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

- HARSH REALITY -

The sandstorm hits harder than expected. The sky is a raging wall of dust and grit, swallowing everything in sight. We scramble for shelter, finding refuge behind the crumbling sandstone ruins, their cracked surfaces catching the last pale light through the haze.

The wind dies down enough for us to sit, but the air still carries a dry bite. Everyone is flushed, sunburned from the harsh glare earlier. If only fear didn't cling to us so tightly, this moment could almost be peaceful beneath the open sky.

I glance around, noticing the redness and peeling skin on each face. "Everyone should wear their scarves constantly," I suggest gently. "Protect our skin and lungs."

Newt nods without hesitation. "Same goes for you," he says quietly, eyes locking with mine. I nod back, grateful for his steady presence. Then his eyes track over to Thomas on the dune. "Tommy! How's it looking?" He calls up.

"Just a little further," Thomas answers, voice strained but hopeful.

Frypan scoffs softly, "Yeah, I doubt that."

We fall into silence, the kind that weighs heavier than words.

"Can I talk to you, (Y/n)?" Teresa's voice cuts through the stillness, careful but with an unmistakable edge of urgency. Her words pull me from my thoughts, and I glance at her, noticing the tension lurking just beneath her calm exterior. There's a tightness in her jaw, a flicker of something - maybe fear, maybe determination - that I haven't seen before.

"Yeah," I answer, pushing myself up from the dusty ground. The others are scattered around, but I gesture subtly, and Teresa follows me a few steps away, giving us the space to speak first without others ears. The wind tugs at loose strands of my hair, but I barely notice. My attention is on her. "What is it?" I ask. She hesitates for a moment, then lifts a hand to the back of her neck, fingers brushing over something fresh and somewhat raw. A tattoo, I realise, black and sharp. It reads: A1. My eyes lock onto it, a jolt of recognition stabbing at me. That mark feels like a brand, a scar in more ways than one. "The others have those tattoos," I say softly, barely above a whisper. The words feel heavy.

Teresa blinks, confusion flickering across her face. "What?" she asks, tilting her head slightly as if trying to piece together a puzzle I've only just handed her.

"It doesn't matter," I mutter in thought, watching her closely. "Did they just do this to you?"

She nods slowly, almost reluctantly, and a shadow crosses her features. "Yeah. And when they did, everything started coming back - memories, feelings, everything I'd pushed away." Her voice is low, almost fragile.

"Your memories," I breathe, the weight settling deep in my chest. It's like a thread connecting us now, fragile but real.

"Yeah," she repeats, her gaze dropping briefly before snapping back up to meet mine. There's a flicker of vulnerability there. "I remember the first time we met - when your dad brought you and your brother in." She swallows hard, eyes drifting off toward Thomas, who stands some distance away. "I knew Janson was your father before you told the others." Her voice softens, almost nostalgic. "I remember when Thomas came in, too. I was taller than him, but you were faster than both of us." She lets out a faint, almost wistful smile. "But most of all, I remember why we were all there. Because we believed we could fix all of this."

I feel a pang in my chest. The weight of lost hope presses down on me. "It's a shame we can't," I whisper, the words tasting bitter.

Teresa's eyes lock onto mine with a sudden sharpness that makes me straighten up a little. Her breath deepens, and I can feel the coil of tension tightening between us like a wire pulled taut. "I think we should go back," she says firmly, voice steady but layered with something fierce.