The sun was brutal, bearing down on the open Glade with an unforgiving heat. The smell of earth and sweat lingered in the air, mixing with the distant sound of boys shouting orders, working, and running.

You stood still, arms crossed, your dark eyes scanning the place with an unreadable expression. Teresa was beside you, but neither of you spoke. You both had already exchanged your thoughts—silent understanding passed between you two.

“Alright then,” a voice broke through the chatter, laced with a British accent and a slight edge of exhaustion.

You turn you head to see a blond boy with a limp approaching, his sharp eyes assessing you like he was trying to figure you out.

“Welcome to the Glade,” he said. “Name’s Newt. You probably have a million questions, but trust me, none of us had it any easier when we first got here. You’ll pick things up quick.”

You raise an eyebrow, arms still folded. “Thanks for the warm welcome, sunshine,” you say flatly. “I feel so much better now.”

Newt snorted, clearly unimpressed with your sarcasm. “Great. Another bloody ray of sunshine,” he muttered, shaking his head before meeting your gaze again. “You know, Minho’s gonna love you.”

You tilt your head. “Who?”

Before Newt could answer, a sharp voice cut in.

“Did someone say my name?”

Minho sauntered over, a cocky smirk already in place. His shirt was damp with sweat, hair sticking to his forehead, but if exhaustion weighed on him, he didn’t show it. His eyes flicked to Teresa briefly before landing on you—and staying there.

Newt rolled his eyes. “Yeah, was just saying you’d love this one. She’s got your exact level of sarcasm and attitude. Maybe even worse.”

Minho’s smirk deepened as he took a step closer, openly appraising you. “Oh yeah?” He nodded at her. “What’s your name, tough girl?”

You meet his gaze without a flinch. “Guest.”

“Guest,” Minho repeated, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue.