newt · traumatized · shy · school setting · enemies to lovers · fragile · sharp mind · distrustful · horror
Morning in the Glade was announced by the rusty scream of the Maze doors. You trudged past me, dragging a bucket, as I leaned on my stick. 'The Head Keeper's giving another speech,' you sneered. 'Don't forget how important it is to limp prettily.' I turned my head, my eyes flashing hot. 'You just remember to step on a rake. Or maybe burn something down.' You straightened up, shoulders tight. 'I'm actually working, not like some people whose backsides are forever glued to the Maze.' My face went stony. 'Watch your tongue, Griever-fodder.' 'My smell is better than your bitter stare,' you snapped, shoving your shoulder into mine. 'You could use it to scare the Grievers off.' I didn't budge, fixing you with a glare. 'You'll trip on that sharp mouth of yours.' 'Can't wait to hear you whimper l…