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

- VERITY -

A voice carries up from below, breaking the quiet moment. "What's going on up there, Darling?" Newt calls out, his voice easy, familiar.

Teresa scrunches her nose at the nickname, a small frown flickering across her face. She doesn't like being called that.

"It's not aimed at you," I say quickly, though my tone comes out sharper than I mean it to. "That's just Newt. He means well." I stand up, brushing my hands on my pants to shake off the stiffness. "Thomas, do you want to come up here?" Voices from below shuffle as a few of the boys turn to give us some space. I gesture with my hand. "The rest of you - give us some room. We need to talk."

As Thomas climbs the ladder up, Teresa's gaze doesn't waver from me. I feel the fragile thread of connection forming between us, the first hint that maybe, just maybe, we can get through this together.

We all settle down on the wooden planks of the tower. Teresa sits stiffly, clutching her hands like they're a fragile thread to a past none of us fully understand. Thomas leans forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes sharp but thoughtful. I find myself in the middle of them. The two who were sent up in the box, and the girl who appeared in the Maze.

"Okay," I start slowly, careful to measure my words, "there's a lot to explain. I'll try to make it simple." I think of the note that Teresa had when she arrived. I don't know where it is now. Probably with Gally or Newt. "You appeared with a scrap of paper. And it wasn't just some random scribble." I begin with that statement, only to realise its probably not the most crucial point to address. "You came up in that Box, and it hasn't gone down since," I sum up easily. "You're the last person who will come to this Glade." Thomas' eyes fix on the elevator machanism as if he's only just realising that. "Right now we're in the Glade," I digress. "Everything here has rules. Rules that Alby set when he was in charge. But he... he's not really running things anymore."

Teresa's eyes flicker with confusion. "What do you mean? Was he the leader?"

I shake my head. "Alby got hurt in the Maze." I gesture to the towering walls. "They call it the Changing, but currently we've left him unconscious to avoid that," I say. Thomas nods beside me, his expression serious. "We're all trying to keep the place stable - this boy, Newt, has stepped into command," I tell her. A deep sigh pulls at my chest. "But it's... fragile."

Thomas picks up the thread. "The Maze," he goes on, pointing out to the distant walls, "runs on cycles. And creatures - the Grievers - come out at night."

Teresa nods slowly, the knife resting now on her lap. "I know its a lot," I voice. "I'm sorry to dump it on you like this."

"It's alright," she says softly. Thomas and I both know that it's not.

Birds call in the distance, but here on the tower, the main sound is the soft rustle of wind through the wooden slats and the steady thump of our own hearts. The three of us - Teresa, Thomas, and I - sit in our precarious triangle, each holding our own secret fragments, unaware of how much we might share.

I draw in a slow breath, hands tight in my lap. "Guys, I think this needs to be addressed," I say, voice low and deliberate. I feel their eyes flick to me, watching, waiting. Across from me, Teresa folds her arms, blue eyes fierce. Thomas leans forward, watching her too. I swallow hard. "I've been thinking. All those boys - Newt, Minho, Clint, Jeff, Gally, Chuck, everyone - they remember nothing beyond their names. But us... we're different." I glance at Thomas. "I know, that we all have glimpses of another life, because I see you two in mine."

I leave unsaid the lab-coated boy or the voice that calls me by name in dreams. It feels impossible to share. Instead, I watch Thomas's face pale and Teresa's eyes flicker. "Yeah," Teresa exclaims quietly, voice trembling. "I remember water. Feeling like I'm drowning - cold, dark, the kind of deep you can't scream in. I can feel it even now, like a bruise in my chest."

I nod, heart pounding. Thomas's jaw tightens. "My legs... they were pumping so hard I thought they'd collapse beneath me, like I was running for my life. It wasn't a sprint - it was a test for survival," he says.

Pressure blooms in the knot between my chest and thyroid. I reach for it. "There was a woman," I breathe. My gaze drops to the rusty barrels in the distance, its battered surface engraved with W.C.K.D. "Repeating one thing over and over."

Teresa's voice is harsh and direct: "WICKED is good."

Thomas echoes it softly. The words send a tremor through me- truth wrapped in haunting echo. I look at him, shock catching in my throat. For the first time, his tone was... real.

Silence stretches between us, thick and exposed.

Teresa sucks in a breath. "I need to show you guys something." She reaches into her back pocket and pulls out two small vials. The glass catches sunlight, electric blue liquid swirling inside. "These were with me." She holds one toward me and one toward Thomas. My fingers tremble as I take them. W.C.K.D is etched in silver on each vial. Teresa's voice wobbles. "I have this feeling - like there was something else, something I had to remember, but it slipped away."

Thomas takes the vials and inspects them like he's examining a foreign object. Then he stops and looks at me. I glance down. "You had a bracelet," I state. The woven item is there, almost identical to the one I woke up with. I flush. "I- I took it," I admit quietly, lifting my hand to show it. "It was in your back pocket."

Teresa narrows her eyes but nods slowly. "(Y/n)," she says deliberately, emphasising the first syllable of my name. She scoops the bracelet from my hand, "maybe this is meant for you?" Teresa hands it back to me. I catch her eye, the letter etched into the bead, and I'm caught between gratitude and confusion.

Thomas clears his throat. "Hey, (Y/n)- if WICKED is good'," he holds up the vial to the light, "and this stuff came up with Teresa..." His words trail off. As if he wants me to connect the dots.

My breath catches. The vial's blue glow seems alive, impersonal but potent. The implications hit me all at once. "Alby," I whisper, voice unwavering.

Yet alongside the thoughts of my friend, I realise that Teresa never even told Thomas her name.

~