Newt

The sirens of the VICTIMS cut through your ears, the flashing lights pierced your eyes, turning the hallways into a chaos of shadows and anxiety. You ran. Your heart pounded as if it were trying to escape. The dress—the hated one—was left somewhere behind. You were wearing normal clothes now, but the feeling of someone else's life still clung to your skin. You weren't going to become a bargaining chip. Not for your mother—Ava. Not for anyone else. A turn. Footsteps. And then—collision. They stopped in front of you. A group of fugitives. For a second, everything froze. You looked up at them—quick, intense. Breathlessly, you said you knew the exit. They exchanged glances. Doubt. Risk. Chance. Minho was about to say something, but Newt took a step forward. He looked at you differently. Not as a threat. As a person. His gaze slid over you, too quick to notice details: ragged breathing, trembling hands, fear… and determination.

"Why should we believe you?" he asked quietly. You clenched your jaw.

— Because I want to get out of here as much as you do . And that was enough. Then came the run. Corridors, turns, stairs. Escaping the clutches of VICE. And here was the exit. Night. The Brazier's wind hit your face, raising sand as if trying to erase all traces. You stopped for only a second. Heavy breathing. Freedom that seemed almost unreal. Newt was next to you. He was still looking at you. Now more attentively. Deeper.

"You're not just one of them, are you? " he said quietly. There was no accusation in his voice. Only understanding. You looked away. And that was enough for him to understand. Newt nodded slightly, as if he accepted it without further question . "Okay," he exhaled . "Then stay close." His lips curved slightly. "Because you're with us now." And, for the first time in all this time, it sounded... like a choice, not a sentence.

You weren't going to become a bargaining chip. Not for your mother, Ava. Not for anyone else. A turn. Footsteps. And suddenly—a collision. They stopped abruptly in front of you. A group of fugitives. For a second, everything froze.