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

- CONSEQUENCES OF CHANGING -

Newt lets out a short, amused breath through his nose. "I guess I'll see you soon then," he voices. I flash him a grin over my shoulder as I leave the garden behind and follow after Thomas.

The air is thick with the smell of earth and decay as I make my way toward the small, overgrown path that leads to the fertilizer pit. The trees here grow closer together, and the deeper I go, the quieter everything becomes. Even the ever-present hum of insects seems muffled here. I don't come to this side of the woods often - it's not forbidden, just forgotten. A dead zone, really. Mostly used for gathering lumber, and even that's rare now. No one likes being here. It feels... wrong.

I step over twisted roots and duck beneath a low-hanging branch, eyes scanning for any sign of Thomas. The bucket he was given is still empty, slung carelessly by a trail of boot prints that don't lead toward the compost. They disappear off into the trees, away from where he was supposed to be.

With a sigh, I follow them.

The trees crowd closer as I press deeper in. The light shifts - muted, green-filtered, the canopy above thick enough to steal the sun. My boots crunch through old leaves and dried twigs, but even the sound of my steps feels like it doesn't belong here. It's too quiet. No chatter of the boys. No distant clangs from the Glade. Just me. Just the trees. A cold shiver trails down my spine.

Then I see him.

"Hey, Thomas!" I call out, relief cutting through my unease. But something's off. He stumbles back like he doesn't see me at first, his chest rising and falling far too fast. Pale. Eyes wide. Hands trembling.

"(Y/n)?" His voice cracks as he turns to look at me.

I walk up, frowning. "You completely surpassed the fertilizer. It's the opposite direction, you know."

He doesn't smile. Doesn't even pretend to be sheepish. Instead, he lifts a hand and points at the ground in front of him. "What is this?" he asks. I glance down. A cluster of crude wooden markers. At first, they look like broken branches - random. But they're not. They've been shaped, cut with purpose. And the plaques... names are scratched into them, rough and jagged. I read one aloud under my breath: George. "I've seen George's name once," Thomas says, voice quieter now. "It was-"

"Crossed out," I finish for him, my voice suddenly dry. "On the name wall." I kneel, brushing away moss at the base of one marker. There are more. Six, maybe seven in total. All buried here, out of sight. "I haven't seen this before," I whisper, but in my bones, I know what it is. Graves. Hidden here like a secret.

Thomas shifts beside me. "What do you-?"

A sharp snap of a twig behind us cuts his question short. We freeze. My heart climbs up into my throat as we both whirl around. Someone's there - partially obscured by shadow. Then he steps forward. "Ben?" I say, startled. "What are you doing here? It's only midday. You and Minho were supposed to be out for hours."

But he doesn't answer. Just stands there, panting. Bent at the waist like an animal ready to pounce. His skin gleams with sweat and something darker. Dirt? Blood? His eyes are wide and feral, lips twisted into a snarl. His entire body trembles as if it's taking every ounce of control not to fall apart. "Uh, (Y/n)..." Thomas says quietly beside me, trying to nudge me backwards.

I take a step. Then another. Ben growls - actually growls - and then lets out a hoarse, animalistic scream before charging. "Hey!" I cry out as he barrels into Thomas. They hit the ground hard, fists swinging and limbs flailing.

"Get the hell off of me!" Thomas yells, struggling beneath him.

Ben doesn't listen. "This is your fault! I saw you!" He roars, his hands wrapping around Thomas's neck.