Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

09

A wave of shouts erupted from the Gladers.

"Hurry up!"

"Run!"

"Leave him if you have to!"

The doors inched closer together. There wasn't enough time.

"They aren't going to make it," someone muttered, and the realization crashed over all of us at once.

Minho screamed for help, his voice raw and frantic.

And before I could even think—before my brain could process the consequences—Thomas sprinted forward, bolting straight into the Maze.

A split second later, so did I.

Newt's hand shot out, fingers just brushing my wrist before I slipped away from his grip.

"Y/N!"

The last thing I saw before the doors slammed shut was Newt's wide, panicked eyes.

Then, darkness.

Thomas and I both fell on the hard wet ground, gasping for air.

"Good job, you just killed yourself," Minho let out, gasping for breath as he bent over, hands on his knees.

I wrapped my arms around myself, an icy wave of regret washing over me. My chest tightened, my breathing shallow. What the hell had I just done?

"If I don't die in here, Newt will kill me," I muttered, half to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. The thought of how worried he'd be made my stomach twist.

Thomas knelt beside Alby, quickly checking his pulse before glancing up. "What happened to him?"

Minho let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "What does it look like?"

A sharp gasp slipped from my lips as I stepped closer, my heart sinking. "He got stung..."

Thomas's brows furrowed as his eyes moved to the gash on Alby's head. "And that?"

Minho ran a hand through his damp hair, glancing away for half a second before muttering, "I did what I had to do."

A deep, echoing groan filled the air—the sound of the Maze shifting.

Our heads snapped up in unison.

"We have to move," Minho said quickly, his voice now urgent.

I dropped down beside Thomas, grabbing Alby's arm, my own panic buried beneath the immediate need to survive. We struggled to lift him, his body deadweight in our grip.

Alby was heavy. Too heavy. Our arms burned from the effort of dragging him through the twisting corridors of the Maze, his unconscious body sagging between us. The uneven stone beneath our feet made each step harder, the weight of the situation pressing just as heavily as Alby's limp form.

"This isn't going to work," Minho hissed through gritted teeth, dropping his end for a second to shake out his sore arms. His frustration was written all over his face.

I let out a shaky breath, nodding. "He's right," I admitted, shifting my grip on Alby's arm. "This is a death wish."

Thomas shot me a glare. "So what? We just leave him?" His voice was laced with desperation, his hands clenched at his sides.

Minho exhaled sharply, pacing for a moment before stopping in front of us. "We don't leave him," he said, rubbing his temple. "We get him out of reach."

Thomas frowned. "What do you mean?"

Minho jerked his chin toward the towering stone walls. "We hoist him up with the vines. Get him off the ground. Grievers don't climb."