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

- WHEN THE TRUTH GETS OUT -

"That was WICKED," I explain softly. "They were lying to us. All of it."

"Those kids they promised to keep safe..." Thomas starts, voice low, throat tight.

"What happened to them?" Minho asks.

"Aris and I followed the bodies through the door," Thomas informs me. The others don't look surprised - like he already explained it to them. "They weren't killed. But..." Thomas hesitates. "Not alive either. They were... strung up. Tubes in their arms. Being drained." He looks at each of us in turn. "We saw it."

A cold chill sweeps through the room, stronger than the wind blowing in from the shattered windows. "Drained?" Frypan asks, eyes narrowing.

"There's something in us," Thomas says. "In our blood. Whatever it is, WICKED wants it. Needs it. So we have to stay as far away from them as possible. Forever."

No one speaks for a second. Newt lets out a sharp breath and rubs a hand over his face. "So what's the plan?" He asks.

Thomas doesn't answer right away. He shifts uncomfortably, his shoulders rising like he's bracing for something. "I don't know," he admits.

The silence after that is instant and sharp. Newt stares, eyebrows lifted. "We followed you out here, into a bloody sandstorm, and you don't have a plan?"

Thomas opens his mouth, but I cut in, gently. "I heard something... something called The Right Arm." Everyone looks at me. I can feel the suspicion again. But this time, it's tempered by curiosity. The need to believe in something. "I know nothing more than the name," I sheepsihly add.

Aris steps up beside me, his voice steady. "I've heard that name, too. I think they're real. Some kind of underground army in the mountains. A resistance, maybe," he says. "They're against WICKED. They're fighting back."

"If they really are against WICKED," I add, voice growing stronger, "maybe they'll help us."

Newt blinks slowly. Then: "People in the mountains," he repeats. "Mountain people. That's your plan?"

"It's not much," I admit. "But it's something." I turn to him, not with anger, not anymore - just honest questioning. "Do you have one, Newt?" The question hovers between us. No bite. No blame. He runs a hand through his hair and doesn't answer me.

"It might be our only chance," Thomas says quietly. He looks around at all of us. "We have to try."

A light flickers on the wall, swaying with the wind. "Hey, guys," Winston says. "We should get away from the entrance."

We all follow Winston deeper into the dome, Minho grabbing the lantern on our way. We go past old escalators and collapsed scaffolding, our recent conversation just a hum in the atmosphere. The air is musty, full of sand and mold and something underneath it all - decay.

We stop in front of a set of faint footprints in the dust. "Someone's been down here recently," Minho says, sweeping his torch across them. "These are fresh."

"Could be more kids," Teresa says.

"Or something worse," Aris mutters.

We don't say it, but we're all thinking it: Cranks. People who have what Dr Ava Paige referred to as the Flare.

The wind groans through broken ends as we move cautiously down the corridor. Our footsteps echo against glass and steel. This mall was probably once full of life - now it feels like a tomb.

Minho's light catches something up ahead. A small room, half-collapsed but mostly intact. Inside, we find a storage space; ripped shelves, a busted vending machine, but more importantly, a stack of heavy jackets hung against one wall, dusty but intact. Beside them: a crate full of battery-powered lanterns.