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

- BOOK TWO : THE SCORCH -

That doctor is in my dreams again.

Not the way I last saw her - pale, spattered with blood, lips parted in death. No, she's younger here. Skin smooth. Eyes alert. Hair still glossy and pinned back neatly in a twist. She's smiling, the kind of tight, careful smile adults use when they're lying. She looks proud. Pleased. She's in a white lab coat, standing in a bright, clean hallway filled with glass and sterile light. And she's not alone.

He's there too - the man with the steely presence. No medical coat, just authority. A hand tucked behind his back like he's always halfway through a military briefing. I used to think he was just someone in charge. A WICKED superior. But tonight, in the dream, something twists deep in my stomach. Something recognizes him.

The way his hand grazes the back of my head in the dream. The way he looks down at the doctor when she speaks. Not as a superior. Not as a peer. But as someone who trusts her. Someone who was once close to her.

He's my father.

The realization slices through the dream like cold wind.

My limbs freeze. The air goes static. I try to speak - to call out, to ask - but I can't move. Can't scream. I'm trapped in this memory I never asked to keep. And then I hear the scream.

High. Childish.

My dream shifts like glass cracking - the hallway falls away - and I see him.

A boy. Small. Curled. His body is crumpled against cold concrete. A dark pool spreads beneath his tiny frame. And the walls... they're stone now. Harsh, slatted, familiar.

It's the room after the Maze. The same sterile, hellish lab that held us - tested us - like rats.

I see myself standing at the edge of it, helpless, my fists clenched so tight they shake. I take a step toward the boy, and even in the dream I feel the dread clawing up my spine.

Because I know him. The same curly hair. The round face. Chuck. But no. Not just Chuck.

My little brother.

My knees hit the dream-floor before I even realize I've collapsed. My heart is pounding - screaming - and the boy's name is stuck in my throat. I try to go to him, to touch him, to turn him over. To see the color in his cheeks. But he doesn't move. His skin is already too pale.

And then I see the woman. She's standing just beyond the body. Not like a ghost - not ethereal. She's real. Her hair is dark and wild like tangled forest roots. Her eyes, green. Deep. Ancient. Like they've seen more than the world could hold.

She doesn't speak. She doesn't reach for me. She only watches. And just as suddenly as she appears, she's gone - dissolved into black, like she was never there at all.

The man's voice returns - distorted, echoing.

"WICKED is good."

~~~

"(Y/n), come on!!"

Thomas is shouting. His voice rips through the haze that's blanketed my mind since the moment Chuck fell.

I'm on the helicopter. My knees are pressed to my chest, my fingers clawing at my pant legs as the reality of everything lingers like smoke in my throat. I can't breathe. I can't think.

"My brother..." I whisper.

My friends aren't around me to react. I dont think they'd even know what they mean. But Thomas pauses in his desperate grab for me - just a flicker - and in that second I swear he does know. Maybe not everything. Maybe not the whole of it. But enough. Enough to hurt, too.