One shots (not only) - Maze runner || Different ships ||

The night run

The Glade was unusually quiet as the sun dipped below the horizon. Most of the Gladers had already retreated to the Homestead, but three figures lingered near the edge of the Maze, cloaked in the fading orange light.

"You know this is a stupid idea, right?" Newt muttered, arms crossed as he leaned against the cold stone wall.

Minho gave him a crooked grin. "Oh, come on. What's life without a little stupidity?"

Thomas adjusted the satchel on his back, eyes fixed on the entrance to the Maze. "We need answers. The Grievers have been changing their routes. You said it yourself."

"I said it once," Newt said dryly. "In frustration. At lunch."

Minho clapped him on the back. "And now we're acting on it. That's called initiative, my friend."

The three slipped into the Maze just as the doors began to groan. Thomas flinched but Minho didn't even glance back. "We'll be fine. We've outrun worse."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Only because you're too arrogant to die."

They moved quickly through the corridors, Minho in front with his flawless memory, Thomas right behind him, absorbing every turn like a sponge. Newt brought up the rear, his knife ready—not because he expected to fight, but because he always planned for the worst.

After an hour of weaving through the Maze's inner rings, they stopped. Strange marks scratched into the wall caught Thomas's eye.

"Those weren't here yesterday," he whispered, reaching out.

"Careful," Newt warned. "Could be a trap."

Minho knelt to examine the marks. "Looks like Griever tracks, but... they're deeper. Like they were dragging something."

Thomas frowned. "A person?"

"Or something worse," Newt said grimly.

Suddenly, a low growl echoed through the corridor. The three froze.

"Fuck," Minho said, standing slowly, "I'd say that's our cue to run like hell."

They sprinted, feet slamming against stone, hearts pounding. Thomas could hear the Griever closing in, mechanical limbs scraping the walls, its roar growing louder. Minho led them into a tight turn and ducked into a narrow alcove.

"Hold your breath," he hissed.

The Griever stormed past them, unaware. After a moment of tense silence, Newt finally exhaled. "One day you're gonna get us killed."

Minho just smirked. "But not today."

Thomas grinned, adrenaline buzzing in his veins. "We need to come back. There's something important here."

Newt groaned. "Let's survive the night first, yeah?" As he said that he fell down cause of his leg. "Bloody hell" he mumbled.

Thomas just looked at him trying to hold his laughter, "how did you even succeed to fall we were just walking?" He said still trying to hold his laughter in.

"Well I only got one good leg" he said a bit irritated as he got up.

The three of them stepped back into the corridor, hearts still racing but smiles tugging at their lips. They didn't always agree, didn't always play it safe but together, they worked well.