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

- WHEN THE TRUTH GETS OUT -

We keep running.

There's no time to breathe, no time to speak. No time to think about what just happened - what I just did. I feel the weight of the pistol bouncing against my side as I move, and the raw sting of air tearing through my throat. My legs scream. My lungs burn.

But I keep running.

None of us say a word, but I know Newt wants to. I can feel it in the way he glances at me every few seconds, even as he runs. It's subtle - almost subconscious - but it's there. Questions written all over his face.

Not now. Not here.

I match my pace to his, unconsciously syncing myself with the rhythm of his limp. We've been through too much together. We've bled for each other. Even if he doesn't understand yet, he runs with me. I can explain my actions.

Ahead of us, the corridor opens up. The concrete underfoot gives way to dust and grit, and we reach the massive doors. The ones we were brought in through. They're towering slabs of reinforced steel, now peeling back on grinding hinges. Like the mouth of a beast opening to spit us out.

Nighttime hits us like a wall.

A different kind of darkness out here - unfiltered and immense. No lights. No walls. Just the open desert and a black sky stretched so wide it feels like we could fall up into it. The air outside is colder than expected, sharp with grit, and dry in a way that sucks the moisture straight from your skin. The sand is alive beneath our feet - wind whips it up into spinning ghosts, pulling dust from the ground and spiraling it into the air.

We push forward.

The first hill looms ahead. It's nothing but a swell of pale sand, lit faintly by a sickle moon trying to claw through the clouds. It's not too steep, but every step is a struggle - sand gives way underfoot, slowing us down, stealing our momentum.

But we climb.

"Go, go!" Thomas is calling from the front, voice hoarse. "We'll lose them in the dark!"

I haven't spoken. My throat's locked. Too full of everything I don't have time to say. I keep my eyes forward, my breathing tight, my fingers clenched into fists.

But as I crest the top of the first hill, I look back. I can't help it.

There it is. The compound. A squat fortress of concrete and steel, half-buried into the desert like a secret the earth tried to forget. That's where I saw my father. Where he tried to build a bridge between us out of nothing but lies and manipulation. That's where I was strapped to a table. Where WICKED was going to use me - again. And now they're coming.

The first of the guards pour out through the open doors. Their flashlights cut through the night like needles of white-hot suspicion, searching the dunes for shapes in the dark. I hear the rev of engines - a high-pitched snarl - and see the bobbing headlights of motorbike-like vehicles emerging behind them.

Search teams. Fast ones. "Down!" Minho hisses, waving us into the sand. We all drop, low and fast, tucking ourselves behind what little cover the uneven dunes provide. The wind kicks up harder now, filling the air with dust that stings the eyes and coats the throat.

The lights from the compound grow smaller as we move, but they don't disappear. They're chasing us. We spread out instinctively although it might not be the best choice. I drift left with Newt, our bodies hunched, feet digging quietly into the sand.

I keep my breathing shallow. My mouth tastes grainy. The desert is howling around us now, wind tearing through the hills in sharp whistles. The sky is smeared with gray clouds and dust. No stars. Just void.