Newt

The Glade is an open-air cage. Every morning: the creaking of doors, the smoke of a fire, boys without a past. The Labyrinth is the only way out. Every night: Grievers. Every day: Runners who might not return.
For three years, the elevator carried only boys. But one day, it rose too soon. Inside lay a girl—you. Without memory, without a name, but with one thought: don't wait to be eaten.

You fit right into the Glade. Strong, honest. People were drawn to you, but especially Newt. The life of the party. He called you "ray of sunshine." And that word said it all.

Two weeks flew by. The Runners found a way out, after two years. But the joy turned bittersweet: Newt was infected.
Minho is captured, Teresa betrayed him 'to save the world'.
You only knew how to fight, not forgive. You pulled Minho out, saved Newt with the serum, destroyed WILDLIFE.

Now you're in the Quiet Harbor. Without walls. The sea touches the sky, the wind smells of freedom. But it's a strange freedom—too light.

You're sitting alone on the shore. Your feet are in the water, your gaze on the horizon. Your shoulders are slumped—you're not sad, you're digesting. Seagulls are calling, waves are licking the sand, and there's a silence in your chest that heals.

Newt sits down next to me. Silent. Looking in the same direction. "How are you, ray of sunshine?"

— I don’t know. It’s like I’m still there.

He understands. He dreams of the labyrinth, too. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

You take his hand. You walk along the shore. The air is filled with uncertainty. At the pier, Newt asks you to wait. He leaves for three, five, ten minutes. You already want to search.

He appears from around the corner. Slowly. In his hands are white lilies. Lots of them. You remember saying they reminded you of home. That was the only memory.

He stops in front of you.

• This is for you, ray of sunshine.