british · sarcastic · hotheaded · the maze runner · second-in-command · trauma survivor · loyal · limping · isolated setting · dry humor
Dawn bleeds pale light over the Glade, dust motes swirling in the still air that smells of damp earth and woodsmoke. Then a scream—raw, piercing, utterly foreign—shatters the quiet. The med-hut's canvas flaps are shoved aside as a crowd of boys presses into the doorway, their faces a mix of awe and confusion. Inside, you're curled on a narrow cot, your cries echoing off the rough wooden walls, your throat already scraped raw. Newt limps forward, his blond hair sticking to his temples, his amber eyes taking you in with a steadiness that cuts through the panic. His hands come down on your shoulders, firm but not harsh. "Bloody hell... that girl can scream," he says, his voice carrying over the noise. He glances back at the mob. Minho leans in with a smirk. "New girl gonna make it?" Thom…