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

- A MAN BUILT ON LIES -

He narrows his eyes, voice like steel. "(Y/n), you're speaking nonsense. You don't know what you saw. You have no proof."

"I don't need proof," I say, but my voice cracks - just a little. "I have my instincts. And I know you. You would always struggle to lie to me when I was younger." He says nothing.

"Sir," the guard says again from the door.

My father turns toward him. "I'm coming," he snaps. Then, to me, he says low and dangerous, "Stay put."

"I won't," I retort.

But he's already at the door. He hesitates - just one heartbeat - and for a second, I think he might say something human. Might remember who I used to be to him.

Instead, he steps out and shuts the door behind him. A metallic click follows. A lock. I stare at the handle. Try it. Nothing.

He locked me in.

I'm trembling, but not from fear.

From fury.

From betrayal.

From the terrifying understanding that I'm right. And that I'm alone in that realisation.

~~~

I don't know how long I've been pacing the room.

Time stretches and collapses on itself, and I lose count of how many laps I've made between the far wall and the locked door. My hands are fists. My legs ache. My throat still burns from the things I shouted at him.

When the door finally clicks open, I spin.

My father steps in with a calm that instantly sets me on edge. "New plan," he says, like we're starting a meeting.

"What?" I snap, eyes narrowing.

"We're upgrading you and your boys," he says. "You're being moved to the next facility. It's time."

He says it like it's a gift. Like I'm supposed to thank him. I study his face, every line and flicker of muscle, and I see it. The falseness in his jaw. The little twitch in his eye. The flat, rehearsed tone. "You're still lying," I say coldly. "You're going to hurt us. Resume experiments. Strip us down and watch what breaks first."

His face darkens. "It really didn't have to be this way," he mutters, stepping closer, and I feel as though I've been here before. "Dr. Paige isn't as forgiving of your stunt." I picture the woman the moment she put a bullet on her head. "Especially since you've always been the most promising." He says it like I'm some kind of trophy. A specimen. Something to polish and present.

"Don't," I spit. "Don't talk about me like I'm an asset."

"You don't really have a choice," he says, like he's done pretending. "Guards." Two men enter without hesitation. One grabs my arm hard, and the other moves to secure the other side. I twist, shove, but they're stronger, and my feet barely drag across the floor as they pull me into the corridor.

"You're not going to get away with this!" I shout, but no one answers.

We stop in front of our bunk room. My father steps forward, keycard already in hand. He swipes it across the scanner, but nothing happens.

Locked.

He frowns. Swipes it again.

Still nothing.

Then he pounds on the door, hard. "Open this door!" He barks, losing that polished composure for just a second. He slams the card again. This time it clicks. The door creaks open.