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

- VERITY -

"Minho, are you taking us to the Map Room?" I ask as we move deeper into the woods, the crunch of leaves underfoot filling the quiet spaces between us.

"Yeah," he says, glancing sideways at me. I feel a little thrill - only Minho, Newt and Alby ever get near the Map Room. It's like stepping into a secret part of the Glade. "Lower that high," Minho mutters, probably reading the excitement on my face.

"Why?" I wonder, falling in step beside Thomas, who's listening, too.

Minho stops at a battered tent, worn and quiet. He pulls back the flap and inside, a dim light illuminates a sprawling table. The map. The Maze itself - rendered in tiny sticks, bits of twig, and scraps of dried leaves, each piece carefully positioned to show the twisting corridors, the dead ends, the open sections. "This is all of it," Minho says quietly, like the map itself is a fragile truth.

Thomas leans over, eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean? I thought you were still mapping?"

Minho shakes his head, almost sadly. "There's nothing left to map. I've run every inch myself. Every cycle, every pattern. If there was a way out, we'd have found it by now."

I watch Thomas digest this, the weight of it sinking in. "And you haven't told anyone?" I ask, voice low.

Minho looks at us both. "It was Alby's call. People need to believe there's a chance. Hope keeps the Glade together." He starts pacing, restless. "But maybe now," he stops, standing between us, "maybe now we have a real chance."

My fingers tighten around the device I hold - the small beeping thing from inside the Griever. "And this," I say, holding it up, "is a link?"

Minho nods. "About a year ago, we started exploring these outer areas," he starts and points to different parts of the map. "Found numbers on the walls - sections one through eight." He gestures around the edges. "The Maze opens a new section every night when it shifts. So today, section six was open." I remember him explaining this before I joined them. Thomas leans in, interested now. "Tomorrow it will be four, then eight, then three," Minho continues. "The pattern always stays the same."

Thomas's eyes flick to the device in my hand. "So what's special about seven?"

"Maybe the Griever came from that section," I guess.

"Section seven was the one open last night," Minho says. "Tomorrow, we're going to explore them. The three of us."

I glance between Thomas and Minho. A grin creeps across my face. "Three brains are better than two."

Thomas smiles back, nodding. "Definitely." Minho cracks a rare smile, and suddenly, in this strange, dangerous place, it feels like we might actually have a shot.

But then there's the sound of hurried footsteps behind me, panting and urgent. "What're you guys doing? You're not allowed here!" Minho's voice cuts sharp through the noise.

It's Clint and Jeff, catching up, out of breath. "Sorry. But it's the girl," Jeff says. "You could say she's awake."

Without waiting, I push past them, bursting out of the woods and into the open glade. The tall Watchtower where Alby first spoke to me stands in the center, looming high. From up top, objects - rocks, sticks, who knows what else - are being hurled down at the boys below. "Girls are awesome!" Chuck's voice calls out from a distance, eyes wide with admiration.

Boys are shouting, scrambling to defend themselves with whatever they can grab. "I don't think she likes us very much," Newt mutters, ducking behind a makeshift shield.

The chaos quiets suddenly as I yell in my highest, most urgent voice, "Hey! It's (Y/n)!!" The throwing stops. The boys freeze. A girl's face peeks nervously over the edge of the tower. "Can I come up?" I call. She nods and slips back behind the edge. No more objects are hurled down at us.