The Girl Called Owen - Newt x Owen (OC)

The night was calm, the only sounds in the hut being the soft breath of Owen as she slept peacefully beside Newt. His mind, however, was not at rest. His thoughts swirled around her—the strange girl who had come out of the box, whose name had only just returned to her.

As she lay with her head on his chest, Newt couldn't help but trace a gentle finger along the curve of her stomach, feeling the rise and fall of her breath. It was an unconscious action, a way to comfort her in the stillness of the night. But Owen stirred slightly, her brow furrowing in discomfort.

"Newt..." she whispered, her voice soft and a little shaky. "Could you... could you stop?"

Newt immediately froze, his heart racing as he realized he had crossed a line. He quickly withdrew his hand and sighed, his face warm with embarrassment. "Sorry," he muttered, his voice low. "Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Owen shifted in her sleep, but Newt lay awake, staring up at the ceiling, his mind unable to quiet. There was something about her—something he couldn't quite explain—that kept him awake. Her vulnerability, her strength, the way she had punched him earlier, and yet still smiled at him.

He closed his eyes, finally allowing sleep to take over.

The next morning, rain pattered against the roof of the shelter. The thick, grey clouds loomed over the Glade, casting everything in a dull, wet light. Newt, Owen, Chuck, and Thomas stood together under the wooden shelter, sheltered from the downpour.

Newt glanced at Owen, her face thoughtful as she watched the rain. She still seemed so out of place, but something about her was beginning to feel... familiar.

A figure approached them, and Owen's attention snapped toward him. It was Winston, the 17-year-old Keeper of the Slammers. He gave Owen a warm, welcoming smile, his eyes softening as he looked at her.

"Hey there," Winston greeted her, his voice steady and friendly. "I'm Winston. I'm 17, and I help keep the order around here, make sure everyone stays in line."

Owen smiled, feeling a warmth in her chest as she extended her hand to shake his. As their hands met, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The world around her seemed to blur, and then, in an instant, she was no longer in the Glade.

It was a memory, a vivid flash from a time long past.

She was a little girl, barely five years old, standing in front of a young boy—Winston—who was just seven. They were both surrounded by strangers, men in dark suits, their faces cold and indifferent. The words they spoke seemed muffled, as if the memory itself was suffocating her.

But then she heard it—Winston's voice, strong and full of promise, as he held her close.

"I'll come and find you, Owen. I love you."

Winston kissed her forehead gently, the warmth of his lips imprinted on her skin. She felt a deep sense of loss as the hands of the WICKED people pulled him away from her, her small, frightened hands stretching out toward him.

"No! Winston! No!" she screamed, tears streaming down her face as her mother held her back.

The memory shattered, and with a blink, Owen was back in the present, standing under the shelter with Winston.

Her heart pounded, the air around her feeling thick with emotions she couldn't quite place. Her hand still clutched his, the moment lingering between them like an unspoken connection.

Her breath caught in her throat as their eyes locked. Both of them spoke at once, their voices trembling with disbelief.

"We're siblings?"

Tears welled up in Owen's eyes as she took a step toward him, her chest tightening with the overwhelming flood of emotions. Without thinking, she threw herself into his arms, and he held her tightly, his own tears falling silently down his cheeks.

"I thought I lost you forever," she whispered, her voice shaky with emotion. "I never thought I'd find you again."

Winston pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of joy and pain. "I promised I'd find you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I knew I would. I just never gave up on that promise."

Owen couldn't stop the tears from falling, and Winston, too, let out a shaky breath as he hugged her tighter. The other boys stood quietly around them, watching in awe as the siblings finally reunited after years of separation.

Thomas and Chuck exchanged a glance, a quiet understanding between them. They had seen many strange things in the Glade, but this moment—this reunion—was something different, something beautiful.

The rain continued to fall around them, but for the first time since Owen's arrival, the storm seemed to hold a sense of peace. In that moment, Owen and Winston knew they were no longer alone. They had found each other again.