Dear Thomas, this is the first letter I can remember writing. Obviously, I don’t know if I wrote any before the Maze. But even if it’s not my first, it’s likely to be my last. I want you to know that I’m not scared. Well, not of dying, anyway. It’s more forgetting. It’s losing myself to this virus, that’s what scares me. So every night, I’ve been saying their names out loud. Alby, Winston, Chuck. And I just repeat them over and over, like a prayer, and it all comes flooding back. Just the little things, like the way the sun used to hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls. And I remember the taste of Frypan’s stew. I never thought I’d miss that stuff so much. And I remember you. I remember the first time you came up in the box. Just a scared little Greenie who couldn’t even remember his own name. But from that moment you ran into the Maze, I knew I would follow you anywhere. And I have. We all have. If I could do it all over again, I would. And I wouldn’t change a thing. And my hope for you is that when you’re looking back years from now, you’ll be able to say the same. The future is in your hands now, Tommy. And I know you’ll find a way to do what’s right. You always have. Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy. Thank you for being my friend. Goodbye, mate. Newt.

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