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

- THE SAFE HAVEN -

My eyes flutter open.

The light is low. Golden. But too much. It stabs through my lids like knives and pulls me out of the dark too quickly. I squint, trying to adjust. Everything is blurry at first. Like the world's been smudged by a shaking hand. My chest feels crushed. My lungs barely stretch. I can't tell if it's pain or panic, or some jagged combination of both.

The weight in my stomach drags me back to it.

I breathe - and I wish I hadn't.

It burns. Deep, brutal, sharp pain radiating out from my core, not like a wound exactly, but like someone wedged a shard of glass under my ribs and twists it every time I inhale. I grit my teeth. Something low and wounded escapes my throat anyway. A half-gasp, half-whimper.

I'm still here.

I blink again, eyes searching the ceiling above me, but it's unfamiliar. Not metal. I don't know how long it's been.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

Everything feels too still now. Still in a way that only follows chaos. My mind claws back to fire, to crumbling concrete, to screaming Teresa's name into an unforgiving sky. But now- it's silent.

And a part of me hates the silence.

I shift slightly. That's also a mistake. Pain explodes down my sides. My entire body clenches. My fingers curl into themselves. I breathe through my teeth. Cold sweat sticks to my skin, despite the low temperature in the room. My mouth is dry. Too dry. My lips cracked. My throat like sandpaper. I want water, but even the act of thinking about asking for it feels like work.

I don't even know if I'm alone in here.

I turn my head slightly - not enough to scream this time - and I can just barely make out the corner of a chair. Empty. Maybe someone was here? Maybe they still are, just out of sight?

God, how long has it been?

Terror creeps in, silent and cold.

Where is everyone?

Are we safe?

Is Newt...?

I close my eyes again, just for a second. Just long enough to pretend I can forget the questions. Forget the fire. The scream in Thomas's voice. The way Teresa looked at us just before the ground gave way beneath her. That smile. That final, impossible acceptance.

The ache in my body is nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

There's a hollowness inside. Something missing, something buried beneath rubble and guilt and flame. We survived - but not all of us. Not everyone.

The world begins to settle around me, the fog in my mind lifting just enough for details to take shape. I'm lying on something soft - really soft. Not the cracked metal or makeshift bedding we've slept on too many times before. This is... fabric. Worn but pillowy. A cushion cot, I think. The kind made for comfort, not survival. My head sinks gently into an actual pillow - an honest-to-God pillow. Not bundled clothes, not someone's shoulder. It feels almost too good, like a kindness I haven't earned.

There's no blanket draped over me, just one folded gently over my feet. My toes wiggle inside a pair of socks - soft, cotton, unfamiliar. It strikes me how long it's been since I've felt something so simple. Clean fabric. Stillness. Warmth without fire.

My torso is bare - aside from a new bra that I suddenly question how I got into. The cool air brushes against my skin, but I don't shiver. A fresh shirt - dark green, folded nearby - catches my eye. It's not mine. It's not from the Maze, or the Scorch, or WICKED. But the color... it reminds me of the Glade. Of the trees swaying gently above us, when things were terrifying but somehow simpler. Back when Newt smiled more. When we still believed there was a way out. It's a color that feels like memory. And I think that's why someone chose it for me.