{secretum - the action of keeping something secret or the state of being kept secret.}
y/n's pov:
The smell of dampened flames still clung to the few remaining walls of the kitchen. The wood of the building was seared, and damaged, meaning the only way to fix it was to break it down, and start from scratch.
I couldn't believe I had allowed this to happen.
"I was turned for only a few minutes because I was peeling potatoes on the other counter. I didn't think he'd manage to cock it up that fast."
Newt and I stood together over the makeshift oven we had pulled together overnight, as we scrambled eggs into a pan. Newt was hurriedly sorting out the plates, filling them with cooked eggs and fruit, and handing the meal to the next person in line.
I sighed, continuously stirring the eggs over the flame. "I shouldn't have let him back in the kitchen."
Newt looked at me sympathetically. "No one could have predicted that this would happen. Thomas is mortified."
"He should be. He burnt down our kitchen!" I whispered yelled over to the blonde boy, desperate for the others not to hear.
I hadn't yet explained to the rest of camp how this happened - I've had people approach me all morning, concerned and confused, and wanting to know what happened to Frypan's kitchen.
I merely said there was an unfortunate incident, and that all would be explained later.
Fry doesn't even know yet, as he hasn't left the infirmary in days. I wasn't sure how to tell him.
Newt sighed. "Have you spoken to Fry yet?"
"No, I haven't been able to face it. Vince definitely knows something's wrong by now."
Newt seemed slightly concerned with the idea. "Hiding it from him won't change this, y/n. It's not your fault Thomas isn't so great in the kitchen-"
I turned to him, fast. "I put him in charge of the cooking for the evening, and now we have no kitchen. It's going to take the builders weeks to reconstruct what's left."
I had spoken to the head of the builders this morning already, begging and pleading with her to recruit the entire team to fix the building before the end of the week. She ended up explaining to me that there was no way that would be possible.
I sighed. "We've lost so many people this year - so many important and significant people needed for the functionality of this camp, have been lost. Vince is dying, Brenda is heavily pregnant, and our best watchers were recently killed by Wicked. We are fucked, Newt. We've been fucked for ages, and every single day, it manages to get worse, and I just don't know what to do anymore."
Newt looked over at me, solemnly. He spoke softly. "It's all going to be okay, y/n."
I wanted to shout at him. I remained calm.
"How is it going to be okay?"
Newt handed the final plate of eggs over to someone, and turned to face me fully.
"Because it always ends up okay."
—
newt's pov:
The funeral, yet again, was unsurprisingly bleak.
Everyone was adorned in their darkest clothing, and sat together on the cliff overlooking the ocean, mourning the graves of the people we knew, below us.
Vince decided against making a speech this time - Lincoln wanted him resting, and thought it best for him to skip out on the funeral this once.
In his place, Vince had assumed y/n would take on the mantle, and give some heartfelt speech about what we had lost.
