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

- NEW GIRL -

We step inside the tent, the air thick with heat and quiet tension. The sharp tang of antiseptic hangs just below the scent of sweat and linen. The girl is still on the cot - pale, still, lips parted like she's in the middle of forming a thought she can't quite finish.

Minho is already there, crouched near the end of the bed, fingers laced together. Newt stands beside him, arms folded across his chest, his usual stance when his mind's working overtime. "We're trying to figure out why she won't wake up," Newt says, lifting his head as Thomas and I enter. His voice isn't panicked - it never is - but there's a deeper current behind it. Frustration. Worry.

Jeff shrugs as he moves aside to let us in. "And I told Newt I got my job the same way he did." I look at him, quirking a brow. Jeff chuckles dryly. "I mean by getting thrown into something I never asked for," he expands.

Newt doesn't respond. His gaze simply drifts back to the girl.

Thomas and I stop just short of the cot. I glance at him, searching for something in his face that might mirror what I feel - confusion, unease... that tug of familiarity I can't explain. "So you recognise her?" Newt asks.

I nod slowly. "Like I told you last night, I think I've seen her face before," I remind him.

"But we can't remember anything," Clint says, arms crossed like Newt's, but with more edge. "Why can you?"

"It's better than nothing," Minho cuts in, voice sharp. He doesn't look at Clint when he says it, but we all know who it's aimed at.

The room settles into uneasy silence. The girl's still breathing, barely visible, like the whole Glade is holding its breath with her. "What about the note?" Thomas asks, voice low.

My fingers twitch at the mention. The words from last night still sit in the pit of my stomach: She's the last one... ever. It was like the ground shifted under our feet when Clint read it out loud. Even now, the weight of it pulls everything down. "The note's a problem for later," Newt says. He said the same thing over dinner when the shouting started. And he says it again now, even as some of the others exchange glances.

"But he's right," Jeff says. "If the Box isn't coming back up, how long do you think we can last? Supplies will diminish quick."

"We've lasted this long," Minho mutters.

"Barely," Jeff replies.

Newt stays still, doesn't flinch. He's staring at the girl again, his jaw ticking once before he answers. "We'll just wait until she wakes up," he says. "See what she knows. There has to be some more answers." His eyes find mine after he speaks, and for a moment, I feel it - the softness behind the steel. He doesn't say it aloud, but I hear the quiet message in his gaze: You're not alone in this.

I nod. It's small, barely there, but enough. Enough to ground me. Newt's been like that since the start. Quiet stability.

"We can do something," Thomas says suddenly.

We all look at him.

"What?" Newt asks. But Thomas is already moving. His shoulders are squared with purpose. He brushes past Minho without a word and exits the tent. Newt's confusion flickers just long enough to give him away. His gaze snaps to Minho. "Go after him."

Minho huffs. "Damn Shank," he mutters, and then he's gone, ducking out into the sunlight after Thomas.

Inside, everything's quiet again. Clint and Jeff go back to checking the girl, murmuring between themselves. Newt doesn't move. Neither do I.

"Do you need any more help with Alby?" I ask gently, peeking over at Jeff, who's adjusting a cold compress on the boy's damp forehead. His chest rises and falls shallowly, but at least he's still breathing.

Jeff looks to Clint, uncertain. Clint sighs, pulling off his gloves. "Unfortunately, I'm not too sure what else you could do." That helplessness stings more than it should. I nod anyway, not wanting to take up space I can't fill. I turn to go, but-

"Hey," Newt says softly. He waits for me just outside the tent flap, hands in his pockets. "Walk with me?" We slip into a quieter part of the Glade, near where the back of the storage hut is half-hidden by growing vines and long-forgotten tools. The sun's just past its peak, casting bright light along the edges of everything, but there's a heavy stillness to the air. I can feel the weight of the day settling in my bones. "Did you want to try and think about what's going on?" Newt asks, his voice low and careful.

I sigh, rubbing my arm. "I just don't understand why I'm having these nightmares. Flashes of a different life, like I'm... someone else."

We keep walking slowly, leaves crunching beneath our feet. "Honestly, I wish I could give you an explanation," he murmurs. "But none of us get them. No one ever has."

"It must be tied to the fact I didn't come up in the Box," I say. And then I pause, fingers brushing against my pocket. I hesitate, then reach inside. "And I didn't tell you about this, but I had this."

I pull out the scalpel - the same one I first woke up with, still cool and clinical in the dying light. Newt's eyes widen slightly. "I-" He starts to question me, but stops himself. He doesn't press. Instead, he tilts his head, voice quiet. "That is weird."

"It slipped my mind," I offer, not quite a lie, but not the whole truth either. Then I hand it over to him. "Property of W.C.K.D," I utter allowed when I know his eyes are reading the small indented letter.

"Just like all the bloody crates that come up in the box," he hums. But he doesn't say anything further. Newt's eyes rise and he just watches me, like he's trying to piece something together from the quiet. There's something in his gaze that makes me want to figure everything out just so I can tell him. But then I think of Thomas. I think of the fact that he hasn't owned up to his own thoughts - he doesn't want to reveal anything. So I stay silent.

The moment hangs between us, filled with things we both want to ask but are too afraid to answer. The wind whistles, and Minho is suddenly near us. "(Y/n)?" He says.

Newt and I both turn. "Yeah?" I ask.

"Can I talk to you?" Minho wonders softly.

Newt gives me a small nod, already turning back toward the med tent. I glance at him once more. "See you in a bit," I say.

"Sure," he smiles, ducking under the tent flap as I follow Minho a few paces out into the open clearing.

"What is it?" I query.

Minho doesn't even bother with pretense. "Okay, so - turns out Thomas and you share a death wish," he states.

My stomach drops a little. "What do you mean?"

He sighs deeply - almost impatiently - as if I'm late to an idea. "I mean that Thomas wants to go get samples from the Griever he crushed. See what it's made of," he tells me.

I blink. "He's not going alone, is he?"

Minho's grin is tired, but real. "I thought you'd say that. No. I'm going with him. And you can come, if you want," he adds. "I'm gonna try and rope in a few others too. Take some weapons- just in case-"

"Yes, yes. I'm in," I interrupt. It's not even a question. I don't care how reckless it sounds. "Should we tell Newt?" I then ask, already knowing the answer.

Minho chuckles dryly. "Wouldn't let us go," he says. I think of the rules - bringing non-runners into the Maze. But Minho's reasoning is actually: "He worries too much."

"Right," I say quietly. My chest twists a little. I hate the idea of lying to Newt. I don't want to. But I can't bear the thought of missing this opportunity. I just won't bump into him until we leave. Its easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

"He'll get over it," Minho says with a knowing glance. "Meet us in the woods," he digresses. "Half an hour." I nod, resolve settling into me like a weight.

It's time to get some answers.

~