Newt | Through The Gates Of Hell

Gifts, Gunfire and Good Times

Y/I stands for "Your Initial"

Y/N's POV

"This is for you," a smaller version of Newt tells me solemnly. "So that you can have something to remember me by in your maze."

He sits on the bottom bunk in a room filled with mismatched sheets and laughter. Each bed is occupied by a boy — Frypan and Minho are teasing Winston in the corner, their voices echoing faintly against the metal walls.

I look at the necklace he's pressing into my hand. It's simple, delicate — the pendant that dangles from it carries our initials, intertwined like they were always meant to be.

"It's so pretty," I say. "But where did you get it?"

He smiles and shifts closer, his knee brushing mine. "It used to be my mum's. She gave it to me before—before Lizzy and I got taken away. Funny thing is, my parents had the same initials as we do. The 'N' is from my mum. Y/I was what my dad's name started with."

Carefully, I fasten the chain around my neck. The metal feels cool against my skin, but it warms quickly — like it belongs there. I look up and smile at him. "I'm never taking it off."

He pulls me into a hug — warm and steady, the kind that smells like sunshine and grass and safety. For a moment, the chaos around us fades. All that exists is the quiet heartbeat against my ear and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, things won't always be this bad.

I woke with my head on Newt's shoulder. He turned to me from the window as I lifted my head.

"Morning," he said, smiling. "Did I wake you up?"

"No, not at all. I'm sorry for falling asleep on you -- that can't have been very comfortable," I laughed, suddenly all too aware of the lack of space between him and me.

He cleared his throat and looked back out the window. My hand subconsciously travelled to my throat, brushing the necklace resting there, as I stared at the towering walls of rock on both sides of the road.

They'd seemed so small during our trek through the Scorch, and now, here we were — me feeling like an ant crushed under the weight of their magnitude.

Hearing whispers from the back of the car, I turned to see where they were coming from. The only person awake was Teresa, who forced a smile when she caught me looking.

"Ignore her," Newt muttered to me. "She's been mumbling something on and off the whole ride."

I nodded slowly, still watching her. First the thing when we were escaping Jorge's camp, now this? 

Something's definitely up with her. Either she's plotting something, or she's finally lost it and started holding team meetings with the ghosts in her head. Honestly, at this point, I wouldn't even blame her, but still. Something isn't right.

The car lurched forward slightly, and I blinked, steadying myself. The engine gave a low, uneasy rumble — a sound that didn't exactly scream "smooth ride ahead."

Jorge muttered something in another language under his breath and pressed harder on the brakes. The vehicle rolled to a stop, jerking everyone awake with a collective groan of confusion and complaint.

"What the klunk, Jorge? Why have we stopped?" Minho grumbled, rubbing his eyes.

"Take a look for yourself, hermano," Jorge said, gesturing toward the windshield.

I leaned forward, peering out — and my stomach dropped.

A blockade of abandoned cars stretched across the road like a graveyard of rusted metal and shattered glass. Twisted frames, burnt-out tires, and doors hanging open like broken wings. Whatever had happened here... it hadn't been peaceful.