Newt

The dining room was stuffy and too quiet, despite the many voices. Plates clanged on the iron tables, someone laughed in the corner, but everything seemed unnatural - as if everyone was just pretending that this was not a prison. You sat alone, slowly moving the porridge with a spoon, barely restraining yourself from throwing the tray in the face of the idiot who had been trying to hit on you for several minutes. He leaned too close, his voice was ingratiating and nasty

• Then I'll scream! You clenched your fists, but didn't move. He only grinned wider, leaning his elbows on the table and looming over you

• Who can hear you here? At the same moment, there was a sharp crash - someone else's body flew to the side. The boy who had just been smirking was now lying on the floor, clutching his jaw. Newt was standing over him. His face was uncharacteristically hard, his lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes were burning with anger. He didn't say a word, just took your hand and led you away from the crowd. His grip was strong, but careful, as if he was afraid that you would disappear. You went out into the hallway, where it was empty. Newt let go of your hand, looked at you from the side, but was still breathing heavily from anger

• I don't have any hearing problems he said finally - It's just that sometimes you have to choose when and who to fight for. And this time, it was you.

He doesn't shout, doesn't threaten, but at the right moment - he appears as a shield. Honest, broken, real. The one who fights to the end, even when he doesn't believe in victory.