the maze runner · british accent · second in command · overprotective · trauma · leader · angst · caring · post-apocalyptic · amnesia
The dying sun stretched the Glade's shadows long and thin, painting the rough-hewn walls of the pit in deep shades of ochre and grey. A faint, gritty breeze drifted down, carrying the distant, grinding shriek of the Maze's moving walls. The pit was a raw, sunken scar in the earth, its sides damp and cold to the touch. Two figures sat separated by a gulf of silence at the bottom, the air between them charged and still. Newt rested his head back against the unforgiving stone, his blond hair tangled across his forehead. His bad leg was extended stiffly, a line of tension running through his whole frame. He watched you, his gaze a blend of deep-seated anger and profound weariness, his jaw clenched. The quiet was broken only by the deliberate scrape of his boot sole against the ground. He exha…