Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Darkness.

Then came the grinding, metal against metal, echoing in the black.

Thomas jolted awake, heart hammering. The air was damp and stale, tasting faintly of rust. He was moving, upward, confined in a narrow metal box that rattled and clanked with each second. Panic clawed at him. His hands scrambled over the walls, finding only cold steel.

A faint light bled in from slits above, thin and ghostly. As the box rose, the light grew stronger, sharper, until it stung his eyes.

He tried to think, to remember but his mind was a wasteland. Just one word floated to the surface.
Thomas.
That was all he had.

The box screeched to a halt, throwing him off balance. A silence stretched out, thick and expectant, then the world erupted.
Voices. Shouts. A screech of hinges. And blinding light.

“Outta the Box, Greenie!”

Hands reached down, strong and unyielding, hauling him up. The sunlight slammed into his eyes like knives, forcing them shut. The ground beneath his feet was solid but foreign, his legs unsteady as if they’d forgotten how to work.

When he could finally see, he froze.
A ring of boys surrounded him, their faces a patchwork of dirt, sweat, and suspicion. They ranged from maybe twelve to seventeen, each one eyeing him like a rare specimen. Their clothes were worn, patched, streaked with mud.

“Welcome to the Glade,” said a tall boy with a shaved head, broad shoulders, and the kind of presence that didn’t need announcing. His voice carried authority. “Name’s Alby. You’ll be safe here, long as you don’t break the rules.”

Thomas’s gaze darted around, trying to absorb it all. The place was… massive. Four towering stone walls rose like skyscrapers around them, each one broken by a single gaping entrance that led into shadowed corridors beyond. Inside, the open square was busy with life : gardens neatly planted, rough wooden huts scattered about, a barn, a small pen of animals. Beyond, trees whispered in the breeze.
It looked functional. It didn’t look safe.

A few hours later, after Thomas had walked the length of the Glade and watched the shadows stretch long across the walls, dusk had settled in, a bruised kind of light sinking over everything.

A flicker of movement caught his attention: an Asian boy standing off to the side, arms crossed, watching Thomas with unreadable eyes. Sweat clung to his forehead, but his posture was taut, like a runner waiting for a starting gun.

“That’s Minho,” Alby said, following his line of sight. “One of the Runners.”

Something about the name tugged faintly at Thomas’s mind. Familiar, but out of reach.

Alby’s voice pulled him back. “And that’s Newt.”

Thomas turned and stopped.

A blond boy was crouched in the shade of a tree, his attention fixed on a tiny figure sitting on a wool blanket. A baby girl, no more than nine months old, sat wobbling in the grass, a wooden spoon clutched in her small fists. She giggled, a sound so pure it cut through the strange tension of the place.
Newt smiled at her, steadying her with one hand as she tried to stand. The tenderness in his expression was at odds with the grime and toughness that clung to everyone else here.

Thomas blinked. “Is that… a baby?”

“Yeah,” Alby said, sounding tired of the explanation before it even began. “That’s Ada. She was born here.”

Thomas’s brain tripped over itself. “Born? Here?”

Alby gave him a look. “Newt got pregnant. Had her right here in the Glade. Miracle kid, if you ask me.” His tone softened almost imperceptibly. “Minho’s her father. It’s… complicated.”

Thomas glanced back just in time to see Newt scoop Ada into his arms, balancing her against his hip with practiced ease. She squealed and reached for a lock of his hair. Minho walked over then, his expression unreadable until it cracked for just a moment when he bent to press a kiss to Ada’s forehead. His hand brushed Newt’s arm, quick, but lingering.
Not a couple, Thomas thought. But something. Something strong enough to be felt from here.

“Are they...?”

“Not officially,” Alby cut in. “They love each other. Always have. Ada just made things… more complicated.”

Thomas had no idea how to respond. He barely understood where he was, let alone the relationships here.

“Come on,” Alby said. “Let’s get you fed.”

As they walked toward a rough wooden structure, Thomas couldn’t stop glancing over his shoulder. The image was jarring: two boys, hardened by survival, raising a baby in the middle of this stone-walled mystery.

And yet, somehow… it fit. Newt shifted Ada to his shoulder, humming softly, while Minho stood close beside them, eyes scanning their surroundings. They looked like they belonged, like family.

Thomas’s stomach growled, but curiosity gnawed harder.

A baby. Born in the Glade.

What was this place?

Who were these people?

And the question that beat louder than the rest...

Who was he?

Chapter Text

The sun had long dipped beneath the stone walls of the Glade, and orange-pink light gave way to the soft, flickering glow of torches and a crackling bonfire in the center of the yard. Music, laughter, and the sharp scent of roasted meat filled the air. Boys sat on benches or makeshift logs, talking loudly, passing food, letting off steam after a long day of work. It was the first time Thomas had seen anyone smile since arriving.

And yet, his eyes kept wandering, searching.

There.

Newt stood a few yards off, swaying gently from side to side with Ada held against his chest in a soft sling, her cheek tucked close to his collarbone. Her tiny arms were wrapped sleepily around the front of his shirt. Her eyelids drooped heavily, and now and then she gave a soft, contented sigh. Thomas couldn’t help but stare. The child seemed so out of place here, so impossibly gentle and fragile amid the dust and stone and chaos.

He hesitated before approaching, heart racing for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

Newt noticed him first. He smiled, warm and curious, but cautious too.

“Alright there, Greenie?” he asked. His voice was low and musical, an accent Thomas couldn’t place. “You survived the first day, so you’re already doing better than some.”

“I… guess I did.” Thomas’s eyes flicked down to Ada. “Hi. Sorry. I don’t mean to stare.”

“S’alright. People do,” Newt said with a small laugh, brushing a bit of hair away from Ada’s face. “You want to meet her?”

Thomas nodded, and Newt shifted just slightly to give him a better look.

“This is Ada. She’s nine months. Stubborn as her bloody father. Strong as me.”

Ada blinked drowsily at Thomas, then made a soft noise and buried her face back in Newt’s chest.

“She’s perfect,” Thomas said before he could stop himself.

“She is,” Newt said simply, no trace of modesty in his voice. “Though she’s a screamer when she wants to be. Has lungs like a siren.”

“Don’t get too close,” a voice said from behind him. “She bites.”

Thomas turned to see Minho standing there, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He wasn’t joking, though there was a flicker of dry amusement in his voice.

“I wasn’t...” Thomas started, flustered. “I mean, I just...”

“He’s fine, Minho” Newt said gently, shifting Ada a bit in the sling. “Let him breathe.”

Minho didn’t move. His dark eyes stayed locked on Thomas for another beat before he finally exhaled and stepped forward.

“She’s not a toy,” he said. “She’s not some weird Glade miracle people can gawk at. She’s our kid.”

Thomas swallowed and nodded. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

Minho gave a curt nod, then reached out to gently tuck the blanket more securely around Ada’s legs, fingers brushing against Newt’s hand. The touch lingered a second too long. Newt’s gaze dropped.

Thomas watched it all in silence. Whatever they were, whatever they had been, it wasn’t simple. It wasn’t over, either.

“You’re Thomas, right?” Newt asked after a moment, pulling the conversation back. “You remember anything yet?”

“No,” Thomas said. “Just my name.”

Newt gave him a sympathetic smile. “You’ll get bits and pieces back, maybe. Or not. It’s different for everyone. But you’ll find your place here, I promise. The Glade’s mad, but it works.”

Thomas nodded slowly, taking in the firelight flickering in Newt’s eyes, the curve of Ada’s little back rising and falling with each breath, the way Minho never seemed to fully relax.

He wasn’t sure what kind of place this was. But it was something.

And something was better than nothing.

Later, when most of the Gladers had settled or wandered off to their hammocks and bunks, the Map Room stood quiet. Its lanterns burned low, soft light casting shadows on the wooden walls and paper-covered surfaces.

Minho shut the door behind him and slid the lock into place.

Newt stood near one of the tables, Ada no longer strapped to his chest. She was asleep now, back in their hut with a watchful younger Glader named Zane keeping an eye on her. Minho approached without speaking, eyes locked on Newt’s back.

Newt didn’t turn until he felt the touch, Minho’s hands on his hips, the slow press of his mouth against the curve of his neck.

They didn’t speak at first. They never did, not right away. Clothes came off with practiced ease. Kisses were soft at first, then sharper, needier. Skin met skin in a flurry of breath and urgency.

It wasn’t about lust, not really. Not anymore.

When it was over, they lay tangled in the worn cot pushed into the corner, breath slowing, sweat cooling. Minho’s hand rested lightly on Newt’s stomach, his fingers splayed like he wanted to memorize the feel of him.

“I miss you,” Minho said quietly.

Newt’s eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. “I’m right here.”

“No,” Minho said. “Not like that. Not just… this.”

Newt shifted, just slightly, but didn’t pull away. “We’re fine. We’ve got Ada. She’s happy. She’s healthy. Isn’t that enough?”

“Don’t do that,” Minho said. “Don’t change the subject. I’m not talking about Ada. I’m talking about us.”

“There is no us,” Newt said, too fast. “Not like that.”

Minho sat up on one elbow, staring down at him. “We have a daughter together, Newt.”

“I know.”

“We sleep together. We take care of her. You let me hold you like this, every night I ask.” His voice was tight. “But the second I say anything real, you shut down.”

Newt exhaled, slow and shaky. “Because it’s complicated.”

“It’s only complicated because you make it that way.”

Newt turned toward him finally, his gaze soft but exhausted. “Minho… the world we live in, the Maze, the Glade, this isn’t a place where people get to be together. Not for real. We’re surviving. That’s it.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have something real in it.”

Newt didn’t answer.

Minho sighed and leaned down, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Just think about it, okay?”

Newt’s fingers found Minho’s hand. Laced them together. Held on.

But he didn’t promise anything.

Chapter Text

“C’mon, Greenie. Time you saw the bloody thing up close.”

Thomas followed a few steps behind Newt as they crossed the Glade in the early morning light. Dew clung to the grass, the sky pale and cool above the towering stone walls. It still amazed him, how the Maze loomed silently, each entrance like the mouth of something ancient and alive. Waiting.

Newt walked with quiet confidence, his hands shoved into the pockets of his worn trousers. Ada wasn’t with him this time; Thomas had learned that Zane watched her most mornings so Newt could do rounds. Still, there was something softer about Newt that didn’t match the others. Something tired beneath the sarcasm. Like he was holding everything together with frayed thread.

They reached the East Door just as the stone walls groaned open with the slow, mechanical grind that had haunted Thomas’s dreams.

“There it is,” Newt muttered, nodding toward the moving stone. “The Maze. Always shifting. Always watching.”

Thomas stepped forward slowly, drawn in by its vastness. The walls inside twisted off in angles he couldn’t fully see, disappearing into turns and dead ends.

“Why does it feel like it’s alive?” he murmured.

Newt huffed. “Because in a way, it is.”

From behind them, heavy footsteps approached.

“Oh great,” Newt muttered. “Here we go.”

Thomas turned as Gally came stomping over, all scowl and suspicion.

“What are you doing, shank?” Gally growled at Thomas. “You’re not cleared for the Maze.”

“I’m not in it,” Thomas replied, not backing down.

“You’re too close,” Gally snapped, stepping in. “And you,” he turned to Newt, “should know better than to bring the new kid this close. You think it’s smart, showing off the walls like they’re some kind of joke?”

Newt raised a brow, unbothered. “It’s called orientation, Gally. It's my job. Maybe if you did your job instead of trying to piss on every bloody corner of the Glade, we’d be in better shape.”

Gally’s fists clenched. “Don’t think being a mom gives you special privileges.”

Thomas froze, but Newt didn’t even blink.

“I don’t want special privileges,” Newt said, voice low. “I just want people to stop acting like my daughter’s a mistake.”

Before Gally could retort, a deep voice called from behind them.

“Enough.”

Alby.

He approached with the same authority he’d carried since day one, eyes flicking between them.

“Thomas, go help Frypan,” he ordered. “Newt, walk with me.”

Thomas lingered, hesitant, but Newt gave him a look : go. So he did, glancing once more at the looming Maze before turning back toward the kitchen.

They walked in silence at first, until they reached the edge of the Homestead, far from listening ears.

“She was crying again last night,” Alby said.

Newt nodded. “I know. She’s teething.”

“She woke up three bunkhouses, Newt. Boys are complaining they can’t sleep.”

“I’m trying, Alby. I really am. I rock her, I nurse her, I carry her around half the night. But she’s a baby.”

“You shouldn’t have had her.”

The words weren’t cruel, just flat. Inevitable.

Newt flinched, even though he’d heard them before.

“You think I don’t know that? You think I planned this?” he snapped. “I didn’t ask for Ada. But she’s here, and she matters. She’s mine.”

“And Minho’s,” Alby added. “You think I don’t see the way he looks at you? How distracted he is lately? We need our Runners focused.”

“He is focused,” Newt shot back. “More than anyone. He’d die in those walls to bring us answers.”

“And you’d die out here raising a child you never should’ve had.” Alby stopped walking, turned to face him. “I need to know you’re not pregnant again.”

Newt froze, blood turning cold.

“I’m not,” he said quickly. “Bloody hell, Alby. You think I’m stupid?”

Alby didn’t press it. Just gave him a long, steady look before walking off without another word.

Newt didn’t move for a long time.

He hadn’t thought about it. Not seriously. Not with everything else. He hadn’t felt different. Not really.

But Alby’s words stayed with him long after he was gone.

That night, Ada screamed.

It was a thin, sharp cry that sliced through the humid air of the Glade like a knife. Newt was up in seconds, heart racing, hands fumbling for the swaddle. She writhed in his arms, tiny fists pounding the air, tears soaking her cheeks.

“Shh, love,” he whispered, lifting her gently. “Shh, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and began to rock her, pressing her to his chest, pulling down his shirt so she could nurse. Her little mouth latched on quickly, but the crying didn’t stop. Her gums were red, her body tense. Newt blinked sleep from his eyes, tried not to think of the whispers he’d heard earlier that day : boys complaining, Frypan groaning, even Zane sighing when Ada’s cries had echoed down the hallway.

The door creaked open.

Newt didn’t turn.

“I’ve got her,” came Minho’s voice, quiet, raspy with sleep.

“You’ have to run in the morning,” Newt whispered.

“So?”

Newt looked up as Minho crossed the room and knelt in front of him. He reached for Ada, arms open. She hesitated, then slumped against his chest as he lifted her easily from Newt’s arms.

“She’s burning up,” Minho murmured, brushing a hand across her forehead. “Teeth again?”

Newt nodded. “Third one’s cutting.”

Minho began to rock slowly, holding Ada close. His voice was a low hum, wordless and soft.

Newt leaned forward, his head against Minho’s shoulder.

“I can’t keep doing this alone.”

“You’re not.”

Newt’s breath hitched. “Feels like I am, sometimes.”

Minho kissed the top of Ada’s head. “Then let me help.”

Newt closed his eyes.

Ada’s cries softened. Her tiny body relaxed.

For now, it was enough.

Chapter Text

The morning sun cast long slants of gold over the Glade, heat already rising from the stone paths. Newt wiped sweat from his brow and glanced down at Ada, who was sitting happily on a blanket near the tool shed. She was banging two wooden spoons together like cymbals, humming a warbled little tune only she understood.

Thomas stood beside Newt, shovel in hand, shirt soaked through. They’d been working side by side for hours, reinforcing a trench for drainage near the Deadheads.

“She's always that calm?” Thomas asked, nodding toward Ada.

Newt gave a tight smile. “Only when she’s fed, changed, and in a good mood. Which, miracle of miracles, she is today.”

Thomas grinned. “She’s kind of amazing.”

“Kind of?” Newt chuckled. “She’s the only decent thing in this shuck place.”

Across the Glade, Alby stood with arms crossed, watching them. His gaze shifted between Thomas and Ada, unreadable. Newt could feel it, even without looking. The constant weight of judgment. Of worry. Of wondering when Newt might fail again.

But today had been good. Thomas was adjusting faster than most. Smart. Quick. Curious, maybe too curious.

He was staring at the Maze again.

Newt followed his gaze. The stone corridors towered silently, deceptively still.

“You thinking about going in there, aren’t you?” Newt asked, voice low.

Thomas didn’t answer at first.

“I just… want to understand it. Why we’re here. Why it’s moving. Why it looks like it’s designed for us to fail.”

Newt gave a long sigh. “You’re not the first to want answers. But you go poking too far and you’ll end up dead. Or worse.”

Thomas looked at him. “What’s worse?”

Newt didn’t answer.

Before he could, a sharp voice broke across the clearing.

“Hey, Thomas!”

Gally, storming over like a thundercloud.

“You think you’re better than the rest of us?” he snapped, shoving a bucket aside with his foot. “Walking around like you’re already a Runner, thinking you’ve got the Maze figured out.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Thomas shot back, standing straighter.

“Your eyes say enough.”

Newt stepped forward quickly. “Alright, Gally, that’s enough.”

But Gally didn’t back down.

“You brought trouble, Newt. You brought it the day you and Minho decided to play house and raise a kid in the middle of this.” He pointed toward the Maze. “And now you’re getting cozy with the new Greenie? Figures.”

The air turned electric.

Thomas stepped between them. “Say whatever you want about me. But leave them out of it.”

Gally’s jaw clenched. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

In the heat of the moment, none of them noticed the sound at first.

Wooden spoons clattering to the ground.

The blanket, empty.

Newt’s heart seized.

“Ada?” His voice cracked as he turned. “Ada?!”

She was gone.

Panic hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was running before he even thought, calling her name, searching between tents and crates, scanning the open Glade with wild eyes. His legs felt too slow, his heart too fast. Visions crashed into his mind : her toddling toward the Maze, her fingers brushing the walls, her crying echoing somewhere dark.

No. No. No.

“ADA!”

“Newt!”

Alby’s voice.

Newt spun around.

Alby was approaching from the edge of the Homestead, Ada nestled against his chest, blinking drowsily, one of her fists wrapped tightly around a clump of weeds.

“She wandered toward the garden,” Alby said evenly. “I saw her.”

Newt ran forward and snatched her into his arms. “Oh my God, what were you doing, eh? What were you thinking?” He kissed her head, kissed her cheeks, held her like she might vanish again.

Thomas stood frozen nearby, eyes wide.

“You alright?” he asked.

Newt didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

The quiet didn’t last.

Later, the screaming started.

Thomas’s.

Newt burst from the hut just in time to see Ben dragging Thomas across the Glade, face twisted, eyes wild. He was infected, already half-Gone. There was blood on Thomas’s arm. Newt barely had time to think before the others tackled Ben, wrestled him off, locked him away.

It could have been Ada.

She could have been the one wandering too close to danger. She could have been the one bitten, bleeding, broken.

Newt couldn’t stop shaking.

When the chaos was over, and Thomas was treated and tucked away with a fresh bandage and a thousand questions in his eyes, Newt sat on the edge of the bed with Ada in his lap, rocking slowly. She was asleep now, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

“I wasn’t watching her,” he whispered to the empty room. “I was too busy fighting. Too busy letting Gally get to me.”

He didn’t know he was crying until Minho’s voice came softly behind him.

“She’s okay.”

Newt turned, startled. “You’re back.”

Minho nodded, stepping inside. He looked exhausted, dirt-streaked and drenched in sweat, eyes shadowed from hours inside the Maze. But he walked straight over, leaned down, and kissed Ada’s forehead.

Newt couldn’t look at him.

“She wandered off.”

“I heard.”

“I should’ve...”

“Newt.” Minho crouched in front of him, hands on his knees. “Stop.”

“She could’ve died.”

“But she didn’t.” Minho’s voice was firm but quiet. “You’re not alone in this. You never were.”

Newt’s hands trembled where they clutched Ada’s blanket. “I keep thinking… if something happened to her…”

“It didn’t.” Minho looked him in the eyes.

Newt blinked, lips pressed tight. He wanted to believe it. Wanted to feel steady. Instead, all he felt was hollow and tired and a little sick.

Minho reached out and cupped the back of his neck, pulling their foreheads together. The contact grounded him.

“She’s okay,” Minho whispered. “You’re okay. We’ll keep her safe.”

Newt nodded. But in his chest, fear still throbbed.

Chapter Text

The Glade was still cloaked in predawn blue when Minho rose from his bed.

Newt was curled on his side, hair a messy halo on the pillow, Ada tucked into the crook of his arm. Her little body rose and fell in soft, even breaths, lips parted in sleep. For a moment, everything felt peaceful. Whole.

Minho knelt beside them, brushing a stray lock of hair from Newt’s temple. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Newt’s forehead.

“I’ll be back before sundown,” he whispered.

He kissed Ada next, gently on the crown of her head, breathing in the faint baby scent of milk and grass and sun-warmed skin. She stirred, gave a sleepy sigh, then burrowed closer to Newt.

Minho pulled back slowly, reluctant, as always. Then he turned and slipped out.

Alby was already waiting at the Maze doors, stretching. He looked up as Minho approached.

“You good?” he asked.

Minho nodded. “As good as I ever am before running into a death trap.”

Alby smirked. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the Maze wake. The walls groaned softly, grinding open inch by inch as the Runners gathered supplies and maps.

“Newt looked tired yesterday,” Alby said, casually.

Minho didn’t look away. “Ada had a rough night. He barely slept.”

“You sure he’s okay?”

Minho hesitated. “I think so.”

“You love them,” Alby said.

It wasn’t a question.

Minho finally looked at him. “Of course I do.”

“Then don’t die,” Alby said simply, and turned into the Maze.

In the Glade, Newt stirred as Ada fussed beside him.

He blinked, disoriented, then groaned softly as he sat up. His whole body ached lately : shoulders sore, stomach unsettled. Ada climbed onto his lap and immediately tried to chew on the edge of his shirt.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, shifting her to nurse. “Let’s get this over with, you little terror.”

He dressed her, fed her mashed carrots, let her crawl in the dirt while he helped Zane sort supplies. He even found time to fix a broken wheel on the water cart. But all day, a coil of unease twisted tighter in his gut.

By late afternoon, the worry was blooming into full-blown dread.

Newt sat on the front steps of the Homestead with Ada in his lap, staring at the Maze doors like he could will Minho to appear.

Thomas approached, face drawn. “They’re late.”

“I know,” Newt murmured.

“They’ve never been late before.”

“I know.”

Thomas sat beside him, silent.

The sun dropped lower.

The doors began to groan.

Newt stood, heart pounding, eyes scanning the distance.

Nothing.

Then, movement.

Two figures.

Thomas saw them first. “It’s them!”

Newt ran forward, heart stuttering.

Minho, supporting a bloodied Alby, was sprinting toward the doors. Thomas broke into a run to help. Newt froze, Ada still cradled in his arms.

They weren’t going to make it.

“No,” Newt whispered. “No, no, no...”

He saw Minho shove Alby forward, Thomas throwing himself inside just as the massive stone walls began to slide shut.

Minho hesitated for a breathless second, eyes locking on Newt across the Glade.

Then the Maze sealed behind him.

Newt stood frozen in place.

He barely made it to the edge of the garden before he threw up.

Minho stood inside the Maze, chest heaving, the world narrowed to gray stone and pounding blood.

He was trapped.

Alby was unconscious. Thomas was beside him, panting.

And Newt… Newt was gone.

He was on the other side of the wall.

With Ada.

The weight of it crushed him.

He leaned against the wall, jaw clenched, forehead pressed to the stone.

“I’ll never see them again,” he said hoarsely.

Thomas said nothing.

Minho turned, sliding down to sit, his legs folding beneath him.

“I kissed her goodbye this morning,” he murmured. “Both of them. I kissed Newt and Ada, and I walked away. Like I always do. Like I had all the time in the world.”

“You’re going to see them again,” Thomas said, breathless but firm.

Minho gave him a look : tired, bleak. “You don’t know that.”

Thomas didn’t argue.

They sat in silence, the Maze shifting slowly around them.

In the Glade, Newt sat on the floor with Ada curled on his chest.

She was sleeping now, thumb in her mouth.

Newt stared at the door that had swallowed Minho whole.

“He’s not coming back,” he whispered.

Ada stirred. He swallowed, pressed his lips to Ada’s soft curls and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

The Glade had never been so quiet.

It wasn’t peaceful. It was waiting. A tense silence, like the whole place was holding its breath.

Newt didn’t sleep.

He sat on the floor of the Homestead, back against the wall, Ada curled against his chest. She was warm and small and real, breathing softly, a tiny hand curled in his shirt. He didn’t move for hours. He couldn’t.

His eyes kept drifting to the walls.

What if Minho never came back?

Clint sat on the edge of the common room, pretending to read a book by the fire. But Newt saw the way his eyes flicked toward him every five minutes.

Eventually, Newt snapped.

“Stop watching me like I’m going to throw myself off the bloody Homestead.”

Clint looked up, calm. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you bloody well are.”

“Newt...”

“I have a daughter,” Newt hissed. “You think I’d leave her? That I’d just, what, go vanish into the Maze again?”

Clint said nothing. He didn’t need to. They both remembered.

Newt’s hands tightened on Ada instinctively.

“She needs me,” Newt said, voice cracking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Clint gave a small nod. “Okay.”

Still, he didn’t leave.

At some point, Newt drifted into an uneasy sleep with Ada against him.

He woke with a start.

His arms were empty.

Panic swallowed him whole.

“Ada?” he gasped, scrambling upright. “Ada!”

Clint was beside him in seconds. “She’s fine. Newt, she’s fine...”

“Where is she?”

“Frypan took her. She was waking you up, you needed rest...”

“You had no right.”

Newt pushed past him, frantic, barefoot on the cold grass, heart thudding. He found Frypan sitting under the garden trellis, Ada in his lap, babbling softly.

She turned when she saw him and reached her arms out.

Newt scooped her up, breath ragged, pressing her to his chest.

“You don’t take her from me,” he told Frypan, eyes wild. “Not ever.”

“She was crying,” Frypan said gently. “You were dead asleep. I didn’t want her to wake you.”

“I don’t care.”

He walked away without another word.

The Maze doors groaned open in the morning light.

Newt didn’t breathe until he saw them : Minho and Thomas, supporting Alby between them, clothes torn and blood-streaked, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Minho’s eyes locked on him instantly.

Then he ran.

Newt didn’t even move. He stood frozen until Minho slammed into him, wrapping his arms around him and Ada both, burying his face in Newt’s shoulder.

“Bloody hell,” Newt whispered, clutching him. “You idiot.”

Minho didn’t say anything. Just pressed kiss after kiss to Newt’s jaw, Ada’s head, Newt’s lips, right there in front of everyone. He didn’t care.

Ada squirmed in between them, and Minho laughed wetly, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Did you miss me?” he whispered to her.

“Minho,” Clint tried, “we have to check...”

“Not now,” Minho said without even turning. “Later.”

“You’re injured.”

“I said later.”

He took Ada from Newt’s arms like it was the most natural thing in the world, cradling her against his chest, then turned toward the hammocks, weaving a little on his feet.

Newt watched him go, heart thudding. Then he turned to Clint.

“Let's go check on Thomas and Alby.”

By the time Newt was done, Minho and Ada were already asleep.

They were curled in the biggest hammock under the tree, Ada sprawled on her father's chest, a tiny fist clutched in the fabric of his shirt.

Minho’s hand rested over her back, protectively.

Newt climbed in beside them.

Minho stirred just enough to murmur, “You okay?”

Newt laid a kiss behind his ear. “I am now.”

Minho pulled him close without opening his eyes.

All three of them slept.

Late in the morning, Clint appeared, footsteps careful as he approached the hammock. He crouched down, lowering his voice so as not to wake the baby nestled between her parents.

“I need to check him over, Newt,” he whispered.

Newt gave a small nod, though his eyes were heavy with sleeplessness. “Alright. I’ll take Ada.”

But when he reached for her, Minho stirred and tightened his arm around both Newt and the child, his grip instinctive, protective. Ada shifted with a soft sigh, her tiny hand fisting in Minho’s shirt.

“Minho,” Newt murmured, gentle, “let Clint do his job.”

Even so, Minho didn’t let go. He held his daughter close as Clint leaned in, fingers probing carefully along Minho’s ribs, then brushing through his hair to check for swelling. Every touch made Minho wince, but he didn’t loosen his hold.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, voice rough from fatigue.

Clint huffed a quiet breath, shaking his head. “You will be, yeah, if you stop treating walls like they’re your bloody friends.”

Newt’s lips quirked, though his hand stayed pressed over Minho’s wrist, grounding him. Minho said nothing more, just buried his face against Ada’s soft curls, as if the weight of her against his chest was the only medicine he trusted.

Across the Glade, the atmosphere shifted.

They’d seen Newt’s panic, Minho’s return, the impossible survival.

Most were too stunned to say anything.

But not Gally.

Thomas was helping fix the broken wheelbarrow when he heard Gally’s voice from behind.

“Should’ve stayed in the Maze, Greenie.”

Thomas turned. “What’s your problem?”

“You don’t belong here. You’re messing everything up.”

“People almost died in there.”

“People die all the time,” Gally said flatly. “We don’t break the rules. We survive.”

Thomas stepped forward. “Maybe the rules are the problem.”

Gally shoved him.

Thomas shoved back.

It would have turned into a full fight if Winston hadn’t grabbed Gally by the shoulder.

“Enough,” he snapped.

Thomas wiped the blood from his lip, chest rising and falling with each ragged breath.

In the distance, Newt stood talking quietly with Clint, while Minho cradled Ada in the hammock. Life in the Glade continued as usual, stubbornly ordinary despite everything.

And behind them, the Maze stretched out, ever shifting, ever watching, an unyielding reminder that nothing here was truly safe.

Chapter Text

By evening, the Glade was bristling with questions.

The boys gathered near the fire pit, benches dragged around haphazardly, torches flickering in the growing dark. The makeshift council wasn’t anything official, not really, but when Newt stood in front of them, holding Ada against his hip like she was just another part of him, the murmurs quieted.

Thomas stood to the side, flanked by Chuck and Frypan, his expression wary.

Newt’s voice was calm. Controlled. Leader-like.

“Thomas saved a life,” he said. “Alby would be dead without him. He deserves to be treated with respect.”

Gally scoffed loudly. “Respect? For breaking every rule we’ve got?”

“He went into the Maze when no one else would.”

“He went into the Maze because he doesn’t care about the rules. You let him off easy, and next time someone else tries the same stunt, they won’t come back.”

“That’s enough, Gally.”

“No, it’s not.” Gally stood. “We’ve been doing things the right way for years. Then this shuck Greenie shows up, and suddenly you want to make him a bloody Runner?”

The group exploded into noise : shouting, debate, disbelief.

Newt raised his voice. “I’ve made my decision.”

“He’s not one of us.”

“He is now.”

Gally stared at him, jaw tight, eyes flashing. “What’s this really about, huh? You going soft? Baby at your hip, your little boyfriend backing you up—”

Minho’s body went rigid. He stepped forward so fast the air seemed to shift. “Say that again.”

“Minho,” Newt warned, his voice low but steady.

But Gally pressed on, venom in his tone. “We’re not a bloody family. We’re survivors. Start acting like it.”

Newt’s jaw tightened. For a beat, he said nothing, his gaze locked on Gally’s. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, too calm.

“Ada’s not weakness. And neither am I. You’d do well to remember that. Thomas will be trained as a Runner. Starting tomorrow.”

That’s when Gally shoved him. Not hard, but hard enough to make Ada whimper, her tiny fists clutching at Newt’s shirt.

Newt staggered back a step, lips pressed white with fury, his whole body curling protectively around her.

Minho lunged. In a flash, he was between them, shoving Gally back with both hands, voice low and lethal. “Touch him again and I swear...”

Gally’s palms shot up. “Relax, lover boy.”

Minho didn’t budge, muscles coiled tight, until Zane and Winston grabbed Gally and hauled him back to his seat.

The fire crackled. No one spoke. The whole Glade seemed to hold its breath.

Newt’s hand moved slowly over Ada’s back, soothing her. When he finally lifted his head, his voice was calm, steady, but carried the weight of command.

“Meeting adjourned.”

Later, under the stars, Newt handed Ada off to Zane.

“She’s fussy tonight,” he murmured, tucking the blanket tighter around her. “If she doesn’t settle, just bring her to me.”

Zane nodded, holding the baby with practiced care. “Got it.”

Newt lingered, watching Ada’s small face, the way her eyes blinked sleepily as Zane rocked her. His jaw tightened, lips pressed thin.

Finally, he tore his gaze away and turned, boots crunching softly against the dirt as he made his way toward the Map Room.

Minho was already waiting inside.

He said nothing when Newt entered. Just stood at the table, both hands braced on the edge, chest still heaving slightly from the confrontation.

Newt closed the door behind them.

Then crossed the room and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft.

It was desperate, clothes pushed aside, hands trembling with too much held back. Minho dragged him close, kissed him like nothing mattered but this.

They moved without words. Newt’s hands on Minho’s face, Minho’s mouth against his throat, hips pressing together like they couldn’t get close enough. They fell to the floor, maps forgotten, tangled in each other with gasps and touches and friction and heat.

When it was over, Newt didn’t move.

He lay half on top of Minho, cheek pressed to his shoulder, still trying to catch his breath. Their legs tangled, his fingers tracing idle lines over Minho’s chest.

Minho ran his hand down Newt’s spine, lips brushing his hair. “You scared me.”

“You scared me first,” Newt whispered.

Minho turned his head to look at him. “He shoved you.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not the bloody point.”

Newt fell silent for a moment. “I can’t lose you.”

“You’re not going to.”

“I thought you weren’t coming back.”

Minho kissed the side of his head. “I always come back to you.”

Newt blinked hard. “It’s not just me anymore.”

“I know,” Minho murmured. His hand found Newt’s, fingers lacing tight. “I’ll come back to the both of you. Always.”

They lay together in the silence of the map room. Moonlight spilled through the cracks in the wall, painting soft lines across their skin.

Chapter Text

Minho stood just inside the threshold of the Maze, hands tight on his hips as he looked back at Newt and Ada.

They were just outside the Doors, Newt with Ada pressed close in the sling across his chest, one hand curled protectively over her back, the other resting on the stone. His face was pale, drawn tight with a quiet exhaustion he couldn’t quite hide.

“I won’t be long,” Minho said softly.

“You better not,” Newt replied, voice steady, but his eyes betrayed him.

Minho leaned in, kissed Newt’s temple, then kissed the top of Ada’s head where her curls were already damp with the rising heat of the day. Ada giggled and grabbed at his collar, babbling nonsense. Minho let her tug at him for a second longer than he should have.

“I love you,” he whispered, too quiet for anyone but Newt to hear. “Both of you.”

Newt didn’t answer. Just nodded.

Then Minho turned and vanished into the Maze with Thomas on his heels.

The morning dragged.

Alby hadn’t woken since the sting, and it was beginning to worry even Clint. He was feverish, barely responsive, and when he did mutter something, it made no sense : names and numbers and warnings that sent shivers up Newt’s spine.

Ada had refused to leave Newt’s side all day. She’d cried when Frypan tried to distract her with mashed apples, screamed when Zane tried to take her to the gardens, and sobbed until she choked when Newt left her with Winston for ten minutes to check the fence line.

Now she was clinging to his shirt with both fists as he sat on the bench beside the Homestead, rocking her gently. Her cheeks were red, her face sticky with tears and snot. Newt looked almost as bad, his hands trembling, skin cold despite the heat.

Clint approached slowly, crouched in front of them.

“She’s overtired,” Newt muttered before Clint could speak. “She’ll settle.”

“I’m not here about Ada,” Clint said. “I’m here about you.”

Newt didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“You’re pale, you’re nauseous, and you’ve barely eaten in days.”

“I’m just tired.”

Clint’s voice dropped. “Newt. Are you late?”

Newt’s head snapped up.

“I know it’s not my business...”

“Then don’t make it your business,” Newt snapped. He held Ada tighter. “I’m fine, Clint.”

Clint sat back on his heels, watching them both. “You were like this last time, too. Remember?”

Newt didn’t answer.

“I’m not accusing you of anything. I just don’t want history repeating itself without us knowing.”

Still no answer. Just the soft sound of Ada snuffling, her little fists tightening in Newt’s shirt. Newt smoothed a hand over her back, his silence louder than any denial.

Clint stood. “I’m here if you need me.”

Newt waited until he was gone, then let his head fall back against the wall behind him. Ada whimpered, and he pressed a trembling kiss to her hair.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I don’t bloody know.”

By the time Minho and Thomas returned, the sun was beginning to sink.

Newt was helping Frypan carry vegetables from the gardens when the alarm sounded, a metal groan, then a clang that echoed through the Glade. He turned, heart in his throat.

The Box.

It was rising.

He was halfway across the yard before he even registered that he’d dropped the basket of potatoes.

Gladers were already gathering around the stone shaft as the Box reached the top and locked into place. No one moved.

“Another Greenie?” someone asked.

“Already?”

In the commotion, Zane had handed Ada back, and now Newt elbowed to the front, his daughter on his hip, wide awake and murmuring “Ma! Ma!” into his shoulder.

He peered over the edge and saw her.

A girl.

Young. Pale. Lying motionless on the floor of the Box with her dark hair fanned around her. In her hand, a note.

Minho reached the edge a few seconds later, sweaty and dust-covered, eyes wide. Thomas was right behind him, staring at the girl like she was a ghost.

Newt looked between them. “What the bloody hell is this?”

The girl stirred.

Then her eyes opened and fixed directly on Thomas.

“Thomas.”

The whole Glade seemed to stop breathing.

Newt felt the ground tilt beneath him. Ada squirmed, picking up on his unease, and Newt shifted her against his chest, trying to soothe her. She’d cried herself hoarse earlier; now she was hiccupping softly, and it was too much. All of it.

Minho came to his side, touching his back gently. “Newt.”

He didn’t respond.

“Newt,” Minho said again, more urgent now. “You’re shaking.”

And he was. Cold sweat prickled his spine, and the nausea that had been hovering all day surged like a wave. He shoved Ada gently into Zane’s arms before stumbling back from the Box, from the girl, from everything, then doubled over behind the nearest hut, retching into the grass.

Minho followed him, crouching beside him in an instant.

“You’re not fine,” he whispered.

Newt pressed a hand over his eyes.

He wanted to deny it again. Say it was just the heat, or the stress, or the adrenaline. But that moment, the way his body reacted, the way his chest burned and stomach roiled, was too familiar.

He remembered this.

From before.

He felt Minho’s hand rest on the back of his neck, grounding him.

-I'll be fine, he said.

Chapter Text

Alby was breathing. Shallow at first, then steadily deeper, until Newt, sitting silently beside him in the shade of the Med-jack hut, heard him mutter something and shift against the mattress.

Newt leaned forward, clutching Ada closer.

Alby’s eyes fluttered open.

"Newt ?" His voice was hoarse, confused. "Is that…?"

"Yeah. It’s me." Newt offered a shaky smile. "Welcome back to the world of the bloody living."

Alby blinked at the light filtering through the wooden slats. His eyes adjusted slowly.

"You look awful," he rasped. "Am I still in one piece?"

"More or less," Newt said. “Minho and Thomas brought you back. You’ve been out for a couple days. Fever, nightmares.”

Alby turned his head slowly, brows drawing together. “What the hell happened to me?”

“You got stung.”

Alby stiffened.

"You don’t remember, do you?" Newt asked quietly.

“No. Just flashes.” Alby swallowed. “Something’s wrong with the Maze, Newt.”

“I know,” Newt murmured. “Something’s been wrong for a while now.”

That evening, tension sparked through the Glade like dry grass catching fire.

Gally had taken full advantage of Alby’s absence. He patrolled the Glade like it was his territory, barking orders, yelling at the Builders, making veiled comments about who should be in charge if their leader was too weak to do his job.

Now that Alby was conscious again, it didn’t seem to stop him.

He even confronted Newt near the gardens.

"Your brat’s crying is a bloody menace," Gally snapped. "People are trying to work and she’s screaming her head off every five minutes."

Newt held Ada tighter, jaw clenched. “She’s a baby, Gally. And she’s scared.”

“I’m just saying, maybe she shouldn’t be here at all.”

Minho was there before Newt could speak, stepping between them with a low, dangerous voice. “Back off.”

Gally didn’t move. "It’s a waste. All of it. We’re not getting out. And sooner or later, that kid’s going to cost someone their life."

Minho shoved him. “Say that again.”

Gally shoved back, but Newt barked, "Enough!" just as Ada burst into tears.

The Gladers watched in silence as Newt took a step back, cradling his daughter. “You’re not the one in charge,” he told Gally. “And until someone elects you to be, shut your bloody mouth.”

Gally stormed off, muttering curses.

Clint caught Newt near the Med-jack hut as the sun began to fall. “You look worse,” he said bluntly. “And she’s not the only one clinging.”

Newt didn’t argue. He looked exhausted. Ada had barely let go of him all day, wailing whenever someone else tried to hold her, burying her face in his neck like the world was crumbling. And Newt had been no better, holding her just as tightly, as if letting go might undo them both.

“She’s picking up on something,” Clint said gently.

“I know.”

“Let me check you.”

Newt hesitated. Then, finally, nodded.

Inside, Clint closed the curtains and locked the door.

Ada fussed but eventually settled into Newt’s lap with a piece of cloth to chew on. Clint worked quietly, asking questions in whispers. The examination was quick but no less uncomfortable.

“Your last bleed... over three months ago ? ”

“More like four.”

“Nausea?”

“Every bloody morning.”

Clint frowned, pressing a hand gently to Newt’s lower abdomen. “You’re farther along than I thought.”

Newt went still. “How far?”

“I don’t know. But… farther than with Ada when you first felt it.”

Newt closed his eyes, breathing shallowly.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Clint said. “Not unless you want me to.”

Newt nodded, lips pressed together tightly. “Thank you.”

That night, the sky was heavy. Electric. Too quiet.

As dusk crept over the Glade, everyone turned toward the Maze.

They waited.

And waited.

The Doors didn’t close.

Someone shouted.

The Grievers were coming.

Chaos exploded.

Minho grabbed Ada before Newt could even move, shouting, “To the Homestead!” while Gladers scrambled for weapons.

Newt was beside him in a second, heart slamming in his chest. “We have to barricade!”

“No time!” Minho roared.

The first Griever burst from the Maze, sliding across the stone and bellowing something mechanical and monstrous.

Newt grabbed Frypan’s axe and threw himself in front of Minho and Ada as others scrambled to form a line of defense.

The creature lunged.

Alby appeared out of nowhere.

He shoved Newt aside and struck with a spear, just as another Griever ambushed from the side.

It sank its bladed appendage deep into Alby’s chest.

Newt screamed.

Minho surged forward, slicing with a machete, and the Griever reeled back. But it was too late.

Alby hit the ground, blood pooling fast beneath him, eyes wide.

Ada sobbed, terrified, her cries high-pitched and endless as Newt collapsed beside Alby, trying to reach him but he was already gone.

Later, when the Homestead had been reinforced and the Grievers retreated as suddenly as they’d arrived, silence hung over the Glade like fog.

Thomas stood outside the map room, pale and shaking.

“I need to remember,” he said.

“No,” Newt said hoarsely, cradling Ada. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I have to,” Thomas insisted. “It’s the only way. There has to be a reason they sent me.”

Minho stared at him. “You really want to get stung? After what you saw?”

Thomas looked past them, toward the Med-jack hut where Alby’s body lay under a sheet.

“I need to know what they did to us.”

And then, before anyone could stop him, he took off, straight toward the Maze.

Minho cursed and sprinted after him.

Newt stood frozen, heart pounding.

Ada whimpered softly against his chest.

This night had changed everything.

And the worst was still to come.

Chapter Text

Thomas was unconscious for nearly a day after the Griever sting. Teresa hadn’t said much since she arrived in the Box, but her presence was like a storm hanging in the air, silent, electric, promising change.

Gally made his move before dawn.

The moment Clint confirmed Thomas was breathing steadily again, Gally had him and Teresa locked in the Slammer without so much as a vote.

“The kid’s dangerous,” he barked. “Both of them are. They’re not like us.”

Newt stood in the middle of the Glade, stunned. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I do if no one else will.” Gally’s glare was sharp, his posture defensive. “Look around, Newt. Alby’s dead. The Doors don’t close anymore. The Grievers are picking us off one by one.”

“You think locking people up is the answer?”

“I think you don’t have the balls to protect us anymore.”

Newt didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

He was too tired, too heartbroken. He still saw Alby’s eyes, wide, still, gone. He felt the weight of Ada’s tiny arms around his neck, the way her whole body shook as they’d huddled through the night, listening to the Grievers outside.

He hadn’t slept.

He hadn’t cried.

He wasn’t sure he could.

Minho found Frypan sitting alone near the Bloodhouse, sharpening a piece of scrap metal into something sharp and brutal.

“Still making stew?” Minho asked.

“Not much left to cook with,” Frypan muttered. “But yeah.”

Minho sat beside him, quiet for a second.

Then he said, “We’re leaving.”

Frypan looked up. “What?”

“We can’t stay. The Maze isn’t gonna fix itself. And with Alby gone, and Gally acting like king of the damn Glade…”

“You sure?”

Minho nodded. “Thomas knows something. The sting will show him more. And there’s an exit. Somewhere.”

Frypan stared at the ground. “You’re talking about taking Ada too?”

“Of course I am,” Minho said. “She’s not staying behind.”

“She’s a baby.”

“I know.”

“She cries.”

“I know, Fry.”

Frypan sighed. “Alright. You got a plan?”

“Yeah. Quietly. No one panics. No one tells Gally. Pass the word to Chuck, Zane, Clint. Only people we trust. We don’t have time for speeches. When we move, we move fast.”

“Got it.”

Minho stood and rubbed a hand down his face. “You good?”

“As good as we can be.”

When Thomas finally woke, Clint brought him water and sent someone to find Newt.

Newt appeared not long after, pale and tired, Ada asleep against his chest in a wrap.

“I remember,” Thomas rasped.

Newt didn’t speak.

“I worked for them,” Thomas said. “WICKED. I was part of the project. I helped build the Maze.”

Minho arrived just as the words fell into silence.

“You what?” he said.

“I don’t know everything,” Thomas said quickly. “I just… I know enough. The Maze was an experiment. We were test subjects. They did something to our memories. I volunteered. I think...I think I believed in it.”

Minho stared at him. “And now?”

“I want to get out. I want to take all of you with me. I want to make it right.”

Newt rocked slightly, adjusting Ada in his wrap. “You really believe there’s a way out?”

Thomas nodded. “There is. But we have to go through the Maze.”

That night, the boys met under the stars in the back of the Map Room, whispers passing like secrets through the dark.

Newt sat cross-legged on the floor, Ada nestled against his chest, her tiny hand wrapped around the collar of his shirt. Clint and Frypan leaned in, listening closely. Chuck clung to every word. Zane kept watch outside.

They had a plan now.

A real one.

“They’ll come after us,” Clint said.

“Let them try,” Minho replied.

Newt’s eyes met his. They didn’t speak, but something passed between them. Trust. Fear. The ache of knowing tomorrow could be the end.

When they’d finished, they cleared the maps and curled up where they were. Ada was passed gently to Minho, who tucked her between them as Newt lay down beside him.

Chuck curled up next to Frypan. Zane stayed by the door.

No one spoke much after that.

Newt lay awake, one hand resting over Ada’s back, the other brushing against Minho’s wrist.

Minho turned toward him in the dark and whispered, “We’ll get her out.”

Newt nodded.

“I love you,” Minho said.

It was barely audible.

But Newt heard.

And for the first time in days, something warm flickered in his chest.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

Tonight, they held on to each other.

Chapter Text

The Glade was a warzone of tension.

Gally had snapped.

It started with a meeting. Then yelling. Then weapons. Before anyone could stop him, he dragged Teresa and Thomas out into the middle of the Glade, their hands bound with thick rope, and forced them to their knees at the edge of the Maze.

“They’re the reason for everything,” Gally spat, eyes wide and unhinged. “You want answers? Here’s your sacrifice. The Maze takes them, or it takes all of us.”

Newt stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Gally, this isn’t you. This is fear talking.”

“You’re right,” Gally snapped. “I’m scared. We’re all scared. And you, you’ve gone soft. Playing house with a kid while the rest of us die.”

Minho stepped beside Newt, eyes burning. “Let. Them. Go.”

Gally’s hand hovered over his machete.

Then everything happened at once.

Minho lunged.

Thomas kicked out his legs and twisted his arms free.

Newt grabbed Zane’s makeshift weapon from the ground and tossed it to Minho.

Teresa scrambled up and undid her bindings just as Clint and Frypan charged from the Map Room, brandishing poles and clubs.

A blur of movement, shouting, dust and the Gladers turned on their self-appointed leader.

Gally ran away.

Minho held Ada strapped tightly to his chest with cloth and rope as they followed.

The plan was in motion.

No turning back now.

They moved fast through the Maze.

Teresa ran beside Minho, steady and quiet, and when the Grievers came, screeching, monstrous, deadly, Minho turned to her and unclipped the wrap.

“Take her,” he said, shoving Ada into her arms. “Protect her. Run.”

“But...”

“I’ll come back for her,” he promised.

His gaze lingered on Ada’s wide, frightened eyes. He brushed her hair back with trembling fingers.

“I love you,” he whispered. Then he turned and sprinted into the fight.

Newt and Thomas flanked the others, weapons in hand, driving into the chaos with grim purpose.

The Grievers were everywhere, metal limbs clanking, needles snapping. Blood splattered stone. Screams echoed.

Chuck led the way through the final path, unlocking the code Thomas remembered. The Maze’s center. The way out.

Teresa clutched Ada as she leapt across crumbling walls, the baby crying in her arms, but alive. Still alive.

They reached the door.

The Grievers slowed.

Hesitated.

And the group slipped into the tunnel beyond.

They emerged into a corridor of blinding lights and cold steel.

Everything was sterile.

Too clean.

Too quiet.

It wasn’t freedom. It was a trap dressed up in lab coats and silence.

Minho was the first to reach her. He practically tore Ada out of Teresa’s arms, clutching her tight against his chest like he’d been starved of her for years instead of minutes. Ada buried her face in his neck, whimpering, and Minho’s whole body shook as he whispered, “Got you, baby. Got you.”

Newt stumbled up beside him, his hand coming up to cup Ada’s back before sliding around Minho too. For a moment, all three of them were pressed together, Ada between them, their foreheads nearly touching.

Ada gave a little hiccup of sound, her fist tangled in Minho’s shirt. Minho kissed the top of her head and then, without thinking, brushed his lips against Newt’s temple too.

For a few precious seconds, the chaos around them disappeared. It was just the three of them again, whole.

Then monitors flickered to life around them. A video played.

A woman with a lined face and glassy eyes spoke directly into the camera.

“My name is Ava Paige,” she said. “If you’re seeing this, you’ve reached the end of Phase One.”

Minho held Ada close again. Her face was pressed to his neck, skin sticky with sweat, but she was alive.

“The world is dying,” Ava continued. “The Flare has decimated the global population. We created the Maze to identify those immune to the disease. Children, teenagers, the strongest of your generation. You are humanity’s last hope.”

Minho stood at Newt’s side, breathing hard, covered in scratches and blood.

“We always knew we’d need to use children,” the woman said without emotion. “Their adaptability. Their resilience. Their purity.”

Newt’s stomach turned.

The room was silent when the video ended.

And then, bang.

A gunshot.

Everyone screamed.

Chuck fell, blood blooming over his shirt, eyes wide in shock.

Gally stood in the doorway, gun shaking in his hands, his face pale and wild.

“She lied to us,” he said. “We were never supposed to get out.”

Minho didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed the spear Thomas had carried from the Maze and hurled it across the room with a cry of rage.

It struck Gally in the chest with a sickening thud.

He dropped.

Silence.

Chuck wasn’t moving.

Newt was the first to reach him, hands slick with blood. “Chuck,” he whispered, desperate. “Stay with us. Please.”

But Chuck was already gone.

Minho’s hands shook as he pulled Newt against him, Ada crushed between their chests, her cries sharp and unrelenting in the smoky air. The three of them clung together, grief and terror binding them as tightly as their arms.

That was how the rescue team found them minutes later, black-clad strangers in helmets, rifles gleaming under the harsh lights.

A chopper roared down on the roof above, its blades scattering dust and ash.

“We have survivors!” someone shouted.

And then, before they could catch their breath, they were herded out, one by one, pulled into the blinding light and the waiting sky.

The Maze was behind them.

The real world waited.

But Newt, clutching his daughter and Minho’s hand as if he’d never let go, could only wonder : what kind of world had they just brought her into?

Chapter Text

The helicopter ride was a blur.

Ada cried until she couldn’t anymore, red-faced and gasping, her tiny fists beating weakly at Newt’s chest. Desperate, he shifted her in his arms, tugged his shirt aside, and let her nurse. The rhythm of it soothed her, her cries fading into soft whimpers, her little body finally relaxing against him.

Newt rocked her carefully, his own arms trembling with exhaustion. Minho never let go of either of them, his hand pressed firm against Newt’s knee the entire time, his jaw clenched, his eyes unreadable.

When they landed, the world smelled sterile : disinfectant, metal, something too clean to be comforting.

White-clad figures waited.

Doctors, they said.

Scientists, others murmured.

A woman stepped forward. “We need to take the omegas and the child in for evaluation.”

“No,” Minho barked, stepping in front of Newt and Ada.

The woman’s eyes flicked to the child. “She’s a priority. We need to assess her exposure and immunity”

Newt clutched Ada tighter. “Minho...”

“They stay with me,” Minho said coldly. “You want them, you go through me.”

Several guards flinched forward, but another doctor raised a hand.

“We’ll take care of them,” she said softly. “Just a night. To make sure they’re healthy.”

“We’ve been living in a maze,” Minho snapped. “You think we’re suddenly gonna trust...”

Newt stepped forward, his free hand brushing Minho’s. “It’s okay,” he said, low. “Go with Thomas. Rest.”

Minho's eyes locked on his.

Newt leaned up and kissed him softly. “We’ll be alright.”

It took three guards and Thomas tugging at his shoulder to finally get Minho to let go.

They led Newt, Ada, and Teresa through a separate set of doors.

And Minho felt his heart go with them.

The rest of the Gladers were herded into a concrete hallway, stripped of their bloodied clothes, and given sterile white uniforms.

Minho felt cold even after the warm shower.

The food was hot, salty, satisfying : eggs, toast, real fruit. But he barely touched it.

“Bro,” Frypan groaned, flopping on a dorm cot. “If this is the afterlife, I’m not complaining.”

Clint was massaging his shoulder with a real grin. “Beds. Pillows. Hot water. I forgot these existed.”

Thomas was smiling faintly, seated at Minho’s side. “You okay?”

Minho stared at the metal door they’d brought Newt through.

“No.”

For a moment, they almost felt like boys again. Frypan joked about starting a bakery. Clint described the look on Gally’s face when Minho skewered him. Even Thomas laughed.

But Minho?

He kept glancing at the door.

That night, the lights dimmed to a soft blue.

Most of the boys were asleep.

Minho wasn’t.

Thomas woke up to see him sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands.

“You haven’t slept,” Thomas said, sitting up.

“They said it was just for one night,” Minho murmured. “They said they'd bring them back.”

Thomas didn’t speak for a moment. “Maybe they just want to make sure Ada’s okay.”

Minho looked over, and for the first time, Thomas saw the fear behind his eyes.

“She’s a baby,” Minho said hoarsely. “She cries at night. She needs Newt to nurse her. What if they separate them? What if they...”

“They wouldn’t,” Thomas said quickly. “They wouldn’t do that.”

Minho’s voice cracked. “You didn’t see the way they looked at her. Like she was a science experiment.”

Silence fell.

Then Thomas whispered, “What if that’s what we all are?”

Minho didn’t answer.

The next morning, they lined up again, hoping for answers.

Minho asked the first doctor he saw.

“Where’s Newt? Where’s my daughter?”

“I’m sorry,” the woman replied. “They’re still in medical. No visitors.”

“When...”

“I’m not authorized to say.”

She walked away.

Minho’s fists clenched. He looked at Thomas.

And Thomas nodded.

Something was wrong.

Later, Thomas pulled Minho aside. His face was pale.

“It’s them,” he said in a whisper. “It’s WICKED. The people running this place. They built the Maze. They sent us there.”

Minho froze. “You’re sure?”

“I found the logo. Same files. Same tech. And… I remember more.”

He looked sick.

“They were always planning for us to come here. This was part of it.”

Minho felt the room tilt.

“They have Newt and Ada,” he whispered.

Thomas nodded. “And we’re going to find them.”

Chapter Text

The facility was darker at night, corridors humming with low fluorescent lights. Alarms were off, doors unlocked, like they were expected to stay docile in their soft beds, grateful and tamed.

Thomas and Minho had other plans.

They moved quietly, the soles of their white shoes silent on the tile. Frypan and Clint trailed close behind, tense and alert.

The medical wing was on the lower level. It was cooler there, quieter, eerie.

Thomas stopped at a door. “This is it.”

He entered the code they had seen earlier on the staff’s clipboard. The door hissed open.

Teresa lay inside, strapped to a hospital bed, pale and still in a paper-thin hospital gown. Electrodes and wires were taped to her temples and chest. A tube ran down her nose. Machines beeped softly beside her, showing shallow, forced sleep.

“She’s sedated,” Thomas murmured, stepping forward. “Damn it.”

He moved fast, pulling the wires gently but firmly. The machines let out a protesting wail and went flat.

Teresa jolted a second later.

Her eyes fluttered open, glassy and wide. “Th...Thomas?”

“It’s okay,” he whispered, pulling her into a careful hug. “We’re getting you out.”

“Where...” She looked around. “Where’s am I ?”

Minho was already moving.

The next room was at the far end of the hallway. This door required no code, it hung slightly ajar, as if someone had simply forgotten to lock it. Inside, the space was larger, colder, clinical. A crib stood beside a narrow bed.

Minho spotted Ada first.

She lay, stripped to her diaper, wires attached to her tiny chest and head, a monitor above her displaying brain waves and heart rate. Her little face was calm, peaceful, but too still.

Minho’s heart caught in his throat. “No. No, no...”

He rushed forward and ripped the wires free. Ada gasped, a shuddering sob bursting out of her before it broke into a full-throated cry.

Minho scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. “Shh, Daddy’s here,” he whispered hoarsely, kissing her head over and over. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Behind him, Frypan gave a low sound. “Minho…”

Minho turned.

Newt lay in the other bed.

Also wired, also unmoving.

But it wasn’t that that made Minho freeze.

It was the large curved strap over Newt’s belly. A fetal monitor. The screen beside it blinked softly with two lines : Newt’s pulse, and beneath it, the steady rhythm of a second heart.

A small one.

The chart beside the bed read:

Subject #A5 – 5 months gestation. Male fetus. Viable. Stable.

Minho couldn’t breathe.

Frypan stepped forward, arms out. “Give her to me.”

Minho blinked, dazed, then slowly handed Ada over to Frypan’s waiting arms. She wailed in protest, but he turned away, his hands already reaching for Newt.

He tore off the electrodes one by one. The machine flatlined again, and for one awful second, nothing happened.

Then Newt gasped awake, coughing as his chest heaved, eyes fluttering open in panic.

“Newt!” Minho leaned over him. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

“Ada...where...?”

“She’s fine,” Minho said, voice shaking. “Frypan’s got her. She’s okay.”

Newt saw her in Frypan’s arms and let out a broken breath. His palm flattened protectively over his belly. And then he looked at Minho.

Minho was still stunned, eyes darting between Newt’s face and the small curve of his middle. His voice cracked when he finally spoke. “You knew?”

Newt’s throat worked. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?”

“I didn’t know how,” Newt whispered. “I was scared of what you'd say.”

Minho made a soft, breathless noise, and then kissed him. Hard. Deep. Desperate. His hands cradled Newt’s cheeks like he was made of glass. When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to Newt’s, his voice was fierce, unshakable. “I love you. You and Ada. Andthis baby... our baby.”

Newt’s eyes filled with tears.

Minho helped him sit up, one arm steadying him, the other hand never leaving his back. Newt was still weak, legs trembling, but determined.

“Let’s get out of here,” Frypan said. “Before they realize we’re gone.”

Thomas and Teresa were at the door already. Clint checked the hallway.

Minho adjusted his arm around Newt’s waist and opened the door wide.

And together, holding each other tightly, they ran into the unknown, but free.

Chapter Text

The world outside the WICKED compound was scorched, dry, and unrecognizable. Cities were dead things. Roads crumbled. The sun blazed unkind and merciless above.

They walked for hours.

Eventually, they found shelter in the ruins of what used to be a mall. The structure was half-collapsed, but the basement level remained accessible, cool and shadowed, filled with the musty scent of old stores and forgotten memories.

They set up camp in a ruined children’s clothing store, laying out blankets and finding old benches to rest.

Newt was exhausted.

He fell asleep quicky, Ada nestled in his arms, her tiny hands grabbing his shirt sleepily. She’d cried most of the way there, scared and overstimulated. Now, with her face tucked under his chin, her breathing had evened out.

Minho hovered nearby, tense.

Frypan was unpacking salvaged food. Clint sat by the broken door, his bag beside him, silent.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Minho snapped suddenly.

Clint stiffened. “Newt asked me not to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay!” Minho’s voice was low but sharp. “He’s five months along. You let me walk into the Maze with him like that!”

“Minho,” Frypan said, gently.

Minho turned to him, still shaking. “He could’ve...he could’ve lost the baby. He could have died.”

“He didn’t,” Frypan said calmly. “You’re here. She’s here. He’s still here. That’s what matters.”

Newt stirred. His head lolled to the side as his eyes opened slowly. “Stop fighting.”

Minho rushed over and crouched beside him. “Hey.”

“I’m okay,” Newt murmured, voice rough with sleep. “I just needed rest.”

Ada squirmed, waking as well. She blinked up at them, then made a happy sound, reaching for her mom’s face.

Newt smiled tiredly. “Hey, sweetheart.”

He shifted and placed her on the floor in front of him, holding both her hands. “Come on then, show me what you’ve got.”

Ada wobbled, took one step, then plopped down on her bottom with a giggle.

Frypan watched them with a soft smile. “She’s strong.”

“She’s a bloody warrior,” Newt said fondly, brushing hair out of Ada’s face. “She gets it from her father.”

“Both of you,” Frypan corrected.

Newt looked at him, surprised, then smiled again, warmer this time.

Thomas and Minho volunteered to scout the upper floors of the mall for supplies and anything usable.

“I want to find something to carry Ada,” Minho said, already climbing the shattered escalator. “A wrap or a sling or something.”

Thomas nodded. “And food. Maybe first-aid.”

They searched the wreckage of department stores, tossing aside debris and breaking into old storerooms. A broken mannequin startled them at one point, and they laughed shakily.

It didn’t last long.

The first sound came from below.

Snarling.

Dragging feet.

Guttural breath.

Thomas stopped. “Do you hear that?”

Minho tensed.

They didn’t wait.

They ran.

Screaming echoed through the mall.

The others were gathering supplies, and Minho shouted for them to move. “Go! Now!”

They sprinted through the corridor, Ada crying again in Newt’s arms, terrified.

“Come on, come on, keep going!”

They found a narrow path outside, where part of the building had crumbled into a canyon of shattered stone. Minho led them under a low rock overhang and waved for silence.

Everyone ducked inside.

Newt clutched Ada tightly. She sobbed against his chest, loud and frightened. Her little fists clung to his shirt. Her cries echoed too sharply in the quiet.

“Shhh,” he whispered, rocking her. “You’re okay, love. You’re safe.”

But she wouldn’t stop.

“Make her shut ut !”Someone hissed.

Minho looked around, panicked. The snarls were getting louder, closer.

Then Newt shifted. With trembling fingers he unbuttoned his shirt, drew Ada close, and guided her to his chest.

She latched on immediately.

The crying stopped.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the distant growls. A shaky breath rippled through the group : relief, for now.

Newt closed his eyes, holding his daughter protectively as she nursed, one hand over her back, his other resting gently on her neck. He was pale, but calm.

Minho reached out and squeezed his knee.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

They didn’t speak much after that.

Winston had been bitten in the chaos. He sat a few feet away, sweating, clutching his arm, breathing hard. No one dared say what they were thinking.

That night, they slept in shifts, huddled in the dark beneath the rocks.

Above them, the world had become a hunting ground.

But down here, for just a moment, they had each other.

And that was still something.

Chapter Text

The sun in the Scorch was not like the sun in the Glade. It was angry. Brutal. It came down like fire.

Each step felt heavier than the last. Their boots sank in the sand. The wind whipped against their skin, carrying dust that stuck to their lips and lashes. There was no shelter. No shade. Only ruins and the endless stretch of scorched wasteland.

Ada whimpered against Newt’s chest, too hot, her cheeks flushed and sticky with sweat.

“She’s burning up,” Newt murmured, rocking her gently. “I don’t like how she’s breathing.”

They’d taken turns carrying her all morning, but she only wanted Newt. She cried when anyone else touched her.

Minho tried again anyway, reaching out. “Come on, Ada. Daddy’ll hold you now.”

But she sobbed harder, twisting away and clinging to Newt’s collar with desperate fingers.

“Ada. Enough now. Daddy’s turn.”

She only cried louder.

Minho’s jaw tightened. “Stop it, Ada.”

Her cries rose to a wail.

“Minho,” Newt warned softly.

“Dammit,” Minho muttered, rubbing his face. “We can’t keep going like this.”

“She’s scared,” Newt said softly.

“I know she’s scared,” Minho snapped, louder than he meant to. Ada cried out at the sharpness. Newt flinched.

Everyone went quiet.

Minho’s expression crumpled with guilt. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

He stepped back. His hands were trembling. “I didn’t mean...”

“I know,” Newt said, his voice gentler than the desert deserved. “She’s just tired. We all are.”

Newt adjusted her in his arms, holding her more securely despite the pain in his leg and the dull ache that radiated through his lower back and stomach. He was exhausted, sweat running down his temples, vision blurry from heat and strain.

But he walked on.

Holding her soothed her, and if she was quiet, maybe the others would have some peace too.

Hours passed.

The sun refused to relent.

Winston stumbled beside Clint and Frypan, dragging his feet. He was sweating more than the rest of them, breathing too hard, too fast.

“Winston?” Thomas called, noticing it too late.

Winston collapsed.

Everyone rushed toward him.

Minho helped roll him over. His lips were cracked. His eyes were unfocused.

Clint knelt beside him. “It’s the bite.”

They all knew.

There was nothing they could do.

Newt crouched next to him, carefully placing Ada, finally asleep, into Minho’s arms.

He reached for the small pack Frypan carried. From it, he pulled the gun.

Winston looked up at him.

Tears slipped down Newt’s face, but he didn’t let his hand tremble. He placed the gun gently in Winston’s palm and closed his fingers around it.

“Go when you’re ready,” he whispered. “We’ll wait over the hill.”

Winston nodded, eyes glassy. “Thanks, mate.”

They left him there.

The shot came ten minutes later.

No one said anything.

That night, they found a small, cracked building in the middle of the sand. It had no roof, just broken walls and a single rusted metal table. It was shelter enough.

They used the last of their water.

No one had eaten in two days.

Newt sat down with Ada cradled against him and tried to nurse her.

She latched on eagerly, drinking greedily, but she was restless. She pulled off after a minute and whimpered, her hands pawing at his chest.

“She’s still hungry,” he said miserably. “I don’t have enough.”

“You’re doing everything you can,” Minho told him. “She’s okay. She’s okay.”

Newt rested his cheek against her soft curls. She was so warm, her breaths raspy in the heat. “She won’t be if we don’t find water tomorrow.”

They all knew it.

Frypan lay back on his pack, staring up at the broken ceiling. “When we get out of here, I want a shower. A long one.”

“Real food,” Thomas added. “Pizza. Or a burger. Hell, even a salad.”

“I want a bed,” Clint murmured.

“I want to punch whoever designed this damn test in the face,” Minho said.

They laughed weakly.

Newt didn’t join in. He was already drifting, his hand protectively curled over Ada and the other resting on his bump. He looked paler than usual, cheeks sunken, eyes closed but not peaceful.

Minho laid next to him after the fire went out, pressing close.

Newt shifted enough to rest his head on Minho’s shoulder.

“Don’t leave,” he whispered.

“I won’t,” Minho promised, pulling the blanket higher over them all. “Never.”

The wind howled outside, but inside their small shelter, they huddled together.

Hope was a thin thing, but it was still burning.