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

- A BONFIRE -

Despite being a little bit lost and feeling out of control, I sit.

Clint and another boy, who I think is named Stan, show up not long after, knives in hand. Stan twirls his between his fingers like it's weightless, then tosses it over his shoulder and catches it without looking. Clint just cracks his knuckles and steps up like this is routine. Like breathing.

Chuck hovers near my side, chewing his lip and shifting from foot to foot. His eyes dart between me and the knife throwers. Nervous, maybe for me. Or just in general, still trying to fit in. Minho leans back against the tree, arms crossed. He's not smiling, but his raised eyebrows say enough - he's watching. Alby, too, observes from a small rise, hands behind his back, feet planted. His posture is clean, almost military. Calm. Commanding. Gally - a boy who thus far doesn't like me very much - stands directly across the circle, arms folded like stone, mouth a tight line. His eyes say it all: I don't belong here.

The circle forms around us.

Clint throws first. The knife slices through the air and lands with a satisfying thunk, just outside the bullseye. Stan follows up with a smirk, burying his blade a little deeper, a little closer to the center. The boys cheer, shouting jokes back and forth. And before I can stop myself, the words slip out of me: "Can I try?"

Silence follows.

Every head turns.

Gally's smirk returns. Slow. Sharp. "You're a girl," he says, each word dipped in condescension. Some boys laugh. Others look uncomfortable, like they don't know which side they're supposed to be on.

His voice is meant to shake me. But it doesn't. If anything, it crystallizes something in my chest. Solid. Burning. Minho is the one that moves. Its just a jerk of his chin, pointedly at Ben, which makes the other boy start moving. Ben walks to the weapon pile, picks a knife, and walks it back to me. He holds it out, handle first.

That's it. No lecture. No hesitation. Just a simple, silent offer - but it is Minho who wants to see me throw it, not Ben.

I take it.

The weight surprises me. It's heavier than it looks. Cold, too, like the metal's never known warmth. The firelight glances off the edge, gleaming like a threat.

I rise from my seat.

The crowd parts as I step forward. The stool creaks behind me as I leave it empty. The ground is uneven beneath my boots, packed tight from too many steps. I walk up to the line - the invisible one. I can feel them all watching. The air is thick. My breath is shallow. And then something strange happens. I close my eyes. And I remember. Not a name. Not a place.

But a room.

White, sterile, humming with fluorescent light. A target on the wall - perfect, centered, untouched. A knife in my hand. This one's not like that one, but close enough. My body remembers even if my mind doesn't.

I open my eyes.

The oak looms in front of me. The target carved deep. Years of gouges and splinters. Worn. Weathered. Perfect.

I raise my arm.

Draw back.

And throw.

The blade whistles through the air, spinning clean and true. Thump.

Right in the center.

Silence. Again. This time it's different. This time, it's electric. And then Fry lets out a whoop that practically shakes the trees. "Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" He calls. Cheers follow. Louder. Real. Clint and Stan are already moving, lifting me into the air with practiced ease, like I've done this a thousand times.

I laugh.

I can't help it. It bubbles out of me, caught somewhere between disbelief and adrenaline and something sharp in my chest that feels suspiciously like joy.

The firelight glows brighter now, or maybe that's just me. I feel taller. Lighter. Not invisible.

Chuck's jumping up and down. Minho even cracks a grin. Gally... his face has changed. A little less tight. A little less certain. "Well you're trouble," I think he says, although the noise overpowers his words. Alby's nodding. A real nod. Like approval. I want to find Newt in the crowd but my eyes dont land on him.

My feet hit the ground again.

But something's shifted.

My breath hitches. A sound, a flash, something jagged in my brain.

And then-

A word.

A name.

My name.

Like a thread pulled tight, snapping through the fog.

"(Y/n)," I whisper. "My name is (Y/n)," I say more boldly.

And just like that-

I exist again.

~