The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting dappled light on the clearing where Newt was hacking away at a tree stump. His muscles flexed with every swing of the axe, and I had to force myself to focus on anything other than how utterly distracting that was.
Chuck and I sat nearby, watching as Thomas paced, deep in thought. He finally broke the silence. "Okay, but why would Alby go into the Maze? He's not even a Runner."
Newt didn't stop chopping, but his grip on the axe tightened. "Things are different now," he said, his voice clipped. "They need to retrace Ben's steps before sundown. We need to know what the hell happened."
Thomas frowned, shifting his weight. "But why not Y/N? She's a Runner."
I could already see the tension rising in Newt before he even turned to face Thomas. His jaw clenched, and with one final swing, he drove the axe deep into the stump. "Are you gonna help with this tree or just stand there asking questions?" he snapped, his patience thinning.
Thomas hesitated, but pressed on. "I'm just trying to understand—"
Newt exhaled sharply, yanking the axe free. "Alby was the first one here, Tommy," he said, his voice firm but laced with something deeper—respect, maybe even a bit of sorrow. "He woke up alone, no one to help him, no walls to guide him. Just him and the bloody Maze."
I crossed my arms, stepping closer. "He had to survive here for a whole month. Alone. Minimal supplies, no Gladers, no rules. Just him against whatever the Maze threw at him."
Thomas' expression shifted, as if the weight of what we were saying was finally sinking in.
"That's why we need to have each other's backs," Newt continued, gripping the axe tightly. "We're in this together. We don't leave each other behind."
A beat of silence followed, broken only by the wind rustling through the trees.
Then, Thomas let out a breath, stepping forward. "Alright," he muttered, reaching for the second axe resting against the stump. "Show me how it's done."
Newt shot me a smirk before handing him the axe. "Now that's more like it."
As Thomas swung his first awkward hit at the stump, I met Newt's gaze, a knowing look passing between us.
"Newt—"
A sudden rumble of thunder cut me off, the deep growl rolling through the sky as dark clouds gathered overhead. Within moments, the first droplets of rain hit the dry earth, quickly building into a heavy downpour. The Glade was thrown into a frenzy, Gladers rushing for shelter, but no one could look away from the gaping entrance of the Maze.
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. They should be back by now.
Thomas stood a few feet ahead under the shelter, his fingers tapping anxiously against a tree. He stared at the entrance, his jaw clenched. "They should be back by now. What happens if they don't make it?"
Newt shifted behind him, standing firm as the rain drenched us. His arm wrapped around my shoulder, holding me close like he was grounding himself as much as me.
"They're gonna make it," Newt said, his voice steady despite the worry that flickered in his eyes.
Thomas turned slightly, his expression dark. "But what if they don't?"
I felt Newt's grip on me tighten, his fingers curling into the damp fabric of my sleeve. Instinctively, I reached up, placing my hand over his, giving a light squeeze. "They are going to make it, Thomas," I said, though I wasn't sure if I was reassuring him or myself.
Thomas hesitated for a moment before exhaling sharply and walking off, leaving Newt and me alone in the rain.
The storm raged around us, but neither of us moved, both still staring at the Maze, waiting.
Newt let out a slow breath, his grip still firm on my shoulder as the rain pounded against the wooden shelters around us. The Gladers were scattered, some huddling under cover, others still staring toward the Maze entrance as if sheer willpower alone could bring Alby and Minho back.
I turned slightly, looking up at Newt. His jaw was tense, his gaze locked on the gaping darkness beyond the doors. He was worried—I could feel it in the way his fingers tightened unconsciously against my arm, in the way his body was rigid beside mine.
"They're late," I murmured.
Newt exhaled through his nose. "I know."
The rain didn't let up, soaking the ground, turning the packed dirt to thick mud. I could hear Thomas pacing a few feet away, his frustration evident in every sharp turn he took.
"They should be back by now," I said again, this time barely above a whisper.
Newt finally turned his head, his expression carefully guarded. "We don't think like that," he said. "Not yet."
But I could tell he was thinking it.
I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself as another roll of thunder echoed overhead. "I hate this part," I admitted. "The waiting."
Newt let out a soft, humorless chuckle. "Yeah. Me too."
We stood there in silence, the rain drumming against the Glade, the wind howling through the gaps in the walls. I felt Newt shift beside me, his hand hesitating for just a second before he slowly slid his fingers through mine.
"They'll make it," he said again, quieter this time.
I nodded, gripping his hand just a little tighter. "They have to."
𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢
The rain had finally let up, leaving behind the scent of damp earth and the soft squelch of mud beneath our feet. The Gladers stood huddled near the entrance of the Maze, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the dark stone walls. The air was thick with quiet anticipation, the only sound the occasional drip of water from the trees.
Then, a loud creak shattered the silence.
"Come on, guys," Thomas spoke up, desperation laced in his voice. "Can't we send someone after them? Y/N is a Runner—she could go."
Newt let out a sharp breath beside me, his fingers tightening their protective grip around my hand. "No," he snapped, his tone firm. "That's against the rules."
Gally scoffed, arms crossed as he shook his head. "Either they make it back, or they don't."
I sighed, leaning into Newt's side, my heart sinking at the truth of his words. "Can't risk losing anyone else," I murmured, more to myself than anyone else.
The Maze groaned, its mechanical gears grinding against the stone. A powerful gust of wind rushed through the opening, sending a chill down my spine.
"Oh no," Chuck whispered, his small voice barely heard over the deep rumble of shifting walls.
The doors were starting to close.
Then—movement.
A shadow emerged from the dark corridor, then another. Minho, dragging a barely conscious Alby, stumbling beneath his weight.
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."
I chewed on my lip, considering. It was a risky plan, but it was better than nothing. "If we can tie him tight enough, it could work," I said.
Without another word, we got to work. Minho found a thick cluster of ivy creeping up the side of the wall and began twisting it into makeshift rope. Thomas and I maneuvered Alby into position beneath it, our breath heavy and fast as we braced ourselves for the lift.
"On three," Minho ordered. "One... two... three!"
We heaved him up, struggling under his dead weight. Thomas grunted, his fingers fumbling to knot the vines around Alby's torso while Minho and I held him up. Slowly, inch by inch, we raised him off the ground.
It was going well—until I heard it.
A metallic clank.
I froze, my body tensing. My breath caught in my throat as I slowly turned my head toward the corner of the corridor.
A shadow shifted. A glint of metal.
Then, the low, mechanical whirring.
My stomach plummeted.
"Griever," I whispered.
Alby started stirring, his body jerking slightly in our grip. His breath came in ragged gasps, his muscles twitching violently. I felt my hands slipping, panic rising in my throat.
"Shuck," I muttered, trying to readjust my grip, but my arms were burning. The weight of his body was too much.
Then Alby let out a strangled groan.
"Stop moving!" I whispered harshly, but he was barely aware, his head lolling forward, his breathing shallow.
A metallic clank echoed again. Closer this time.
"We're running out of time!" Minho was panicking.
Alby's shifting made the vines slip, and suddenly, his body lurched downward. I gasped, barely holding on, my hands burning as they clenched around the ivy.
"Thomas, hurry!" I pleaded.
"I got it!" he grunted, frantically trying to tie off the vines around Alby's chest. "Stay with me, Minho." The Griever's mechanical whirring grew louder, the sound of its limbs scraping against the Maze walls sending chills down my spine.
Then, without warning, Minho let go.
I barely had time to register what had happened before I saw him sprinting down the corridor, his breath ragged, his body moving on pure fear.
"Minho, no!" I shouted, but he didn't stop. He ran.
Alby's body jerked in my grip, and I nearly lost hold of him entirely, my hands bleeding from the scratch of the ivy rope.
"Shuck it, shuck it, shuck it!" Thomas cursed under his breath, yanking the vines into place and securing the last knot.
We let go, stepping back just as Alby's body hung limp and secure against the wall.
But there was no time to breathe.
"Come on," Thomas grabbed my wrist, yanking me toward a narrow crevice in the rocks.
We dove into the small opening, our backs pressed against the cold stone, hidden by thick hanging vines. My chest heaved, Thomas' fingers still tight around my wrist as we both peered through the leaves.
The Griever moved into view.
Its bulbous, slimy body glistened in the dim Maze light, its mechanical legs clicking against the stone. The stench of oil and something rotten filled the air as it came to a slow stop.
It sniffed the air.
I swallowed a whimper, pressing myself further into the crevice. Thomas did the same, his breathing shallow.
For a moment, the Griever lingered, its body shifting as if debating something. Then, without warning, it let out a deep mechanical growl and turned, rushing off in Minho's direction.
Thomas and I stayed frozen, our bodies tense, barely daring to breathe.
Then I whispered, "What now?"
Thomas and I barely had time to check on Alby before I grabbed his arm and yanked us both behind the nearest wall, my heart hammering in my chest.
Just as we moved, the Griever rounded the corner.
I clamped a hand over my mouth, pressing my back hard against the cold stone, my breaths coming out in short, uneven gasps. Thomas was just as still beside me, his eyes wide, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
The noises of the Maze were deafening—the shifting walls, the distant metallic screeches, the heavy growls echoing from somewhere deep within. The sounds of something—or someone—fighting.
Minho.
We had to move.
I took a slow step forward, my boot squelching against the ground. My stomach turned at the sensation.
Mucus.
The sticky substance clung to our shoes, thick and slimy. The stench was unbearable, like rotting sludge and decay.
Then—something dripped onto my shoulder.
I froze.
Thomas tensed beside me, his eyes darting up. I followed his gaze, feeling a cold chill rush through my body.
Above us, a Griever clung to the Maze wall, its slick, grotesque body shifting as it loomed over us. Its mechanical limbs twitched, its many black eyes locked onto us with unsettling precision.
For a second, it didn't move.
Then it jumped.
A deep, guttural growl tore through the air as it landed right in front of us, its fleshy body quivering, its mechanical legs digging into the stone.
We screamed.
Without thinking, I grabbed Thomas' arm and bolted, the Griever letting out a piercing screech as it lunged after us.
The Maze twisted and turned ahead, the walls towering over us, a labyrinth of dead ends and uncertainty. The pounding of metal legs on stone echoed behind us, the wet, sticky sound of its body chasing along making my stomach twist.
"Run, run, run!" Thomas shouted as we turned a sharp corner, our feet barely catching up with our own momentum.
The Maze wasn't going to let us go that easily.
While rounding another corner Thomas slipped while coming to a stop. His breath was ragged as he pushed himself to his feet, looking around in a panic. "Oh shit..."
The words barely left his mouth before I realized—there was nowhere to go. We were trapped. The walls of the Maze had closed us in, the Griever barreling toward us with relentless speed. It was too fast, too close.
"Thomas, the vines!" I shouted, my eyes darting up toward the maze's higher ledges. There were vines hanging loosely, reaching down like a lifeline.
Without hesitation, Thomas grabbed the nearest vine, his hands slipping as he hoisted himself up. I scrambled after him, adrenaline surging through my veins. The Griever was closing in, its mechanical limbs clicking, its horrific growl echoing louder.
The vines were our only shot. We didn't have time to think about anything else.
My hands burned as I pulled myself up, just managing to get a grip on the vines. I could hear the Griever snarling below, its legs scraping the wall, desperate to reach us. The moment I was on the ledge, I kicked off, jumping with everything I had, landing hard on the crumbling platform above.
Thomas followed closely behind me, but as soon as his feet touched the ledge, we both heard it.
The cracking.
We looked over the edge, but there was no time to even breathe. The Griever had made it up the vines, its claws scraping against the stone, now angrier than ever.
We took off again, scrambling through the Maze, the broken, heighten section of it threatening to collapse beneath us with every step. The gaps in the walls were widening, and we had to leap across some of them, using our momentum to clear the spaces.
The Griever was relentless, always right on our heels. It wasn't letting up.
I glanced over at Thomas, panic creeping in. We couldn't outrun it forever.
We came to another ledge—no way out.
"Shit!" I cursed under my breath. We skidded to a halt, but there was no way forward. Just an endless drop ahead and nothing but a narrow ledge that barely had room for us to stand.
We were stuck.
The Griever was gaining on us. There was nowhere left to go. The Maze had us cornered.
The Griever's horrifying mechanical growls echoed in the air as we turned to face it, cornered against the ledge with nowhere to go. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the panic tightening my throat.
Thomas looked at me, eyes wide with desperation. "We have to jump."
"What?!" I gasped, looking over the edge. The drop was far. Too far.
Thomas was already backing up, readying himself for the leap. "Do it!" he shouted, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the edge. There was no time to think—no time for anything but instinct.
Without another word, we both leapt. My stomach lurched as I fell, and the wind rushed by me, making it feel like I was plummeting forever. My hands instinctively reached out for the vines growing against the opposite wall, fingers wrapping around them just in time. The momentum slowed my descent, but the strain in my arms was immediate. I could hear the Griever behind us, relentless, bounding after us with terrifying speed.
I looked down just in time to see the Griever leap after us, its claws outstretched. It grabbed my legs with an agonizing jolt, yanking me downward. I screamed in panic, desperately trying to climb back up, my heart racing.
"Thomas!" I screamed as I fought to regain my grip on the vine, but it was too late. The weight of both the Griever and us was too much. The vines snapped under the pressure, and with a sickening thud, we were ripped from the wall and plummeted to the ground.
Pain shot through my body as I hit the hard ground, the breath knocked from my lungs. I struggled to stand, but the Griever was already there, its massive metallic body looming above me, trying to crush me underfoot.
"Move!" I yelled, pushing myself to my feet, pushing Thomas' back as we bolted forward.
We didn't get far since as we reached the next corner, something unexpected happened. The creature became tangled in the vines, its limbs caught and twisted in the thick, web-like tendrils, preventing it from following us.
I stopped, momentarily stunned. The Griever thrashed, trying to free itself, but it was stuck. We had a moment.
Then, out of nowhere, Minho sprinted around the corner, his face a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You're both crazy!" he yelled, rushing to us.
I exhaled in relief, my legs shaking as the adrenaline slowly started to leave my body. "You have no idea," I muttered, clutching my side.
Minho shook his head, half laughing, half scolding. "What the hell were you thinking, jumping into the Maze like that?"
"We didn't have a choice," Thomas replied, still panting. "We were out of options."
Minho gave us both a hard look, then turned his gaze to the Griever, still struggling behind us in the vines. "Well, lucky for you, the Maze is making it easy for us this time."
We didn't say anything else. There was no time for explanations. The Griever was stuck, but that wouldn't last forever. We had to keep moving.
"Come on, let's go!" Minho started dragging us behind him.
The long path stretched ahead of us, the walls of the Maze shifting with an eerie groan as they began to move. Minho was already running ahead, his pace quick and sure, his eyes darting from side to side, scanning for any potential dangers. He glanced over his shoulder to check on me, then motioned for me to keep up.
"We're almost there, Y/N! We'll lose it at the next corner!" Minho called out, his voice sharp and filled with urgency.
I pushed myself harder, my breath coming in short gasps as I sprinted behind him, my eyes fixed ahead. The Griever was still pursuing us, its mechanical growls growing louder with every passing second, the noise of its claws scraping against the ground sending shivers down my spine.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Thomas slowing down, his eyes fixed on the Griever, the fear visible on his face.
"Thomas, hurry!" Minho yelled, but Thomas didn't move. He was frozen, like a deer caught in headlights.
"What the hell are you doing?" I shouted, my voice desperate as I caught up to Minho. "Run! Move, damn it!"
But he just stood there, watching the Griever inch closer with every second.
"Thomas!" Minho called again, his voice sharp. "Don't just stand there!"
Suddenly, the Griever was almost on top of us. Its growls grew louder, and I could hear its massive form crashing down the path behind Thomas, its claws digging into the ground, ready to strike.
"Don't look back, Thomas!" I screamed, my voice filled with panic. "Keep running!"
But Thomas was still hesitating, turning his head back and forth, caught between fear and the instinct to escape. The Griever lunged forward, its horrific screech echoing through the Maze, and that was enough to finally snap Thomas out of his trance.
He turned and bolted down the path, his feet pounding against the ground as the Griever followed, getting closer and closer with each passing moment.
"Thomas, go!" Minho yelled again. "You're almost there!"
The walls were closing behind us, the sound of their movement drowning out everything else. I pushed harder, the panic now blending with adrenaline as I reached the final stretch. The Griever was so close now, I could hear its heavy breathing.
Then, with a loud, resounding thump, the walls slammed shut, the Griever trapped in the gap. We had done it. The creature was stuck, unable to move, its body wedged between the closing walls of the Maze.
We had won.
I gasped for air, my chest heaving, and I looked over at Minho. His expression was one of relief, but there was no time for celebration. The walls had sealed, and the Griever was stuck.
"Is everyone okay?" Minho asked, breathless, glancing at Thomas.
Thomas was standing there, panting heavily, his wide eyes still filled with panic. He didn't answer immediately, just staring at the spot where the Griever had been. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"Yeah... yeah, we're good."
I exhaled, still feeling the pulse of adrenaline coursing through my veins, my mind racing with the thought of how close we'd come to being caught. We had made it out, just barely. But we weren't out of the Maze yet.
𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢𓇢
The first light of dawn broke across the horizon, the soft glow painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The entrance to the Maze creaked and groaned as the walls shifted back, revealing the path out. We had made it.
But even though we were out, there was a heaviness that weighed down on me. Alby was still unconscious, his body slumped against me as I supported him with every step. His breathing was shallow, his skin cold to the touch. Every time I looked down at him, a knot formed in my chest. I had no idea how much time we had left with him.
We walked slowly, every step a reminder of how close we had come to not making it. The sound of our footsteps echoed in the silence, and with each passing second, the weight of the past hours seemed to settle deeper into my bones.
Then, I saw it.
The Gladers had gathered at the entrance, waiting for us. The familiar faces of the crew, the ones who had stayed behind, their eyes wide with anticipation, their hands raised in cheers. The moment we stepped out into the open, the cheers erupted, loud and overwhelming, as if the whole world was celebrating our survival.
But there, standing at the front of the group, was Newt. He was just standing there, eyes locked on us, his posture rigid, like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The way he looked at me—like I was both the most precious thing and the most dangerous—sent a wave of guilt and relief crashing through me all at once.
I stumbled slightly as I shifted Alby's weight to my other side, but I couldn't take my eyes off Newt. He stood frozen in place, looking like a wreck, his usually composed expression lost in confusion and worry.
Before I could even think about it, my feet were moving faster. My heart was pounding in my chest as I sprinted toward him, leaving the others behind. The world around me seemed to blur as I closed the distance, the cheers and noise fading into a dull roar in my ears.
When I finally reached him, I didn't stop. I jumped into his arms without thinking, my body shaking from the adrenaline and exhaustion, and I buried my face into his chest.
He caught me effortlessly, but his arms tightened around me like he was afraid I might slip away. His fingers ran through my hair, the softness of the gesture contrasting with the tightness in his grip.
"Y/N," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "God, I thought—I thought I'd lost you."
I couldn't respond. The weight of everything we had gone through, everything we had survived, hit me all at once. I broke down, tears flowing freely as I held onto him for dear life. The relief, the fear, the pain—all of it poured out in the form of sobs that racked through my body.
"I'm here," I managed to choke out between breaths, clinging to him like he was the only thing that kept me from falling apart. "I'm okay, Newt. I'm okay."
His hand moved to the back of my head, holding me close, and I could feel the tension in his body as he let out a breath he had been holding in for far too long.
"I wasn't sure you were," he murmured, his voice tight with the raw emotion that was threatening to break through. "You don't know what that did to me, Y/N. Watching you go in there, not knowing if you were gonna make it back..." His words trailed off, but the weight of them hung between us, making it harder to breathe.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm sorry I made you worry."
He pulled back just slightly, his eyes scanning my face, looking for any sign that I wasn't okay. When he saw nothing but exhaustion and relief in my eyes, his own softened, and he gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.
"You're alive," he said quietly, his voice still full of disbelief. "That's all that matters."
And for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself believe that. Because in that moment, everything else—everything we'd been through, everything we still had to face—didn't matter. What mattered was that we were alive. We had made it through the Maze, and I had made it back to him.