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

- BOOK THREE : THE CURE -

The day is here.

And we were running late.

Brenda's voice crackled over the radio a few minutes ago - short, clipped, all business - but I heard the edge in it. Jorge didn't say anything and I'm partially glad because it meant he was focused on driving. They're handling the rear assault, meant to cover Thomas and Vince... and then something even riskier. They need to be perfectly on time for it all to work. If they miss their cue, if we do... Minho will stay on that train.

But we're gonna make it.

We have to make it.

The sun is brutal overhead like always, turning the desert into a world of blinding golds and bleeding oranges. Every inch of my exposed face feels like it's being peeled away, but I barely notice anymore. The wind slams against the rocks and rushes over the plains like it's trying to warn us back. There's nothing out here but jagged cliffs, shattered bones of the earth rising like the spines of ancient beasts. Flat land stretches between them, quiet and merciless, not a hint of green in sight.

No towns have ever been here. None ever will.

It's the kind of place that looks like it was forgotten even before the world ended. Vince's canyon base is far behind us now - hours of rough driving through cracked highways and dust storms, and still it feels like we've barely scratched the surface of this endless nothing. But the train only passes through here once every two weeks, and this is the only stretch vulnerable enough to strike. The terrain's too unforgiving for guards to patrol heavily, too exposed for Wicked to think anyone would dare try something like this.

And that's exactly why we will.

I have my binoculars out in order to see across the plains from where I am with my group. I can't yet see anything of importance. I know Brenda and Jorge are already in position somewhere along the rear tracks, hopefully tucked deep enough into the dunes to avoid the first scout drone.

Newt sits beside me, silent.

I can feel his pulse in the way his leg bounces, subtle but fast - nervous energy rippling through him like it might burst if he doesn't move soon. His hands keep flexing, clenching and unclenching against the fabric of his pants. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it. "We're cutting it close," he mutters finally, voice rough from the dry air - or maybe from whatever he's keeping bottled up.

"We're here now," I say. "Plus you and I both know Vince has killer driving abilities."

He nods. Doesn't say anything more. I glance at him once, then look away. His face is set like stone, jaw tight, lips a flat line. The heat makes it hard to breathe, but the weight between us makes it harder.

Somewhere up ahead, the train is coming. I can't hear it yet. But I feel it.

It's like the air knows. Like the desert is holding its breath.

We're going to have one chance. One shot to stop that train, break the guards' formation, and get inside before WICKED can reroute or blow the whole operation sky-high. If we're off by a second, if Newt can't break the locks, if one of us hesitates - Minho's gone.

And so are we.

But we'll make it.

Because we have to.

We stay perched at the top of a craggy mountain spine, waiting. Remy leans against the skeleton frame of the jeep, arms crossed, face unreadable as always. He doesn't say much. Never has. There's something about him - this quiet, precise calm that makes it feel like he's already calculated every outcome, and none of them scare him. I keep forgetting he's older than us, maybe twenty or twenty-one. Not that age matters anymore.