Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

The Glade was eerily silent despite the crowd that had gathered. Alby lay still on the ground, his chest rising and falling in weak, shallow breaths. Sweat clung to his forehead, his body unnaturally cold beneath my fingertips as I crouched beside him. Every single Glader stood around us, their expressions a mix of shock, relief, and something else—something darker.

"You saw a Griever?" Chuck's voice broke the silence, filled with equal parts amazement and horror as he looked at Thomas, eyes wide.

I glanced up at him, my voice firm despite the exhaustion weighing on me. "He didn't just see it, Chuck." I shifted my gaze back to Thomas, who stood a few feet away, chest still heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. "He killed it."

A collective gasp rippled through the group. The weight of what I said settled in. No one had ever killed a Griever. It wasn't supposed to be possible.

Newt took a sharp breath beside me, finally tearing his eyes away from me long enough to look at Thomas. "You're serious?" His voice was low, steady, but I could hear the disbelief in it. "You actually killed the bloody thing?"

Thomas swallowed, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of everyone's stares. "Yeah," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think so."

Minho scoffed, shaking his head. "Ain't no 'think so,' Tommy. We watched that thing get squashed like a bug." His voice was light, but his expression wasn't. He knew, just like I did, that this changed everything.

A murmur spread through the crowd, some Gladers exchanging nervous glances, others looking toward the Maze entrance like they half expected another Griever to crawl out after us.

Frypan let out a low whistle. "Shuck me..."

Gally, who had been silent up until now, stepped forward, arms crossed tight over his chest. "And we're just supposed to believe that?" His sharp eyes flicked between me, Thomas, and Minho. "You're saying Greenie here managed to kill the thing that's been terrorizing us for years?"

A flare of irritation sparked in my chest. "I was there, Gally," I said, standing to face him. "We both were. It happened."

Newt ran a hand through his hair, looking down at Alby, then at the three of us who had barely made it back alive. There was something unreadable in his expression, something calculating. Then he exhaled sharply. "Alright," he said, voice tight. "Enough questions. Let's get Alby to the Homestead. We deal with that first."

I hesitated, but then nodded. There would be time for explanations later. Right now, Alby needed us.

As the Gladers moved into action, lifting Alby carefully, I felt Newt's hand brush against mine. When I looked at him, his eyes weren't on me but on Thomas. He was worried—about Alby, about all of this.

And deep down, I knew this was only the beginning.

𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢

The room was tense, the air thick with unease as the Gladers gathered around. Gally stood at the center, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression dark and unrelenting.

"Things are changing," he said, his voice firm and sharp. "There's no denying that."

The murmurs around us quieted, everyone listening.

"First, Ben gets stung in broad daylight, then Alby. And now our Greenie here has taken it upon himself to run into the Maze, which is a clear violation of our rules here." His glare flickered to Thomas, his words laced with accusation.

I stepped forward before I could stop myself. "I ran in, too," I interjected, meeting Gally's stare head-on. "We both did." I turned, glancing at Thomas before looking back at the crowd. "And regardless of whatever rules were broken, we saved Alby."