Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

10

A few murmurs of agreement rose from the Gladers, but Gally wasn't having it. He scoffed. "For three years, we've coexisted with the Grievers. We've kept our heads down, followed the rules, and we've survived. But now, one of them is dead." His gaze hardened. "Do any of you actually think they're just gonna let that slide?"

Silence settled over the room, heavy and uncertain.

Newt, who had been quiet up until now, finally spoke up. "So, what do you suggest we do?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a quiet warning.

Gally squared his shoulders. "We punish Thomas."

The tension in the air thickened. My jaw clenched.

Newt looked at Minho and me. "What do you think?"

I glanced at Thomas, who stood rigid, prepared for the worst. Then I turned to the crowd. "He was brave. Brave enough to stay and help Alby," I said firmly. "We need that bravery here. If we're going to survive whatever the hell is happening, we need people who won't just sit back and watch."

Minho smirked slightly, stepping forward. "You know what? I say we make Thomas a Runner."

A wave of reactions rippled through the crowd—some murmurs of agreement, others of protest. At least Chuck seemed happy about the idea, slowly chanting Thomas' name. 

Before any real argument could break out, a loud metallic clanking echoed through the Glade.

The Box.

Everyone turned at once, the unease shifting into something else—shock, curiosity, fear. We rushed outside, feet pounding against the dirt as we reached the Box just as it finished rising.

Newt was already there, peering inside. His face paled.

"It's a girl," he breathed, after hopping in.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A girl? That had never happened before, I mean, besides me. 

"What's in her hand?" I asked gently, catching a glimpse of a piece of paper. 

Newt grabbed it, unfolding it to see bold letters. "She's the last one, EVER." He looked up, worry in his eyes. "What the hell does that mean?"

Before anyone could react, her eyes fluttered open. She gasped, voice hoarse and weak as her gaze darted around frantically. Then, her eyes locked on Thomas.

"Thomas," she whispered.

Then, just as quickly, she collapsed.

"Still think I'm overreacting?" Gally remarked, looking around the group.

I rolled my eyes, "Not the time, Gally." Before I could press more, a sharp pain shot through my lower back. I gasped, my hand instinctively flying to the spot as I winced.

Newt's head whipped toward me instantly, his brows furrowed. "Y/N?" His voice was tight with concern.

I shook my head, trying to brush it off. "I'm fine, just—" Another wave of pain coursed through me, and I sucked in a sharp breath.

"Bloody hell, you're not fine," Newt muttered, his hand already on my arm, steadying me. "You're coming with me."

Before I could protest, he guided me away from the group, his grip firm but careful. The murmurs of the Gladers faded as we moved toward the sleeping quarters, my steps growing heavier with exhaustion.

By the time we reached Jeff's tent, the healer barely looked up before sighing, "What now?"

"She's hurt," Newt said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Check her over."