"Hey," it's Thomas. I turn around, stopping on my way back to the homestead.

"What is it?" I ask, trying to hide the fact that I've been crying.

"Teresa and I, we were talking, and we think- (Y/N) is everything ok?" Evidently, I failed at hiding my emotions.

"Yeah," I reply, sniffing. "What is it that you and Teresa think?"

"Right, yeah." Thomas shifts, as if doubting himself. "We have this idea, just a thought, but we need to study the maps, now."

"Well," I spread my hands, forcing a smile, "any idea is worth a shot." Then I remember the maps and frown.

"What," Thomas asks, seeing my face, "what's wrong?"

"The maps," I mutter, "they're gone."

"Gone?"

I nod. "Someone burnt the maps room and killed Alby, we think it was Gally." I cough, trying to hide the crack in my voice.

"Oh." It's all Thomas can say.

"What's this I hear about needing maps?" a British accent, a strong hand on my shoulder.

"Huh? Oh," I turn, Newt's standing behind me. "Thomas and Teresa had an idea, they wanted to study the maps. But Newt," I'm doing well keeping the quaver out of my voice, "the maps room, Alby..."

"Yeah, I know," his gaze softens, and he addresses Thomas "but it happens to be your lucky day."

The old, empty closet in the homestead is full of dust, making us sneeze when we open the doors.

"Yesterday," Newt says, stepping back and placing one hand on his hip, "Alby and I moved the maps. We thought it was best to play it safe, and I guess we just forgot to tell you."

I cover my mouth with my hands, this is the best thing that's happened so far. There, sitting in the closet, are the chests, all of them, perfectly unharmed. I grin.

"So," I say to Thomas, "you needed these?"

"Wax paper." He replies, "we're gonna need a tone of wax paper."

When Thomas has everything he wants (wax paper, the maps, black markers and pencils, and knives), Newt, Teresa, Minho, me, and him all sit on the floor of the homestead where Thomas instructs Minho and I to start cutting rectangles, while himself, Newt and Teresa gather the first few maps from each section.

When he's handed the knife, Minho holds it up, disgusted.

"What is this?" he asks, "Kiddie craft time? Just tell what the klunk we're doing this for!"

"I'm done explaining," Thomas replies, "just do it. It's easier if I show you, and if I'm wrong we can go back out in the Maze."

After a few minutes, Minho and I have managed to make a fairly big pile of wax paper and the others have the last five days from each section laid out.

"Ok," says Thomas, holding a piece of paper up to the light, "this is perfect. Everyone start tracing the maps onto these, but make sure you keep track of what's what."

"What-?" I say, but Newt cuts me off.

"Just keep on going, I think I can see where he's going with this."

I try my best to keep the lines clean and straight, but it turns out I'm not much of an artist. In the end, I use a piece of wood lying nearby as a makeshift ruler, and that works much better.

After a while of tracing maps and putting them in piles, Newt leans back and shakes his hand.

"I've had enough." He announces. "My fingers are bloody burning like a mother. See if it's working."

"Thomas-"

"Minho, just do as he says. I think he might be onto something." I say and Minho casts me a look, then shrugs.

"Ok," Thomas surveys the maps, "I need the first day of every section, lined up from one," he points to a spot on the floor, "to eight." He points to another spot.

Silently, we do as we're told, then Thomas gathers the maps into a pile.

When he's done, we stare down at the maps. Lines criss-cross all over the paper, but in the middle, subtle but undeniably there, is the letter F.