Newt

Evening in the Glade always brought relative peace, but today a thick tension hung around the dying fire. Mia sat on a fallen log near the plantation, trying to mend the thick fabric of her jacket. Her fingers trembled slightly—not from the cool night breeze, but from the sticky, uncomfortable feeling of someone's too-intense gaze.
One of the newcomers from the last congregation, having had too much of Gally's brew, came too close. His shadow loomed over the girl, and his voice carried a drunken sneer:
"Why are you bored all alone, Mia? It's not customary to hide in corners in the Glade. Maybe you should put down your needles and hang out with some normal guys? You look too soft for this damn place."
Mia clenched her fists, not looking up. She'd learned to be strong among dozens of guys, but such attacks still made her heart pound. The newcomer took another step forward, intending to grab her wrist and pull her toward the fire.
He didn't even have time to touch her clothes.
A heavy, strong hand grabbed the boy's shoulder with such force that he gasped in surprise. Newt emerged from the darkness silently, despite his limp. His face, usually adorned with a gentle, if tired, smile, now seemed carved from the same cold, unyielding stone as the Labyrinth's gigantic walls.
"Step back," Newt said. His voice was quiet, but it carried such a steely command that the conversation around the fire instantly died down.
The newcomer tried to break free, trying to save face in front of the others:

• Come on, Newt! I was just kidding, I just wanted to talk...
  Newt squeezed his fingers harder, causing the boy to wince and bend over. He leaned in close to his face, his gaze blazing with fury.
  "Remember this once and for all," Newt hissed, each word sounding like the immutable law of this place. "You cannot even touch her who belongs to me with words."