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“Nice to meet ya, shank,” the boy said. “Welcome to the Glade.”
You get lazy, you get sad. Start givin’ up. Plain and simple.”
But nothing sent chills up and down Thomas’s spine like the haunted, deathly moans that somehow escaped the creature when it sat still, like the sound of dying men on a battlefield.
Minho looked at Thomas. “I nominate this shank to replace me as Keeper of the Runners.”
“I swear, Chuck,” he whispered to no one. “I swear I’ll get you back home.”
But there was something about the largest object in the solar system vanishing that tended to disrupt normal schedules.
“I mean, it should be impossible—sometimes you don’t look very hard for things you don’t believe will or can happen.”