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

- A NIGHT IN THE MAZE -

I'm panting so hard, I feel like my lungs might rip in two. Thomas is frozen. Wide-eyed. "What?" His voice cracks.

I glare at him, chest heaving. "Why did you run in, Thomas?"

He glances at Alby again, crumpled and unconscious between us, then at Minho. His jaw clenches. "I- someone had to." Minho looks like he might say something sharp, but he doesn't. Thomas moves closer to Alby, kneeling to check his pulse. "What happened to him?"

Minho snaps: "What does it look like?" His voice echoes off the walls.

Still, I offer Thomas a tired explanation: "The dead Griever - we thought it was dead. It wasn't." I stop myself, exhausted. I turn to Minho, spotting his arm. "Your arm," I hiss, rummaging in my small pack for bandages, wrapping his forearm where I can.

Minho lets me work in silence. "He got stung," he finally explains more clear and simply for Thomas.

Thomas looks at us both, face pale. "What happened to his head?"

I glance up at Minho, but he won't meet my gaze. I force the words out. "We did what we had to," I say. The silence that follows is heavy - a thick, groaning dread.

Distant growls echo in the corridors. Not wind. Not shifting stone. Something alive. Minho jumps to his feet. "We've got to go. The Maze is already changing."

I press a hand to Alby's shoulder to rouse him. It doesn't help. "We can't leave him," I state. Minho stops in his tracks, frozen for a heartbeat. He looks at me. "If we were going to leave him, we would've done it already and been safely inside the glade" I say, voice firm despite the exhaustion. "But we didn't. We stayed together. That means we carry him."

Minho exhales. "You're right."

Thomas helps me shift Alby onto his shoulder. We rise - three terrified bodies, dragging the weight of our fallen friend as thunder rumbles far off, as if the Maze itself is mourning. "Look," I gasp after a few steps, "we should find somewhere to hide him- cover him up."

More roars echo, closer this time. Minho stops. "We've got to put him down."

I jolt his arm. "We can't put him down- that means leave him. We won't leave him."

He turns on me. "Don't be naive, Speedy- we should bury him, forget him. It's kill or be killed in here!"

Thomas crouches beside Alby, holding his head. "There must be somewhere nearby..."

Minho laughs-harsh, hollow. "There's nowhere safe! We're already dead!"

I step forward, defiant. "Don't talk like that."

He shakes his head. "You don't know the Maze like I do. You think you can pick and choose? This place eats you."

My heart pounds but I hold my ground. "I refuse to accept that."

Thomas exhales then, clearly thinking fast. He glances around the corridor - at the ivy crawling along the stone. Then up, toward the gaps where greenery snakes out of cracks. He whispers: "The vines."

I squint, then trace his gaze. Eight feet up, there's a mass of thick, hanging vines trailing from the wall. It would be enough to lift Alby through. Offer a hidden perch. I look back at Minho. My voice cracks with hope and fear and sheer will: "Thomas is right. If we hurry, we can get him up and hide him there. Out of the Griever's reach."

Minho glances at Alby, then at the vines. The growls behind us grow louder, angrier, urgent. He meets my eyes, nods, then hurries forward. "Come on then," he utters.

We hoist Alby up the vines, our fingers scraped raw, our muscles trembling with the effort. It's not graceful - nothing about it is. His body flops awkwardly as we work together, me, Minho and Thomas heaving him inch by inch, the vines biting into our hands.