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

- LEAP OF FAITH -

I press my hands to the sill and lean out, just enough to get a look.

Wind slaps my face like a warning. And down below... water. A pool between the WICKED buildings. What level did Teresa say we were on again? It feels almost 30 stories high. The drop alone would be lethal if we missed the angle.

Still, it's something.

"I have one," I say. My voice feels distant in my own throat. "But it's crazy." They all turn to me. And they all know what I mean.

Thomas breathes once and nods. "We do crazy every week."

Thomas and Minho rush to a nearby barrel-stool - one of those clunky lab chairs with a heavy iron base - and begin dragging it toward the window. The metal legs screech across the tile floor, a grating sound that almost drowns out the noise of the saw still cutting through the door.

I take a step back from the commotion and walk quietly toward Newt. He's not helping with the chair. He's standing there, still, his back half-turned toward the noise, his gaze fixed on the window. I know what he's thinking before he even says a word. I can see it all across his face. "Newtie...?" I ask softly, just loud enough to reach him through the panic humming in the room. I know his history with heights. They haven't always been for the best.

His eyes flick toward me. For a heartbeat, he doesn't speak. And then - his voice comes calm, quiet, and heartbreakingly honest. "This jump's got a better reason than the last," he says. "This time I'm trying to live."

I want to say something in return - anything - but before I can, there's a loud crash. The stool hits the glass. We both flinch and look toward it.

Cracks spiderweb instantly. And a beat later the second hit shatters it completely. Wind shrieks through the hole as glass explodes outwards, catching the streetlights before disappearing into the void.

Thomas, breathing hard, steps up to the jagged edge and peers over. The air whipping around him yanks his shirt tight against his body. We hurry over to join him, shielding our eyes from the night's wind.

Far below, the metal stool spins and tumbles end over end through the open air - before vanishing into the pool of water. It hits the surface with a distant splash, barely visible. Gone. "It's doable," Thomas says. His voice is steadier than I expect. Matter-of-fact.

But the number in my head - thirty stories - makes my stomach twist. "From this height," I say, forcing my voice to stay even, "hitting the water is like hitting solid ground. We have to go in pencil-straight. Feet first. It's the only way."

Behind us, the door groans. Metal creaks and hinges bend. We don't have long. "We don't even know how deep it is," Minho says, his brow furrowed as he stares down. "Could be two feet."

"Better unknown than certain death," Newt comments. He steps up beside me, his hand brushing mine. He looks down without flinching now. "Besides, none of us came this far to give up now." I glance over at him. His jaw is tight. There's fear in his eyes - of course there is - but underneath it, there's something even stronger. Will.

"We just need a running start," Thomas says, already backing away from the window. His voice is determined. Focused.

Newt and Minho exchange a look - something unspoken but understood, locked in the flick of their eyes. Thomas finishes backing up, putting himself in line with the window like a Runner before the Maze opens.

I find myself stepping back, too, feet scraping against the tile floor, heart punching my ribs. Thirty stories. Unknown depth. The broken-out window gapes like a mouth waiting to swallow us whole, wind howling in through the jagged edges. We're about to put our lives in the hands of physics and blind faith.

"Wait- are we sure about this?" I ask, my voice rising over the wind. The question is stupid. Pointless. But it comes out anyway.

"Not really," Thomas replies, and he doesn't even look back when he says it. His tone is level, dry.

"Nice pep talk," Minho mutters.

"Yeah, we're all bloody inspired," Newt adds, his accent slicing through the tension like a dull knife.

From behind us comes silence.

The cutting sparks from the door suddenly stop. It's quiet in that way that only happens before something awful. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see the metal peel back like skin from bone. The door gives way with a metallic bang, echoing through the lab like a gunshot.

The sound makes my body jerk.

It's not just the door breaking. It's the world deciding we're out of time.

A storm of boots floods in. Guns up. Faces masked, but I know one of them. I feel him before I see him.

Janson.

His eyes find mine like they always do - cold, clinical, assured.

"Go!!" I scream, my voice cracking.

Thomas is already sprinting.

The moment breaks like the glass. Newt and Minho tear forward beside me. The air stings my face as we charge, a blur of feet pounding and breath held. The floor drops away as Thomas launches, arms tight to his sides, vanishing out the shattered frame like a bullet.

We're all in unison, not pausing, but making the leap.

Air punches me in the chest so hard I almost scream. It's like falling through nothing - no anchor, no sound, just the wind tearing past my ears and the roaring panic in my brain. The world is spinning, too bright, too fast. My limbs feel weightless and heavy all at once. The sky above is black. The water below is dark.

And then-

Impact.

~