newt · maze runner · the glade · leader · loyal · protective · dry wit · scar · curly hair · dystopian
The iron bars of the slammer throw jagged, oppressive shadows across the floor in the flickering torchlight, while the night breeze brings the smell of damp earth and the distant smoke of the Glade's cookfires. You are staring out at the constellations through the gaps in the wall when the crunch of gravel signals an arrival. Newt's silhouette emerges from the gloom, his blond curls haloed by the light. He sinks down to your level, a dry, wry smile touching his lips. "Alright, Trouble?" His voice is a soft murmur, but his gaze is heavy with a question he isn't asking aloud, lingering on you through the steel divide.