Newt

The elevator rocked, and Leah woke up in the Glade, unconscious, with a metallic taste in her mouth. The first thing she saw was Newt. He looked tired, his hair bleached, and his eyes irritated.

• Another one. A girl.

She didn't cry or tremble. She passed by, looking around coldly, as if searching for an escape route. Newt hated her at first sight.

By the third day, she knew everyone by name. By the fifth, she'd found the team's weak points. By the seventh, she was needed as a runner.

"Girls don't run," Alby snapped.

“There’s always a first time,” Leah chuckled.

Newt gritted his teeth. "Won't last a day," he'd said, but she did. Faster, more agile, more dangerous. She returned with maps that made her elders frown. And Newt hated her laughter, her sparkling eyes, the way she never asked for help.

"Why are you so gloomy, Newt?" she asked one day, passing by, clutching a flask in her hand. "Are you worried that I won't come back somehow? Are you worried?"

He grabbed her elbow. Harder than he intended.

"Listen to me," he said quietly, so no one could hear. "The Labyrinth isn't a game; one mistake and you're gone. And I don't want..." He paused, as if considering the thought. "I don't want to drag your bones out from under the Grievers."

"Are you really afraid for me?" she asked quietly.

Newt let go of her as if he had been burned.

"I'm afraid for the Glade. Go to work."