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

- INTO THE THICK OF IT -

It was Jorge who first told us about the microchips - hidden just beneath the tattoos we all believed were merely branding. Markings we thought we could ignore, or hide under sleeves. Turns out, WICKED had embedded more than just symbols into our skin.

That's how Jorge scanned us the first time we met him, back when we didn't trust each other and were still coughing up desert sand. Now, with no choice left but to move forward - and with Teresa reluctantly cooperating - she's the one with the scalpel in her hand. The one taking them out.

I go first. Not because I'm brave, but because I want the boys to believe I am.

I sit down in the chair, try to look unfazed as I tilt my head and expose the thin tattoo on the back of my neck. "Do it fast," I say, before I can think better of it. Teresa doesn't say anything. She just nods once, swabs the area, and begins. The sting is sharp, hot - deeper than I expect. My fingers clench into fists in my lap and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep still. My eyes sting, but I don't let them water. It's over quickly, and Teresa presses a folded cloth to stop the blood. Then she gives me a clean one to take away and hold there. At least now it's done. The tiny chip is gone. And someday soon, a scar will cut through the stupid A3 they gave me. I stand and force a small, triumphant smile - fake but passable. "See? Not that bad," I lie, prompting Newt over with a mock flourish.

He gives me a look like he sees right through it but doesn't call me out. I stay on my feet, circling the space, handing out jackets - new ones, dark and nondescript. Something less traceable, something without identifiers. A small change that somehow feels like shedding skin.

While Newt settles into the chair and leans forward, I go beside him, gently lifting his hair back so Teresa can work. My fingers hesitate against his curls. I glance at him and catch his eyes for a second. He offers me a small smirk. "Your hands are cold," he says, voice low.

"Yours are always warmer," I murmur back.

We hold each other's gaze a beat longer than we should. His smirk fades into something softer, and I can't tell if he's scared or just tired of being brave. Teresa looks between us inquisitively. I don't say anything else - I don't have to.

It's Jorge's voice that breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry, kids, but this is where my path with you ends," he says abruptly from the corner of the room. Everyone looks over. Jorge crosses his arms but won't meet anyone's eyes.

"You're not coming?" Brenda asks, alarm threading her voice.

Jorge just shakes his head. "I don't trust the plan. Not with what's at stake," he admits.

It hits harder than I expect - like a quiet slap in the chest. We've come so far together, through so much. It feels wrong to imagine continuing without him. But no one argues. When we left for the Last City, we didn't even want him with us.

After a tense, quiet conversation and hug with Brenda - the kind that says more than either of them could probably put into words - Jorge walks over to me. He places a rough, calloused hand on my arm, squeezes once, and says simply, "You've got this." Then he turns and leaves, his footsteps echoing down the hall until we can't hear them anymore.

Brenda stays. Loyalty or carelessness - the answer would depend on who you'd ask. I make sure to flick her a smile.

Newt's done now. He has moved to a different seat across the room, dabbing a cloth at the fresh wound behind his ear. I go to stand in front of him and lower myself to the floor, crossing my legs. For a moment, we just breathe in the quiet. "You holding up?" He asks gently.

I nod, even though I'm not sure. "I think so."

He leans forward slightly, arms resting on his knees, watching me the way he always does - like I'm something worth figuring out. "You don't have to pretend with me, love," Newt says.