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

- NO MORE HARMONY -

My chest tightens, breath hitching in my throat. Every instinct screams at me to run, to hide, to scream for help that won't come. The ground beneath my feet feels less solid with each passing second, as if the earth itself is trying to swallow me whole.

Then suddenly, cutting through the cacophony, Thomas and Teresa burst into the clearing. Relief surges like a wave, but there's no time to breathe. "Thomas!" I call, my voice cracking. His face is pale but fierce, a torch clenched tightly in his hand, casting flickering shadows over the chaos.

"We need to run!" He shouts urgently. Behind us, the night thrums with the advancing threat - the Grievers moving in, their grotesque shapes only faint silhouettes against the pale moonlight.

There's no hesitation. We bolt.

My heart hammers in my chest as we sprint across the open clearing, the cold night air whipping past us. The torch in Thomas's hand wavers, flickering dangerously close to extinguishing.

Desperation flares inside me. I rip a glass bottle from one of the nearby crates - the one with a faint, oily smell - and stuff a rag in its neck before lighting it in Thomas' fire. The flickering flame sputters alive, trembling in my grasp.

Ahead, a Griever looms, its spiked venomous tail twitching menacingly. I don't think. I throw the bottle with all my strength. It shatters against the creature's side, and flames erupt instantly, licking hungrily around its cold, metal body. The Griever screams - a horrible, mechanical shriek - thrashing wildly, its burning flesh melting and sparking in a grotesque dance of agony.

We keep running, hearts pounding as the clearing slips behind us.

I'm torn from Newt's side at some point - a cruel jolt of panic surges through me when I realise. I glance back, searching, but the shadows have swallowed him, his figure lost amid the chaos. The desperation burns hot inside me. He's not there.

He's gone.

I run with Thomas - not wholly by choice, but because he has a death grip on my arm. Alby is close behind, being assisted by faces I can't discern in the dark. All of us are a fragile line, adrenaline and fear driving us toward the Council Hut.

Then Alby stumbles, crashing hard to the ground with a grunt of pain.

"Alby!" I shout, skidding to a halt and turning back.

Before I can reach him, a Griever lunges from the shadows, its spiked tail curling, venom dripping. I freeze, breath caught in my throat, my mind screaming that this is the end - that I'm about to die here, in the dirt, helpless.

Yet a spear pierces the air, striking the Griever through the torso. It shrieks and falls back, momentarily stunned. "Run!!" Newt's voice rings out, sharp and urgent. Another spear flies, thrown with deadly precision by Stan, striking the creature again.

I gasp, panting as the danger retreats. Relief floods me, but there's no time to linger. "Thank you," I manage between gasps, heart pounding fiercely.

We break into a run again, sprinting as a unit - Newt, limping but determined, leads the way. Thomas and Teresa are close behind, while Clint struggles to help Alby keep moving.

"Here, quick!" Chuck's voice cuts through the chaos, guiding us toward a sturdy wooden building.

We stumble inside, bodies pressed against one another as Wes and Aiden slam the heavy wooden doors shut behind us. The sound echoes loudly - a final, desperate barrier against the horrors just beyond.

Inside the Council Hut, the silence is suffocating.

Deathly quiet.

The kind of silence that presses down on your chest so hard you can barely breathe.