The healer [Maze runner Newt x OC]

The night had passed uneventfully, and as the first light of dawn crept across the horizon, the group of six teenagers and Jorge stirred awake. Wasting no time, Jorge led them through the crumbling cityscape, his voice low as he explained his plan. "There's this guy, Marcus. He'll know where the Right Arm is hiding."

He glanced back at the group, ensuring they were still close. His steps were cautious, avoiding the debris-strewn streets and the lurking dangers. They encountered only one or two Cranks, which Jorge dispatched with practiced efficiency. The sight was jarring for the teenagers, but they couldn't deny their relief.

"Stay close," Jorge warned, his voice sharp as they neared a busier section of the city. Shadows moved at the edges of their vision. "Blend in. They don't take kindly to Munies."

"Munies?" Newt asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Immunes," Jorge clarified with a heavy sigh. "These people are early-stage Cranks or those who'll catch the Flare soon enough. If they knew you were immune, they'd rip you apart just for being born."

Newt's expression darkened at the explanation. Falling into step behind Grace, he studied her for a moment, noticing something. Without a word, he reached up and gently tugged the elastic band from her hair. Grace froze, startled, as her blond waves tumbled loose around her shoulders.

"What are you—?" she began, frowning.

"Your tattoo," Newt said quietly, nodding toward the exposed skin on the back of her neck. "It's visible. Can't have anyone spotting it."

Grace's hand flew to her neck in realization, her cheeks flushing slightly. "A warning would've been nice," she muttered, stuffing the elastic band into her pocket.

Newt smirked faintly, a small smirk on his face. "Didn't have time for that, love."

The group trudged on through the maze of the city. Unlike the endless, scorching desert, the towering buildings offered pockets of shade, though the stifling atmosphere and the threat of Cranks kept their nerves on edge. Grace found herself watching Minho, who was just ahead of her, her gaze lingering on the leg Jorge had kicked multiple times. He was limping slightly but remained silent, his stubborn pride not allowing him to complain.

"Hey, guys! Isn't that Thomas?" Frypan's voice cut through the tense quiet.

All heads turned as he pointed toward a derelict building. Sure enough, Thomas was slipping inside, Brenda close behind him.

"Yeah, that's our shank," Minho spoke as Teresa already starting going toward the building.

Jorge grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks. "Are you insane? You can't just walk in there. That place is crawling with people, and not the friendly kind."

"Then we'll take them out," Teresa snapped, but Jorge barked a laugh.

"Sure, six of you against a room full of maniacs. Fantastic idea." He shook his head, then turned to Grace and Newt, pointing at them. "You two. Go in. Blend. Find your friends and get out."

"Why us?" Newt asked warily.

"Because you two look the least suspicious," Jorge said bluntly. "And you're not as loud as the rest of them." He paused, pulling a flask from his jacket. "But you'll need to loosen up first. If you go in all stiff and awkward, they'll sniff you out in seconds."

Grace frowned, her unease growing. "Loosen up how?"

Jorge smirked, shaking the flask in his hand. "Drink up."

The sharp burn of alcohol hit Grace's throat as she took a cautious sip from the flask. She coughed, grimacing. "This is awful," she choked, handing it to Newt.