Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

One Year Later

𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢

The Maze wasn't as terrifying as it used to be. It still held its secrets, its dangers, and its impossible shifting walls, but after a year of running through it, mapping its paths, and pushing my body to its limits, it had become second nature.

I sprinted down a long, familiar corridor, my breath steady, my muscles moving in perfect rhythm. The wind rushed past me, and despite the exhaustion creeping into my limbs, I felt alive. The stone walls on either side of me were just as imposing as the first day I had stepped inside them, but now, I knew them. I understood their patterns, their tricks. The Maze was no longer a mystery—it was a challenge. And I had spent the last year proving that I was up to it.

"Y/N, pick up the pace!" Minho's voice rang out ahead, his usual teasing laced with urgency.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shorts on," I shot back, pushing myself harder.

The rest of our group—Ben, Jackson, and Mateo—were just ahead, their feet pounding against the stone as we rounded another turn. The shadows were stretching longer now, the orange glow of the setting sun filtering through the cracks high above us. We were cutting it close.

"Doors close in ten minutes," Ben warned, checking the visibility of the sun. His dark hair was damp with sweat, his face tight with focus.

"We're fine," Minho assured him, but his pace quickened, just slightly. We all knew better than to take chances.

The Maze had already taken too many.

The past year had been brutal. The runs were grueling, pushing my endurance past what I thought was possible. I had seen too many close calls, too many Gladers barely making it back before the walls sealed shut for the night. And worse, I had seen what happened to those who didn't.

I had learned every twist, every turn, memorized every path we had mapped. But the Maze was unpredictable. No matter how well we knew it, it always found a way to remind us that it was in control.

"Shortcut up ahead," Minho called, veering left down a narrow passage. The rest of us followed without question.

We ran in silence, the only sound our rhythmic footsteps and the distant groan of the Maze shifting somewhere deeper inside. That sound still sent chills down my spine. Even after a year, it never stopped reminding me that we weren't meant to be here.

Then, just as we reached the final stretch before the Glade entrance, I saw it—something new.

A crack in the wall, barely noticeable but definitely not there before. I skidded to a stop, my breath coming fast as I reached out, running my fingers along the rough stone. My pulse pounded in my ears.

"What is it?" Minho asked, stopping beside me.

"This wasn't here before," I said, stepping back. It wasn't much—just a thin, jagged fracture running along the wall's surface—but the Maze didn't change in ways we could see. Not like this.

Minho frowned, reaching out to touch it himself. "We don't have time for this," Jackson reminded us, shifting nervously as he glanced toward the distant entrance.

Minho hesitated before pulling back. "We'll mark it and check it out tomorrow. Move!"

I forced myself to turn away, shoving the thought to the back of my mind as we took off toward the exit. The last stretch was a blur, my legs burning as we pushed the final distance, the doors groaning loudly as they began their slow, inevitable close.