The healer [Maze runner Newt x OC]

Chapter three

The tension finally broke as the Berg soared higher, carrying them and the car full of prisoners away from danger.

"Yeah!" Thomas's triumphant cheer was the first crack in the silence, and Newt couldn't help but laugh, the sound rough and raw with emotion. He pulled Thomas into a hug, his voice catching as he said, "We did it. We bloody did it."

But even as relief swept over him, his thoughts were already ahead, racing toward the next moment.

He turned to Vince, shaking his hand firmly. "Thank you." His gratitude was genuine, but his mind was elsewhere. His gaze dropped to the train car beneath his feet. She's in there.

For the first time in months, hope flared in Newt's chest. He crouched down, pressing his hand against the metal surface as if he could somehow reach her through it. "Grace," he whispered, his voice breaking.

They weren't out of the woods yet—he knew that. There would be more fights, more danger ahead. But for now, he let himself feel the smallest sliver of relief.

She was finally coming back to him.

Grace sat slumped in the corner of the dimly lit train car, her head resting against the cold metal wall. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the tracks filled the silence, a steady reminder of her imprisonment. She had no idea where they were going, only that they were headed for another city. That was all she'd managed to overhear during the guards' gruff conversation before they'd shoved her and the others into this steel cage.

Her arms ached from countless blood extractions, faint scars and bruises weaving a grim tapestry over her pale skin. The "Property of WICKED" logo on her shirt mocked her every time she caught a glimpse of it. The faded letters seemed like a brand, a declaration that she belonged to them now. Her hair, once long enough to fall in front of her face and shield her from the world, now grazed her shoulders—short, uneven, and cut by some impatient WICKED worker who'd tired of it getting in the way during experiments.

Her body bore the evidence of months of torment. Purple-blue bruises painted her ribs and arms, with fresh scrapes decorating her knuckles from when she'd tried to fight back during a recent "test." 

The car was stuffy and crowded, filled with other captives, most of them too broken to speak. Grace didn't bother to try, either. What was there to say? They were all just waiting—for another city, another lab, another hell.

She closed her eyes, leaning harder against the wall. She tried to picture Newt, his face sharp and clear in her mind. It was the only thing she had left. She whispered to herself sometimes, repeating his name like a prayer, just to remind herself that he was real. That there was a world beyond the confines of WICKED.

But even those memories were starting to fade, edges blurring the longer she stayed in this nightmare.

The train jolted suddenly, snapping her out of her thoughts. Gasps rippled through the car as the captives exchanged nervous glances. Grace felt her arms ache, her hands bound by metal to the ceiling, harsly jerking forward. What now?