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

- OLD FRIEND -

We didn't actually leave that morning.

I wanted to. God, I wanted to be moving. But Gally insisted we wait until nightfall, and I didn't have the strength to argue. Not out loud, anyway.

Inside, I was screaming.

Knowing what I know now about Newt, I've cursed every slow second since. Every drawn-out breath. Every half-hour spent waiting for the cover of darkness while the Flare, that unrelenting monster, sinks deeper into his brain.

It's no longer just about Minho.

It hasn't been since this morning.

Newt's time is wrapped up in the rescue now, tied to it with invisible string, and each second we delay feels like unraveling.

Still, I force myself to breathe.

I keep whispering that it's been six months since that scratch in the underground. That it took over 200 days for the disease to get this bad. That if I just do the math - simple math - we'll have at least 200 more before it gets worse.

But the quiet voice in the back of my head doesn't believe me. The Flare is exponential even when I tell myself otherwise.

And that part? The part where I know I'm lying to myself? That's what keeps tightening the knot in my chest.

That afternoon, we sit alone together on the rooftop of a crumbling warehouse, watching the city slow under the orange breath of dusk. Newt has gone quiet again, hands picking idly at a worn seam on his sleeve. I don't push. I just sit near enough that our knees almost touch, letting the quiet build until it feels like something safe instead of something suffocating.

Then he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a necklace.

It glints in the failing sunlight - a slender silver chain, delicate and light, and hanging from it: a vial. The pendant is small, almost weightless, but crafted like it belongs to another century. Spirals of floral engravings wrap around the smooth cylinder like ivy, catching the light with the faintest shimmer. It looks like it could hold something magical. Or something final.

"Is there anything inside?" I ask quietly. I reach for it, brushing my fingers against the vial's smooth surface, trying to twist the top. curious, cautious. But before I can, Newt's hand covers mine. It's firm. Steady. But his touch is also warm, his palm calloused and grounding.

"No," he tells me gently. "Just something tangible to hold."

Something to hold.

My throat tightens, but I nod. "We can match, then," I utter to lighten the mood. My eyes latch onto the small, tarnished gold pendant beneath his own shirt. He showed me the empty locket when he first found it a couple of months ago. I'm only assuming his is still empty, too. "Thank you," I say earnestly.

Newt simply returns my soft smile. Then he reaches up and fastens the chain behind my neck, the clasp whispering shut like a secret between us. The cool metal slides against my collarbone, and I tuck the pendant under my shirt, letting it settle just above my heart.

It's small, but I can feel its weight. His weight. A silent promise.

The rest of the day blurs in planning. It's meticulous, exhausting, and worst of all - it's slow.

"I really don't know if she'd even want to see me," I said, arms crossed as I leaned against the wall of our hideout. The building creaked around us, low and hollow.

It was Brenda - surprisingly - who suggested I be the one to go to Teresa. She said women trust women. That I'd seem less threatening. That Teresa might think my intentions are... cleaner.