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

- PARTY COMPOUND -

Teresa is beside Thomas, the two of them sunk into a pile of dusty cushions in the corner. Her hand brushes his arm, soft and careful. She murmurs something I don't catch, something just for him.

"Hey," she says again, a little louder, a gentle coax.

Thomas blinks slowly, still shaking off the haze. His hair is damp from the heat of the compound. His eyes bloodshot. But he's awake. Minho steps forward, holding a canteen. "Welcome back, you ugly Shank," he says, rough but warm.

Thomas manages a crooked smile and mutters, "Good to see you, too." But his eyes... they don't stay on Minho. They flicker over to me.

I'm sitting near the far wall with Newt, both of us propped against the peeling plaster. We're not close enough to be included in the conversation, but close enough to feel its weight. I look away.

Brenda is curled on the edge of the old couch across from us, one leg pulled to her chest. She hasn't said much since we got back. I tried talking to her earlier - asked how she was doing - but she'd just blinked at me and said, "Fine." That's all. One word. No smile.

She looks like anything but fine. Her skin is pale, clammy. There's a stiffness to her posture that reminds me of someone trying not to shiver. Her arms are crossed like she's bracing for a blow no one's throwing. And when she looked at me earlier, it wasn't just distance. It was something colder.

At the center of the room, Jorge stands like a storm. His sleeves are rolled, hands clenched at his sides. In front of him sits Marcus - tied to a wooden chair stripped from the dining room. A cut bleeds from his lip, and one eye's starting to swell. This is his house, apparently. His little empire of music and madness. "I suggest that you talk, you son of a bitch!" Jorge snarls, and slaps him - hard. The crack of it echoes through the rafters.

Marcus spits blood onto the floor and smiles. "I'd ask you to be gentle," he slurs, "but you're not really the gentle type."

"What did you give them?" Jorge growls.

"I offered them relief," Marcus counters, like he's doing us all a favor. "You think living in this world, with those things crawling the streets, doesn't deserve a little numbness?"

"You drugged them," I snap from the wall. "You lured them into that freakshow."

He turns his gaze to me. "No one was forced."

Newt shifts beside me, his leg brushing mine as he leans forward. Jorge hits Marcus again but my attention has shifted. Newt catches me looking - at the bandage wrapped clean and tight around his right forearm. "It feels fine," he says quietly, as if reading my mind. "You did a good job." I give him a half smile and nod. My hand itches to check again, but I don't. Not here. Not now.

"I'm sorry," Marcus suddenly says, his tone dipping into something disturbingly calm. "You're going to have to leave my house."

Jorge chuckles darkly. "What?"

"You're having too much fun," Marcus adds, grinning like a man who's already lost everything and doesn't care. "You're going to ruin the vibe."

Minho scoffs. "You don't get to say that when half your party guests were Cranks in chains."

Marcus shrugs. "Entertainment's hard to come by."

Before Jorge can explode again, movement draws my eye.

Thomas is standing now, unsteady on his feet. He walks slowly across the room toward us, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. I shift to make space as he nears. He lowers himself to the floor beside Newt and me, legs folding awkwardly beneath him. His shoulders are hunched, like the weight of what happened is pressing down harder now that the noise has faded. "Glad to see you up, Tommy," I say softly. His reaction is subtle but sharp - his shoulders twitch, and he flinches ever so slightly at the name. I frown. "You were drugged pretty heavily," I remind him gently, trying to offer an explanation for the discomfort. "Your body's probably still adjusting."