"Man," I say, and everyone nods.

"Could be coincidence," Newt points out, "quick, do more."

We do, passing Thomas the eight pages from the next day. And the next. And the next. We continue, each time an obvious letter appearing in the centre of the mass of criss-crossing lines.

F, then L, then O, then A, then T. After that comes a C, another A, and another T.

"Look," Thomas says, staring at the words, "it spells FLOAT and CAT."

"Float cat?" Newt asks, "Doesn't sound like any sort of rescue code to me."

"Let's just keep going," I say, reaching for more maps.

As it turns out, the word is CATCH not CAT.

"Yeah," I say, looking at Newt, "definitely not a coincidence." He grunts.

"Let's keep going," Teresa says, "we need to go through all those boxes in there." She points at the closet and I nod.

"We can't stay." Minho points out, "At least not me and Thomas. We have to go out in the Maze."

"What?" Thomas protests, "No! This is way more important!"

"Maybe," Minho concedes, "but we can't miss a day out in the Maze. Not now."

"Why?" Thomas asks, "You said the pattern's basically been repeating itself for months, one more day won't mean anything!"

"That's bullcrap, Thomas!" Minho slams his hand down on the floor. "Today is the most important day. With the walls not closing, something might have opened up, something might have changed. In fact, I think we should try your idea, stay out there longer."

"But what about the code? What about-?"

"Tommy," Newt says, "Minho's right. You shanks go run, us three will be fine here."

"You sure?" I can see Thomas wants to go out with Minho.

"We're sure." Teresa tells him. "Besides," she adds, flashing me a grin, "if we're deciphering a hidden code from a complex set of mazes, I'm pretty sure you need girls' brains running the show."

Newt draws breath but then decides there's no point in protesting, and sighs.

"If you say so." Thomas rolls his eyes.

"Good that," Minho stands, "everything's fine and dandy. Come on." He stops in the doorway when he realises that Thomas isn't behind him.

"Don't worry," I tease, "your girlfriend will be fine with us."

Without saying another word, Thomas leaves.

We get straight back to work, and soon a definite set of words appears.

"We should write this down, just in case." I say, grabbing a pencil and a piece of paper off the ground.

"Float... catch... bl..." I mutter as I write, that's all we have so far.

We've got a few more letters done, (E, E, D, D, E, A, T, H,) when Teresa comes up beside me.

"Hey," she says softly.

"Hey," I reply.

"Are you ok?" She asks, and I feel even worse about chucking her in the slammer.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You?"

"Fine. Thomas told me about Alby." There it is, the lump back in my throat.

"Yeah?" I say, sounding strangled even to my own ears.

"Yeah. I'm sorry, I know you guys were close."

"Thanks." I say, then, after a pause, "He was like a brother. An overprotective, grouchy, annoying older brother." I wipe my eyes, no crying here.

"Mmm." She says, and I feel a light pat on my shoulder.

"Listen," I say, sitting back, "I'm sorry about accusing you of being responsible for all this, it's just that I've been here almost three years and it's always been the same, then you and Thomas show up, and in the space of a day it's all gone to klunk."

"Yeah, I get it. Being the leader must be hard, you have to make all the decisions and always show people how strong you are, and I can see that that must be hard. I'm sorry you have to deal with all this... klunk," she smiles, "but we're going to get through it."

"You think so?" I ask, and she nods, holding out a hand.

"We gotta stick together, huh?"

I nod, shaking her hand firmly.

"When you've finished your sisterly bonding moment," Newt interrupts from the other side of the room, "I think we may have gotten it."

In silence, we stare at the words on the piece of paper, scribbled hastily on the pad.

FLOAT, CATCH, BLEED, DEATH, STIFF, PUSH.

Six words, that's all.

"Well," Teresa says, "that's cheery."

"So cheery." Newt agrees, his head cocked to the side as he studies the code.

"What are we meant to do with it?" I ask, doubt washing over me. "I mean, are we even sure these are the right words? Is there more?"

"(Y/N)," Newt says gently, "you can see it there. After PUSH it goes blank for a week, then starts at FLOAT again. What else is there?"

I chew my cheek, thinking hard. That can't be it, there has to be more. Something stirs in the back of my mind, something about the changing. But the memories are fading, and I can't grasp it.

"We need Minho and Thomas." I say, putting the paper down. "They might know more, have more clues."

"Like what?" Teresa asks, and I shake my head.

"I don't know," I mutter, frustrated. "Like... like something."

"You're going to need to be more specific, love." Newt says, and I shake my head again.

"Specific about what?" We all whip around, and there, silhouetted in the weird grey light, stands Minho.

"Ah," I stand, dusting my butt and stretching my stiff muscles. "perfect. Just the shank we need. Where's Thomas?"

"With Chuck, he'll be here in a minute." Minho walks forward, staring at the words on the floor. "float, catch, bleed, death, stiff, push." He mutters, then shrugs. "I have absolutely no idea what that means."

"Ugh," I stomp in annoyance, crossing my arms. "I was kind of hoping you'd know something more, something that could help us."

"Well," Minho says, "nothing's changed in the Maze, but we think the Griever hole might be a passage leading somewhere, a disguised passage."

"Griever hole?" Newt asks, and Minho explains.

"It's about four feet out from the Cliff, in the middle. About a foot square. Thomas and I found it. We saw the Grievers disappearing into it that night you got stung-" he nods to me "-and then today we saw more going in there."

"What's this about the Griever hole?" Thomas interrupts, appearing behind Minho. "Wow." He says when he sees that code, "That's ominous. Is there any more?" We all shake our heads and he continues to stare at the words. Then, like something's clicked in his brain, all the colour drains from his face.

"Tom?" Teresa asks, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, then turns to head out the door.

"Tommy where are you going?" Newt calls after him. He stops, one hand on the door.

"I just need some rest. See you in the morning." Then he's gone.

"We probably should sleep, it's almost night time and we've been out almost two days." Minho says, and I feel chills wash over me. Grievers.

We nod somberly, then head upstairs to most of the Gladers are already settling down, fear heavy in the air. A couple more trickle in, and the night begins.

I sit between Newt's legs, his arms around my chest and his chin resting on my shoulder. Minho, Teresa and Thomas are all next to us, along the back wall. Nobody speaks. Newt lightly kisses my neck and I turn, kissing his forehead.

The night wears on, Griever sounds travelling through the Glade intermittently, until around one or two in the morning, when the sounds of tearing wood and much closer clicks and whirs wake me from my doze. My head snaps up, and Newt squeezes me tight, letting me know he's awake too.

Everyone is frozen in fear, I can hear a soft whimper from the story below us and I close my eyes, hoping against hope that the person will be quiet. Everything goes still. Then, like an explosion, the world comes to life again. I hear splintering wood, a terrified screams, then frantic whirring, the screams and mechanical noises growing fainter. They got someone. Some poor person in the room below just fed the Grievers.

I let a shaky breath out, I didn't even realise I was holding it. I look around or huddled group, they're all doing similar things, pent up tension releasing from their bodies.

"Everyone ok?" I whisper, answered by a chorus of "yeahs."

We don't talk about the person downstairs.

Pretty soon after, we all lie down to properly sleep, just having to trust what Gally said about one person a night.

I rest my head on Newt's chest, wrapping one arm around him. He holds me close, kissing the top of my head. We don't say anything. The rise and fall of his breathing and his beating heart eventually lull me to sleep, but my dreams are plagued with whirs, clicks, the squealing of engines and spikes tearing into wood.