IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- BOOK ONE : THE MAZE -

The boy who tackled me is called Minho.

He leads me back through the Maze the way we came, winding around corners I barely remember, though my body still tingles from the adrenaline. His voice hums alongside us, casual, chatting about a place called "the Glade," but I don't catch much. His words feel far away - like sound underwater. Something about how no/one's meant to be in the Maze. That part lands. I tuck it away.

My eyes are drawn up.

The Maze towers above and around us. Massive stone walls rise like cliffs on all sides, veined with ivy and dark moss, as if nature's trying to reclaim them. The stone breathes with the temperature - cool, faintly damp. The air smells of lichen, dust, and sun-warmed rock. Light filters in from the open top, casting long, shifting shadows that play tricks on my eyes.

I walk slower the closer we get to the entrance.

At the end of the corridor, the Maze opens - but not to safety. About fifteen kids are gathered in a semicircle just beyond the threshold, waiting. All of them boys. Different heights, different builds, all staring. Some with curiosity. Some with suspicion. One chews a strip of dried meat. Another crosses his arms like a warning.

Minho chuckles beside me. "I saw this coming," he whispers with a smirk.

At the front of the group stands the tall blonde. Something about him sharpens in my memory - not his name, but his face. Recognition flares and then dies. He looks worried. And confused.

I stop walking.

My feet root into the stone floor. I try to turn back the way we came. I don't want to step into their world. None of them cross into the Maze. Not even a toe. That invisible line between us - I cling to it.

Better the stone than strangers.

Minho's hand tightens on the back of my shirt. A gentle action, but a pressure nonetheless.

"Give her some space!" The command breaks the tension like a crack of thunder. Every boy turns. The voice belongs to someone tall, dark-skinned, and bald - not from age, but from choice. He wears authority like a second skin. Still, he's just a boy too. Eighteen, maybe. Something about the set of his shoulders dares you to disobey, but there's no malice in him. Just control. "That means clear out," he says again, calm and unyielding.

The boys scatter. Mutters ripple through the group like a breeze, but none of them stay behind. Only the blonde boy hesitates. The bald one leans in and whispers something to him, and he finally turns and walks off, eyes lingering on me like he's leaving something behind.

"She's really fast, Alby," Minho calls after them. We've stopped about five meters from 'the Glade's' opening. Another name. Alby. It joins the others in my head - floating, anchorless.

Minho tugs on my shirt again, urging me forward. I don't move. "Stop manhandling her, Minho," Alby says, stepping closer. "Let her go."

Minho frowns, unsure. "She'll run off again?"

Alby glances at me. His eyes soften - not pity, but understanding. "Then you can chase her again," he says. "But I doubt she wants to be tackled another time by your sweaty ass." His tone is lighthearted, teasing. It almost makes me smile. "Go make sure Ben is ready for your mapping," he adds.

Minho sighs and finally lets go. As he walks away, I stay planted. I turn my head slightly, trying to get a better look at the world just beyond the Maze.

From here, I can see green - vivid, sprawling grass cut clean across an open field. Beyond that, trees rise up tall and scattered, their branches dancing in the sunlight. Wooden structures poke up like handcrafted monuments, imperfect but sturdy. A small barn. A watchtower. A fenced-off area with movement - pigs, maybe? I see tools, beds of vegetables, boys hauling crates and stacking firewood.