The First Runner: Endgame

You cant save everyone

I raised an eyebrow. "And?" I tilted my head. "You think that's the issue?" I let my smirk widen. "No one cares, Teresa. No one here trusts a word you say."

Her expression flickered, but she held my gaze. "You used to."

The air between us stretched thin.

I inhaled, slow and deep, then leaned in just a little. "That was before I knew what kind of person you really are."

She swallowed. Just a small movement, barely noticeable.

I stepped back, turning away—but then I saw it.

Her hand.

Grabbing two bloodied tissues from the tray.

One from Thomas.

One from me.

A strange pulse of suspicion curled in my gut.

I frowned. "What are you doing?"

Teresa's head snapped up. "What?"

I nodded toward her hand, her fingers curling slightly around the tissues. "Those."

For a second, I thought she was going to lie.

Then she just shoved them into her pocket and looked at me, blank-faced. "Nothing."

Bullshit.

My instincts screamed at me to push, to figure out what she was doing. But then my eyes found Newt, sitting off to the side, pale and tired, rubbing a hand down his face.

And suddenly, I didn't care what Teresa was up to.

Not right now.

I had bigger things to worry about.

I rolled my shoulders and brushed past her. "Whatever," I muttered, already walking away. "Doesn't matter."

At least, that's what I told myself.

Thomas POV

Brenda and I were going through the weapons, checking every magazine, every round. The tension in the room was thick, like the calm before a storm. I could feel it in my bones—something big was coming.

I slammed a clip into place, testing the weight of the rifle before setting it aside. Brenda was doing the same, methodical, focused. But I knew her well enough by now to know when something was on her mind.

She didn't keep me waiting long.

"You were in love with her, weren't you?"

I froze for half a second, fingers tightening around the gun before I forced myself to keep moving.

"I don't know." It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the full truth either.

Brenda scoffed, a small, knowing sound. "Yeah, you do."

I glanced up at her. She wasn't looking at me, just kept working, her expression unreadable.

A part of me wanted to deny it, to shut the conversation down, but what was the point? She already knew the answer.

Brenda sighed, setting a gun down and finally meeting my gaze. "Just be careful, okay?" Her voice was quieter now, steadier. "You sort of have this problem where you can't walk away from people. Even when you should."

I swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the table.

She wasn't wrong.

Brenda tilted her head, studying me. "You can't save everyone, Thomas."

I took a slow breath, picking up another gun and sliding the magazine into place with a click.

"I can try."

Jess POV

Newt was sitting on the edge of a crate, rolling his knife between his fingers. His hands were steady, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched just a little too tight. The way the veins in his arms stood out just a little more than they should. His skin was pale—too pale—and I could still see the beads of sweat clinging to his forehead.

I crouched in front of him, resting my arms on my knees. "You holding up?"

Newt let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Bloody fantastic."

It wasn't funny. None of this was. But I still smirked, just for him. The alternative was letting the weight of everything crash down on us, and I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

The silence between us stretched, thick with everything we weren't saying. He was getting worse. We both knew it. Every time he moved, I could see it—the slight tremor in his hands, the way he kept clenching his jaw like he was trying to keep something at bay. My stomach twisted.

"What is it?" I asked, forcing my voice to stay even.

Newt exhaled slowly, rolling the knife over his knuckles before finally looking up at me. His eyes, once sharp and bright, were tired. Resigned.

"I need you to promise me something," he said.

I straightened slightly. "Newt—"

"Jess." His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. "If things go bad—if I lose control—you get out. You make sure you're safe."

I swallowed hard. My heart pounded in my chest, a slow, heavy beat.

"We both know I can't promise that," I said quietly.

Newt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah. Figured you'd say that."

I reached out, gripping his wrist. He was burning up. Too warm. Too human, yet already something else. My throat tightened.

"I'm not leaving you."

Newt's jaw tensed, but he didn't pull away. He just stared at me, something unreadable in his eyes. Something breaking.

"You should," he murmured.

I shook my head. "Not happening."

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. It didn't reach his eyes.