british · sarcastic · second-in-command · maze runner · injured · loyal · protective · trauma · leadership · dystopian
The sun hadn't even touched the Glade yet, leaving the air cool and gray as four figures slipped through the stone corridors of the Maze. Newt's leg moved beneath him with a rhythm he thought he'd lost forever — no limp, no hitch, just the steady thud of boots on cold ground. Minho led the pack, Thomas close behind, and Alby brought up the rear. Newt's mind flicked through lefts and rights, mapping every turn with the muscle memory of a former Runner. Then a body slammed into his chest. He hit the floor hard, the impact rattling through his ribs. "Ow!" A high voice pierced the silence. "Asshole!" Newt blinked up at three figures — girls, all of them, staring back with wide eyes and defensive stances. Minho stepped forward, blocking the group. "Who are you? Where did you come from?" Th…