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

- THE RIGHT ARM -

The road - if you can call it that - is blocked off by several scattered cars. Like someone was on their way to a family vacation but were stopped before making it there. Why the vehicles are on the mountain side road doesn't matter. What matters is that they're blocking our path. "Well," I say, unbuckling. "Looks like we're on foot."

We climb out one by one. The air bites colder now. Thinner. Crisp and unforgiving. The wind smells like dust and old secrets. I stretch, legs sore. Newt steps down beside me, wincing a little as he adjusts the bandage on his arm. He catches me watching him. "It feels fine," he mutters, preemptively.

I just nod, even if I don't believe him.

We all gather near the front of the truck. Bertha looms behind us like a sleeping monster, steam hissing softly from her grill.

Ahead, the mountains rise in jagged silhouettes a dark against the fading light. To the right, the land drops off into a steep canyon, its edges sharp and dangerous. On the other side, more mountains stretch upward, their tips swallowed by clouds.

We stand there, hesitant.

None of us say it out loud, but it's clear: this isn't just a change in terrain. We've crossed some kind of invisible line. The world is different now. Colder. Meaner.

I take a few steps forward, gravel crunching under my boots. The wind tugs at my jacket. I turn back, checking on the others. Thomas has stopped a few feet behind the group. He's staring at one of the abandoned cars. "There's so many bullet holes," he says suddenly.

I frown. "What?"

He raises his hand, pointing at the rusted shells ahead. "In the doors. The hoods. Some of the glass is melted..." Just as he speaks, something whistles past his head.

We all freeze. "Down!" Minho shouts. Gunshots ring out - sharp, echoing like thunder through the canyon.

"Take cover!" Jorge shouts.

I don't contemplate - I just move, diving behind the nearest car. My palms scrape on the gravel as I slide into the shadow of a rusted-out sedan. Aris is already there, crouched low beside a shattered wheel. He grips the metal frame like it might vanish if he lets go. "Shit-" I hiss, pressing my back against the cool steel. "Are you okay?"

He nods, wide-eyed, lips pale. "Yeah. Yeah, just-" He shakes his head. "You?"

I nod. "I'm fine." Then I call out, louder, voice cracking just slightly. "Is everyone okay?!" Silence, for a second too long.

Then: "We're fine!" Teresa's voice calls out from somewhere to the left, across the wreckage.

"Alright!" That's Newt. A bit farther off. Relief loosens a knot in my chest, but it's not enough to calm the shaking. "Anyone know where those shots came from!?" Newt again, calling over the wind and the echo of spent gunfire.

No one replies.

I crouch lower. The quiet now feels more dangerous than the gunfire. My fingers dig into the ground. I can hear Jorge muttering something I can't make out. Maybe counting. Maybe praying. Or planning. I slowly begin to rise, inching up to peer over the twisted metal hood. "(Y/n), don't-" Aris hisses. I ignore him. Bullets slam into the windshield inches above my head. The glass spiders out with violent cracks. I duck back down with a curse, heart hammering. Aris grabs my arm. "You good?!"

"Fine," I mutter through gritted teeth. "Stupid. But fine."

"What do we do?" I hear Thomas's voice from somewhere farther up the path, near the blockade. Tense. Urgent.

Then Jorge's voice bellows from beyond the wreckage: "Everybody! Get ready to sprint - and hold your ears!" There's something in his tone that sends a chill down my spine.