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

- BOOK ONE : THE MAZE -

It's wild and domestic at the same time. Chaotic and controlled. A place built by hands that weren't meant to build anything at all.

"See ya later, Speedy," Minho calls as he disappears into the trees.

Alby stays behind. He doesn't move closer. Doesn't threaten. Just waits. "So, you've chosen not to run," he says eventually, almost a question. I don't answer. "C'mon." He steps aside, inviting me forward without pressure. Slowly, cautiously, I walk closer. My free hand presses against the cut on my arm, sticky with drying blood. The sting reminds me this is real. "As you've heard," he says, "my name's Alby. Can you tell me anything about yourself? Who you are? How you got into the Maze?"

His questions aren't harsh. They're honest. But they send me spiraling anyway.

I don't know who I am.

Not my name. Not my age. Not where I came from.

Nothing.

"No," I whisper. My voice is barely a thread. I look down at my wrist - the woven bracelet. My eyes lock on a letter stitched into the band. It sparks nothing. No flicker of memory. No emotion. The symbol doesn't feel like mine. "Why can't I remember?" The question escapes me raw and warbling.

"It's okay," Alby says gently. "You can relax. It's normal. Happens to us all." His words slow the world down. "You'll get your name back in a day or two. That's the one thing they let us keep."

They.

The word sends more questions skittering through my head like loose gravel. "What is this place?" I ask, still a step inside the Maze. One foot in, one foot out. Like if I cross that line, I'll lose something I can't define.

Alby holds out a hand - not to take mine, just gesturing. "Let me show you."

I step onto the grass.

It's soft and springy beneath my boots, worn with hundreds of footsteps. The air smells like cut grass, warm wood, something earthy and real. The light is different here - unobstructed, golden, pouring from an open sky. No shadows of stone.

Boys are everywhere - hauling tools, feeding pigs, chasing after a chicken that's made a break for it. Some are working, others pretending to. I see a forge, glowing low. A cooking fire. A small orchard. A clothesline with shirts swaying like ghosts. Every inch of this place is lived-in.

"We eat here," Alby explains beside me. "We sleep here. We grow our own food. Build our own shelter." He gestures toward the pens, the fields, the buildings. "Whatever we need, the Box provides. The rest is up to us."

I blink. "What's the Box?"

Alby follows my gaze to the center of the Glade, where a square platform is embedded in the ground. The grass around it is trimmed shorter - like the others keep a respectful distance. It looks like an elevator - or maybe a trapdoor. "It's sent up once a month," he says. "With fresh supplies... and a new Greenie." His gaze lands back on me, heavy with thought. "It's only been a week since Chuck came up," he murmurs. "We were expecting to wait three more weeks. That's the way it's always been. One Greenie and one shipment per month. But they threw us off - putting you in the Maze."

"Who's 'they'?" I ask, voice tightening. "Who sends the stuff? Who put me there?"

Alby's face changes. Like something sour just slipped across his tongue. "That we don't know." He doesn't lie. But he doesn't like the answer either. Alby's expression softens - not much, just enough for me to notice. His eyes flick to something over my shoulder.

Then a new voice cuts in. "You alright, Alby?" It's smoother than Alby's, but with a different edge - an accent I don't recognize. A boy steps into view. Blonde, tall, lean with long limbs that look like they were made to run. He's the one who was standing with Minho at the entrance to the Maze. He moves with the casual confidence of someone used to being watched. There's something quiet in his eyes, though - tired, maybe. Or thoughtful.