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

- AN OPEN GLADE -

We make our way back through the Maze, the high stone walls closing in behind us like a secret we barely escaped. My legs ache with every step, my shirt clings to me, soaked in sweat and dust, and none of us says a word until the Glade is in sight.

They're all waiting.

A group of boys huddle near the Maze doors, wide-eyed and whispering. As we get closer, the crowd shifts - and then I see Newt, standing at the front with arms crossed, expression tight.

"What the bloody hell was going on out there?" He says, his voice lined with worry. His eyes flick over each of us, scanning for injuries. They must've heard the crashing, the walls groaning and falling like thunder.

"A new passage," Thomas pants out beside me, bent forward with his hands on his knees.

"It could be a way out," I add quickly, stepping forward, voice breathless but alive with adrenaline. "We found something- something new."

"Really?" Newt says. It isn't skepticism - it's disbelief. He looks at me like he wants to believe it, but it sounds too good to be true.

"It's true," Minho jumps in, pacing a few steps toward him. His voice is urgent. Serious. "We followed that beeping device - the one from the Box. It led us to a hidden section. A door opened. Not one I've ever seen before." By now, the rest of the boys are gathering close, trailing behind us like a slow-moving tide, leaning in, listening. "We think it's where the Grievers go," Minho continues. "During the day, when they disappear. It's like... their home."

"Wait, wait-" Chuck steps up between the taller Gladers, his voice high with alarm. "Are you saying you found the Grievers' home? And you want to go in there?"

"Their way in could be our way out, Chuck," I say gently, trying to reassure him. "It might be the only way."

"Yeah, or there could be a dozen Grievers waiting on the other side," Gally cuts in from the back, stepping forward with arms flaring wide. "You guys have no idea what you've actually done!"

Thomas stops walking, his breath still heavy, and turns on him sharply. "Yeah, well, at least I did something, Gally."

Tension rips through the group like a spark to dry grass. "Oh, here we go," I mutter, and step between them. "Enough with the boy egos." The crowd goes still. "We all just want to get out, alright?" I say, looking between them. "No one's trying to be a hero. No one wants to die. But sitting around hasn't worked, and this - this might."

"Yeah, we want to get out," Gally scoffs, "not get killed in the process."

"Woah," Thomas snaps.

"You've been here what? Three days?" Gally points at him. Then his eyes land on me. "Three weeks, trouble?" His tone is bitter. Resentful. "I've been here three years!"

"And you're still here," Thomas bites out, jaw clenched. "That says it all."

"Guys!" a voice cuts through the tension like a blade. We all turn. Teresa's standing at the edge of the group, chest rising quickly with exertion. "It's Alby," she says. "He's awake."

Silence falls. The kind that settles fast and heavy. Everyone forgets the fight in a second.

Thomas glances at me. I look at Minho. Newt's already moving, pushing through the boys, and one by one, we all follow.

We rush toward the med tent, feet pounding on dirt, breaths ragged. The chatter behind us dies down, replaced by sharp urgency.

"Not everyone inside all at once," Newt warns firmly. He holds the Med-Tent flap open, his posture rigid, eyes sharp as he scans the small group that he allows inside.