El Corredor | Del Laberinto 1

Thomas doesn't look away from the ivy-covered entrance. "Minho was out there. Alby was hurt. I couldn't just watch."

"We use the Maze against them," Thomas insists. He remembers the map Minho showed him—the shifting sectors, the way the walls move at midnight. "There’s a section in Sector Seven that narrows. If we can lure one there right as the shift happens..."

"You shouldn't have done it, Greenie," Newt mutters, leaning against the wooden lookout. "Running into the Maze when the doors were closing? That’s a death sentence." El corredor del laberinto 1

"We can't just hide," Thomas says, his pulse thrumming with a strange, frantic energy. Since he arrived in the "Box" two days ago, he’s felt a pull toward those stone corridors, a sense of recognition that terrifies him. "We have to fight. If they find us here, we're trapped."

"Fight?" Minho scoffs. "With what? Sharpened sticks against three tons of spike and saw?" Thomas doesn't look away from the ivy-covered entrance

"Now we’re all watching," Minho snaps, limping toward them. His clothes are shredded, his face coated in the grey dust of the Labyrinth. "The will be out in minutes. We don’t have the walls to protect us tonight."

Newt looks from Thomas to the darkening Maze. "It’s suicide." I couldn't just watch

The trio stands at the edge of the forest, the only part of the Glade that offers even a sliver of shadow. Deep within the Maze, a mechanical shriek pierces the air—the sound of metal grinding on bone. The Grievers are waking up.