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

- THE FIRST CLUE -

Footsteps approach from the other end of the corridor. Heavy, deliberate. A second figure steps into view.

A man. Tall, wearing a black coat. His face is hidden by shadow, but his voice cuts through the air like static - low, commanding, heartbreakingly familiar.

"You're the best hope we have, (Y/n)." He's talking about me? "For the future." To someone? Or maybe to himself? I stare at them, the panic clawing up my throat like smoke. I want to scream, to demand answers. Who is he? Why do I feel like I know him? Then he looks at me. His eyes are sharp, sad. "It didn't have to be this way," he says. "But you leave us no choice."

The woman smiles again and steps closer, like this is all normal. "WICKED is good-"

"Shit," I mutter, flinching and dropping the device. It hits the stone ground with a sharp metallic clack.

"You alright?" Thomas rushes forward. Minho's hand lands on my shoulder reassuringly.

"Yeah," I say quickly, forcing my voice to steady. "I'm okay." I push the memory back, stuff it down like I'm getting used to doing. "Just... got dizzy."

Minho bends, retrieving the device carefully, eyes still flicking back to me every few seconds. "We can take this back to the Glade now, right?" Frypan pipes up from the edge of the clearing. "Because I don't wanna meet this guy's friends."

I press the heel of my palm to my forehead. It makes it sticky with sweat and muck. "Fry's right. It's getting late," Thomas voices. He walks over, looking at me in that quiet way of his. Concern, understanding... something else. Without a word, he reaches up and gently wipes the streak of slime off my forehead with his sleeve, casual but careful. My heart skips, but I say nothing. "Let's get back," he voices.

Minho tucks the device under his arm, and we all start moving again. The sun is dipping lower, casting long shadows across the maze floor. But somehow, the run back feels faster. Maybe it's adrenaline. Maybe it's fear. Or maybe we're just getting closer to the truth.

We make it back to the Glade, breathless, sweat clinging to our backs, feet heavy with the weight of what we'd found - and what it might mean. We don't speak until we're standing inside the Council Hut. The six of us who ventured out: me, Thomas, Minho, Zart, Fry, and Winston. Newt waits for us inside. Gally's already there, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Newt doesn't look surprised that we left.

"We found this inside the Griever," I say. My voice is steady, but my hands are still sticky with dried mucus. I hand him the small, beeping device. Newt takes it with care, flipping it over, examining the screen, the etched word.

He reads it aloud. "'W.C.K.D.'" Then he glances up. "Same exact labelling," he mutters and I know he's also referring to what I showed him earlier.

"Whoever put us here obviously made the Grievers," Thomas says, stepping forward, the weight of it all plain in his face.

"This is the first real clue," I say.

"Yeah! The first anything you've found in over three years," Thomas adds. "Right, Minho?"

Minho nods. "He's not wrong."

"Newt, we need to go back out there," I insist. "This thing might lead us to something else- more clues. An exit. A reason," I voice.

Newt's face shifts, considering. But Gally's already shaking his head. "You see what they're doing, right?" He says, stepping closer, voice rising. "Trouble here shows up out of order, and then he arrives and breaks the rules. Now they're both just tossing them aside completely? The rules are the only thing that's kept this place from burning down. Why are we even questioning them now?"

"Gally, we're not trying to start an uprising," I reply firmly. "We're trying to get out of here."

Gally turns on Newt. "If Alby were here, you know he'd agree with me. These Shanks should be punished. Or we're setting a precedent that the rules mean nothing!" He argues.

"You're right," Newt says, to everyone's surprise. He gestures between us. "(Y/n) appeared randomly. And Thomas broke the biggest rule we have." Thomas steps back, jaw tight, ready to argue - until Newt finishes. "Thomas gets one night in the Pit. No food," he deduces.

Thomas nods without complaint, shoulders stiff but accepting. "And (Y/n)?" Gally demands. "No punishment? That's favoritism, Newt!"

"I'll go in the Pit," I say quickly, lifting my hands in surrender. "If it'll shut you up, I'll do it."

Gally scoffs but doesn't protest my suggestion. "Still, I know it won't stop either of you from going into the Maze again."

"It doesn't matter if (Y/n) goes in there," Newt says, arms folded like his patience is wearing thin. "But you're right about one thing, Gally - non-Runners aren't allowed in the Maze." He looks to Thomas. "So let's make this official. Starting tomorrow - Thomas, you're a Runner."

Thomas's mouth parts. Shock, pride, a touch of fear all pass through his eyes. I can't help the chuff of a laugh that leaves me. Minho nods slightly, expressing his appreciation. Gally, meanwhile, looks like he's going to explode. He turns, shoving past the flaps. "Gally," Frypan calls after him, but Gally brushes him off with a hard shove of his shoulder. Fry hesitates, then follows him anyway.

Thomas looks to Newt. "Thank you."

Newt opens his mouth, maybe to say something meaningful, but whatever it is dies on his tongue. He simply turns away, folding his arms again like he's carrying the whole Glade on his shoulders. I fear that he is.

The Council Hur clears out. Thomas, Minho, and I linger outside it. I feel the air loosen a bit. "Before you guys head to the Pit tonight," Minho says quietly, glancing toward the trees. "There's something I need to show you."

"What is it?" I ask, already moving with him.

Minho doesn't smile. Doesn't joke. He just says, "The truth."

~