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

- ONLY GETTING WORSE -

Thomas reaches the edge first. He hauls himself out, arms trembling from the effort, water pouring off him in rivulets. His soaked uniform slap against his skin as he stumbles up to his feet, breathing hard, scanning the area like he's ready for another ambush.

Beside me, Newt slows, blinking hard, and I can tell from the way he brings a hand to his ear that his are ringing just like mine. I watch his mouth twist in discomfort as he presses his finger gently against the side of his head.

Minho reaches the wall next, and Thomas turns quickly to lean down and grab his arm. He yanks Minho up and out of the water with a grunt, Minho wincing and clutching his shoulder again once he's up.

My body aches with every movement. My limbs feel like dead weight, the adrenaline fading fast and leaving only fatigue. It takes effort just to keep treading. Newt swims close beside me, eyes scanning my face.

"You sure you're alright, love?" He asks gently, voice quiet between the slap of water and distant shouts echoing through the courtyard above.

I nod once. "Yeah," I breathe. "It just needs to shake off." He watches me a second longer like he doesn't quite believe me - but he knows we don't have time for real answers. "Your arm?" I ask, glancing at where he's favoring it - remembering, all too bitterly, what's inside under the clothes.

"Still attached," he replies, a tired sort of joke in his voice. But it hangs there between us like a ghost. Maybe it would be better if it wasn't.

We reach the edge. Minho, already steadying himself, reaches down to Newt. Their hands clasp, strong and fast, and Minho pulls him up with practiced ease. Thomas moves back to help me, gripping my wrist and bracing his weight, tugging me up and over the slippery concrete edge.

I'm barely on my feet when I hear the shouting. "Shit," I scoff breathlessly.

A group of guards are already charging toward us from the far side of the courtyard, weapons raised and glinting in the lamplight. "Freeze! You four- hands in the air!" One of them bellows, his voice amplified with authority and fear. They come in fast, boots slapping the wet pavement, guns steady. "Don't move!"

Newt steps subtly in front of me, a reflex, his shoulders squared despite the way he's still dripping and clearly winded. "They've got to be bloody joking," he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing. I can see it in the way he shifts - he's ready to fight, but we're not armed, not really.

"Take it easy!" One of the guards yells, closing the distance now, fingers tightening on their triggers. I glance to my side. I don't have a gun.

But Thomas does.

He's got one tucked into the back of his holster - something he must've grabbed on the way down or stripped off a guard earlier. He hasn't moved for it yet. Maybe he's hesitating, maybe he's hoping for a way out without more blood.

I'm not.

I reach for it.

"Ah ah ah- don't even think about it!" A voice barks out before I can even get my fingers on Thomas's weapon.

A fourth guard steps forward from the dark, gun raised and steady. His voice is sharp and commanding. "On your knees. Hands in the air." The rest of the guards surround us, weapons locked, laser sights dancing across our soaked clothes and bruised skin. My heart stutters. The wind is cold on my wet back. My ribs ache. My legs threaten to buckle, not from fear but from sheer exhaustion. We just jumped from thirty stories. We should be dead. And now... this? "We can't have you causing more trouble tonight," the guard says.

I look to Newt immediately. His jaw is clenched. Then I glance to Minho. He's breathing hard, drenched and disoriented, like he still hasn't caught up with the past five minutes of insanity. Then Thomas glances at me.