Threads of Hope | A Newt x Reader Story

The moment between Newt and me didn't last long. As much as I wanted to stay wrapped up in his warmth, reality pulled us back, harsh and unrelenting. We had more pressing matters to tend to—the Blood House, where Alby and the unconscious girl lay, wrapped in uncertainty.

The heavy scent of damp earth and herbs filled the air as we stepped inside. Shadows stretched long against the walls, the dim lantern light flickering over the rough wooden beams. The murmurs of the Gladers outside felt distant compared to the pained gasps echoing from within.

Alby was tied down to the cot, his body twisting violently against the restraints as sweat poured down his face. His muscles seized, veins protruding dark and swollen beneath his skin. The virus had begun its cruel work, creeping through him like poison.

Newt stepped forward, his voice tense with concern. "Jeff, what's going on? Why won't she wake up?"

Jeff, wiping his hands on a bloodstained rag, sighed. "I got my job the same way as everyone else here, Newt. I don't have all the answers." His exhaustion was clear, the weight of responsibility pressing down on his shoulders.

I glanced at the girl lying still on another cot, her face pale and unmoving. She looked untouched by the horrors that had unfolded outside, as if she were pure and innocent. But the unease that settled in my stomach told me otherwise.

I turned to Thomas, searching his expression. "Do you recognize her?" I asked, my voice low, hoping for any hint of familiarity.

Thomas frowned, his gaze lingering on the girl's face. "No," he admitted. "I don't."

Newt crossed his arms, looking between them. "She seemed to recognize you," he pointed out, his voice edged with suspicion.

Thomas opened his mouth to argue but hesitated. Instead, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the crumpled piece of paper—the note she had arrived with. He smoothed it out, reading the words aloud, his tone laced with concern.

She's the last one.

The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken fears.

"We should be worried about this," Thomas pressed, holding Newt's gaze. "If the Box isn't coming back, what does that mean for us?"

Newt exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "It means we wait," he said firmly. "We wait until she wakes up. She might have answers."

Jeff, adjusting Alby's restraints, shot Newt a look. "He's right, Newt. If the Box isn't coming back up, how long do you think we can last?"

Newt clenched his jaw, but he didn't answer.

The silence stretched between us until Thomas abruptly turned on his heel. "I'm going back into the Maze."

I felt my stomach drop. "Why?" I asked, stepping closer, my pulse quickening.

Thomas's eyes burned with determination. "Because we need to know what we're up against. We can't sit around waiting for answers."

I hesitated, uncertainty warring within me. "You want to go back in there after last night?"

Thomas looked at me, his expression unreadable. Then, his gaze softened just slightly. "You wanna come as well?"

Newt tensed beside me, his arm instinctively reaching out as if to pull me back. His fingers brushed against mine, his grip tightening. His concern was obvious, written all over his face.

"No," I said after a long pause. "Not this time."

Relief flickered in Newt's eyes, but only briefly.

I stepped closer, pressing my hands against Thomas's forearm. "Please... be careful."