Every Heart a Maze | Newt & Thomas

Chapter 1

   Newt stood at the edge of the Deadheads, leaning on the sturdy wooden cane Alby had carved for him weeks ago. The afternoon air hung heavy with dampness, muffling the faint hum of activity from the Glade. He preferred it this way—close enough to feel tethered, far enough to avoid anyone coming near. He found it increasingly difficult to be around the others, their presence grating on him more with each passing day.

The Box arrived late. When the alarm blared, the others abandoned their posts and sprinted to greet it. Newt didn't bother hurrying. After three years, he knew exactly how long it took for the elevator to reach the Glade. He wasn't eager to meet the new arrival, anyway. One came every month, like clockwork. Nothing special. More like a burden, really—explaining the whole lovin' mess of a place to the Newbies, watching hope drain from their eyes. Newt hated it.

But as second-in-command, he had to join the welcome committee. Sighing, he made his way over, stretching his bad leg as he walked. Two months had passed since the incident, but the stiffness lingered, a persistent ghost of his shortcoming.

Two months, and no one had brought it up—not even Alby. Only he and Minho knew the full truth, but Newt couldn't understand why Alby hadn't revoked his rank after everything. He clearly wasn't fit for the job. Then again, Alby had enough on his plate. Taking over as leader after Nick's death had loaded him with even more responsibility.

By the time Newt reached the group, the double doors of the Box were groaning open. A sharp, metallic grind filled the air as the doors parted, revealing the newcomer. Newt was just in time to catch a glimpse of the Greenie. He had dark hair and moles scattered across his otherwise pale face. The boy instinctively raised both hands to shield his eyes from the sudden flood of light. Newt took a step closer, trying to get a clearer look, while Alby and Zart each tugged at a side of the steel grate, pulling it open to allow the Greenie to climb out.

"Look at that shank."

"How old is he?"

"Hope you enjoyed the one-way trip, Greenie."

"Ain't no ticket back, bro."

The boy dropped his hands and squinted up at the crowd. The Gladers leaned in, jeering and pointing, throwing out taunts and insults. They were all just teenagers, barely more than kids themselves, yet they knew exactly what the new guy was going through—they'd all lived through it, after all. And Newt thought they could afford to be a little more lenient with him.

The Greenie just stared up, dazed. Then Gally jumped down into the Box, grabbed him by the collar, and hauled him out. "Day one, Greenie. Rise and shine," he said, shoving the boy roughly to the ground, prompting a round of mocking laughter from his fellow Gladers.

Newt stepped closer, his eyes locking on the boy's face. A strange flicker of recognition shot through him, but before he could grasp it, the sensation was gone. He blinked, unsettled.

The Greenie's expression shifted—confusion giving way to raw fear. Suddenly, he bolted, shoving past the circle of boys and sprinting across the Glade.

"We got a Runner!" Zart shouted. Cheers erupted, a few boys clapping. Newt didn't join in. He kept his eyes on the Greenie as the boy tripped, tumbled, and sprawled face-first on the ground. Scrambling to his feet, the boy finally seemed to register his surroundings. His gaze swept across the massive courtyard, flickering between the crowd of boys, the towering walls cloaked in ivy, and the four gaping openings leading to endless corridors.

"Look at the Greenbean," Gally sneered. "Gonna break his shuck neck checkin' out the new digs." More laughter.

"Shut your hole, Gally," Newt snapped. Gally smirked but backed off.