Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

The walk back to camp was quieter than I expected. The sky had darkened into a soft orange, casting long shadows across the Glade. Minho walked beside me, hands in his pockets, a smug little grin still tugging at his lips.

"So, Y/N," he said, finally breaking the silence. "Didn't think you'd be hiding legs like that under all that Greenie uncertainty."

I rolled my eyes. "Didn't think you'd be this cocky."

He laughed. "I get excited when I see potential." He nudged me with his elbow. "And I'm telling you—you've got it."

I didn't respond right away. The words felt strange, foreign. I had spent all day failing, feeling like an outsider in a place where everyone had their purpose. But now...

Now I had something.

As we stepped into the clearing, the sight of the camp buzzing with activity pulled me from my thoughts. The Gladers moved about in their usual evening routines—some carrying supplies, others gathered around tables, talking over their meals.

Minho wasted no time. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out, "Listen up, shanks!"

Every head turned. Conversations quieted, all eyes shifting to him—and then to me.

Minho threw an arm around my shoulders, grinning. "Our Greenie might be terrible at literally everything, but guess what? Turns out, she runs like a shuckin' god!"

A mix of laughter and murmurs rippled through the crowd.

Newt, standing with Alby near the table, raised a brow. "That so?"

Minho nodded. "Fast. Quick on her feet. Natural instincts." He looked down at me. "She'd make a great Runner"

I blinked. Runner?

Alby stepped forward, arms crossed as he studied me. "You serious about this, Minho?"

Minho nodded. "Dead serious."

For a long moment, Alby didn't say anything. He just looked at me, like he was trying to read something I couldn't see. Then, finally, he exhaled and shook his head with a small, amused smirk. "Well, guess this calls for a celebration, huh?"

A loud cheer erupted from the Gladers, and within seconds, everyone was moving—someone ran off to gather firewood, others started pulling food from Frypan's stash, and a few Builders began setting up makeshift benches around the center of camp.

I turned to Newt, confused. "What's happening?"

Newt chuckled. "Your first real night in the Glade, love." He nodded toward the commotion. "We're throwing you a party."

𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢

The bonfire roared to life as the last bit of sunlight disappeared from the sky. Flames crackled, sending embers swirling into the air as the Gladers gathered around with bowls of food and stolen bottles of Gally's homemade brew.

Music—if you could call it that—came from a few of the boys banging sticks against crates, creating a rhythmic beat that some of the others clapped along to. Laughter filled the air, loud and unrestrained, and for the first time since I'd arrived, the tension I had been carrying slowly started to ease.

I sat between Newt and Minho, a bowl of stew in my hands. Across from us, Chuck was trying—and failing—to beat Zart in an arm-wrestling match, much to the amusement of the other Gladers.

"You getting used to us yet?" Newt asked, nudging my shoulder.

I smiled, surprising myself with how easy it felt. "I think so."