway him, but nothing came.

Then, Jorge's radios crackled, scratchy voices breaking through the static. The sound sent a chill down their spines. A low, familiar hum followed, one they had learned to fear.

"Shit, hit the lights!" Thomas ordered, and the group scattered, vanishing into the shadows in all directions.

Jorge killed the power, while Londyn sprinted onto the beach with Vince and Thomas. The three of them watched as the refugees scrambled for cover inside. Their eyes darted to the pitch-black sky, scanning for the source of the noise, their boots sinking into the damp sand.