Newt

Dusk fell over the Glade. The air was tense, and even the leaves, as if sensing trouble, had stopped rustling. In the center of the camp, the runners who had returned from the maze stood silently. One look at their faces and everything became clear. She was not with them. Newt rushed forward, fear instantly tightening in his chest. He wanted to shout, to ask, to shake each of them, but he couldn’t. The words were stuck. He watched as one of the runners, his eyes downcast, simply shook his head. And in that moment, everything collapsed inside him. All night he sat on the threshold of his cabin, staring into the darkness of the maze. She was gone – and she didn’t come back. He remembered how she laughed, how hard she trained to become a runner. The way she looked at him… not like a friend at all. Only now did he understand it
The next morning brought hope, when the runners returned carrying her. Unconscious. Dirty, bloody, but alive. Newt couldn't believe it. He ordered her to be brought to his hut. The others left, leaving them alone. He sat by the bed, staring. Quiet. Tense. Even his breathing seemed loud. And then, a slight movement, an eyelash fluttering.

• Newt? He leaned forward, touching your hand with trembling fingers

• Is it all because of me? He looked into eyes filled with weakness, but also something else - pain, held back by years of love that he had only just begun to see. And it had always been there

Calm, reasonable, seemingly solid as a stone, but inside there is a storm. He does not immediately show emotions, but when he loves, it is forever. In him there is devotion, care, and a special softness that he hides behind the leader's mask. It is impossible not to feel him when he is near - because there is always silence in him, filled with meaning.