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

- THEN THERE WERE FOUR -

The thunder of an engine grows louder.

A vehicle barrels through the fire-glow and dust, kicking up dirt and debris like a demon loosed from the earth itself. I squint through the smoke, my pulse thudding in my ears.

It has to be Jorge.

It's got his brand of insanity all over it. Makeshift armor bolted over an old military truck, the engine roaring like it's held together with rage and pure willpower. He comes blazing in with the fury of ten rebels and absolutely no plan. The truck doesn't slow. In fact, it speeds up. A few people scream, thinking he's coming for us.

But he swerves, slamming directly into a grounded helicopter.

Metal screams. Glass shatters. The force of the impact is insane. The chopper is torn from the ground, spinning, its blades snapping one by one like shrapnel in the wind. We all drop. Dirt hits my mouth. Ash stings my eyes. A blade crashes into the dirt a few feet from Minho. He screams, a sound followed by a line of curses.

"Move! Everyone move!" Someone shouts - one of the guards, panicked now, barking without control.

"Get her out of here!" Janson's voice rises above the chaos. He means Dr. A a Paige. I lift my head, blinking through grit. My eyes find Janson. He's retreating. No. Slithering. Something surges inside me. I scramble to my feet. My legs burn, but I don't care. I launch toward him - ready to tackle him, claw him, rip his face off with my bare hands if I have to-

But a sudden shout cuts through the chaos.

"(Y/N) GET DOWN!"

It's Thomas. I twist back just in time to see a fresh explosion behind him. It lights up the whole damn sky. I'm knocked back again. I hit the ground hard, ribs aching, ears ringing. But I see it - a glint in the dirt.

A gun.

I reach for it. Fingers trembling, I wrap my hand around the grip and roll over, coughing from smoke and potential concussion. My vision clears just in time to see Janson. He's standing. Over Thomas. The bastard must've doubled back during the confusion. "What a waste," Janson mutters. He lifts his pistol. He's going to shoot Thomas.

No.

Not this time.

I line up the shot. Heart in my throat. My fingers sweat on the trigger. I fire. The bullet slams into his shoulder. Not dead. Not enough. But it throws him off. Thomas jolts, spinning around to look at me - wide-eyed, breathless. Relieved.

But I missed the kill shot.

I force myself to stand, lungs heaving, vision swimming. "Don't!" I scream when I see Janson shifting his aim back to Thomas. He freezes. I don't hesitate this time. I shoot at the ground next to his foot. The dirt explodes at his heels. He stumbles back, glaring at me. But he's bleeding. Shaking.

He sees it now.

And so do I.

I had a second chance. And I let it go.

Why didn't I kill him?

"Come on!!" Thomas's hand clamps down on mine, firm and unrelenting. His face is ash-streaked and wild-eyed, sweat and blood mixing on his temple. He doesn't wait for me to answer. He just yanks me with him, feet pounding over cracked dirt, weaving through smoke and chaos and the screaming voices that are starting to sound less human.

I trip - catch myself - keep running.

But a guard is gaining. I can hear his boots slamming into the ground behind us. He's shouting something. Gun raised. I don't have time to scream.