Quiet Harbor

Summer in Safe Haven was warm, but not stuffy. Lee sat by the fire, warming a mug of bitter infusion. Her friends had stayed on the beach, and she had come here – to the silence and the fact that Newt was alive.

"Busy?" Minho sat down next to her and handed her a flask of whiskey.

"Do you remember the first time you came to the Glade?" he asked.

"You had me pinned down with a knife. I thought it was the end."

• And you hit me. The first one.

Sand crunched behind him. Thomas sat down on the other side, silently holding out his hands to the fire.

— Who are you gossiping about?

"About you," Minho chuckled. "And about how Lee and I pulled you out of the Labyrinth."

“That was stupid,” Thomas admitted. “Thank you.”

Lee looked from one to the other, fire dancing in her eyes. "I remember you arguing over the map until you were hoarse. Newt stood to the side and just listened. Then he said, 'Guys, if you don't shut up, I'll throw you both in the slammer.'"

Newt stood at the edge of the light, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his light jacket. The wind stirred his blond hair, and he squinted like a cat who'd found a warm spot. Alive. Whole. With that same expression on his face, half-tired, half-mocked, that she'd learned to read back in the Glade.

"Why are you sneaking up on me?" Minho asked good-naturedly.

"I wasn't sneaking up on you. You were just so caught up in your memories that you wouldn't have heard the elephant."

Newt walked around the log and sat down on the sand next to Leah, leaning his back against the piece of wood. He smelled of campfire and something else homely, perhaps even the same ointment he insistently rubbed into his knee every evening.

"Go ahead," he said, looking into the fire. "Tell me how great and terrible I was. Just no snot."