The Gladers. The thought made him so overwhelmingly sad in that moment that he almost abandoned his visitor and went back inside.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” the man said into the awkward moment of silence. “It’s just that I had a nephew taken by those bastards almost 20 years ago. Never heard from him or about him ever again. I don’t know what I was hoping for. I’m sorry.”

The man’s kindness and gentle ways brought Newt back from the abyss of his feelings. He wished he could see the stranger’s face but it was too dark.

“No, it’s... it’s okay. I’m just a little shocked is all. For one thing, how on Earth do people know that about me? We just got dumped here today.”

“I think the higher-ups leaked the information so that you’d have some protection. Most people here are in the early stages of the Flare, so they’re still smart enough to know not to mess with someone like you.”

“What? Why? And what was your nephew’s name, by the way?” Even as the words came out of his mouth he knew the answer wouldn’t mean anything. They hadn’t known each other’s real names inside the Maze.

“Alejandro. Did... did you know him?” His voice broke on the last word, coming out as part of a hitched sob.

The name rang a bell for Newt, even though it shouldn’t have. He’d heard that name before. Maybe. He now found himself wishing and hoping for just one day with all of his memories—each and every one of those suckers, no matter how heart-wrenching it might be—before he was past the Gone.

“I think I knew him,” Newt answered quietly, unsure of what answer would help the most. “I’m sorry... they took my memories. But yes. I’m sure he was there.”

The shadow before him collapsed to the ground, first to his knees and then bowing forward on his elbows, as if he were about to pray to Newt like a priest. He let out his sobs, then, crying as hard and loud as a grown man possibly could.

Newt looked around, sure that the sounds would wake Keisha and Dante, not to mention anyone within a half-mile. “Listen, I can tell you what it was like. Maybe that’ll help.” He couldn’t think of anything that would possibly help less. “There’s a good chance he’s still alive, out there somewhere—some of us escaped. I have friends who’re trying to make good things happen.”

The stranger looked up sharply at this; Newt saw the briefest hint of reflected light in the man’s eyes. But he didn’t—or couldn’t—speak. He dropped to his elbows again, shaking with his cries.

Newt didn’t know if he’d ever had patience in his life, but he certainly didn’t have any now, and sadly one thing weighed heavily in his mind.

“Listen,” he said. “We can talk about it more. But... do you have any food?”