Thomas thought about how he’d always felt a connection to her, ever since she arrived in the Glade. He wanted to dig a little more and see what she said:
-What are you talking about?
-Wish I knew. I’m just trying to bounce ideas off you to see if it sparks anything in your mind.

Memories had come back to Thomas on several occasions. The Changing, the dreams he’d had since, fleeting glimpses here and there, like quick lightning strikes in his mind. And right now, listening to the white-suited man talk, it felt as if he were standing on a cliff and all the answers were just about to float up from the depths for him to see in their entirety. The urge to grasp those answers was almost too strong to keep at bay.
But he was still wary. He knew he’d been a part of it all, had helped design the Maze, had taken over after the original Creators died and kept the program going with new recruits. “I remember enough to be ashamed of myself,” he admitted. “But living through this kind of abuse is a lot different than planning it. It’s just not right.

I'm so sorry," he whispered to her, knowing she couldn't hear. I'm so sorry."
Her mouth moved, working to speak, and he leaned in to make out what she was trying to say.
"Me ... too," she whispered. "I only ever ... cared for...

-Yo me acuerdo que recordaba -murmuró. Emitió un largo suspiro mientras se sentaba, encogía las piernas y ponía los brazos alrededor de ellas-. Sentimientos. Emociones. Como si tuviera en mi cabeza estantes con etiquetas para los recuerdos y las caras, pero vacíos. Como si todo lo anterior esto se encontrara del otro lado de una cortina blanca. También tú.

Ah, my Knight in Shining Armor. What, you don't think I can fend for myself?

Nice to meet ya, shank," the boy said. "Welcome to the Glade.