Newt

The Glade had always been full of life, especially since Mia arrived. Her laughter echoed across the clearing like sunbeams breaking through the dense trees. She was energetic, sometimes even too much so, which used to irritate Newt. He had always considered himself pragmatic and serious, but with each passing day, his heart melted under the pressure of her optimism.

"Hey, Newt!" she shouted one day, bouncing happily on the spot. "Let's have a berry-picking contest! Whoever collects the most wins!"

Newt shook his head, but deep down, he knew he couldn't refuse her. He was always there whenever she set off on an adventure, just to make sure she didn't get into trouble.

One day, returning from the Maze with Minho, Newt looked rough. Abrasions and deep wounds were visible on his body, and his eyes glowed with exhaustion. When he saw Mia, a smile lit up his face.

"Sweetheart, how are you? You didn't get hurt, did you?" he whispered, pulling her close to him.

Mia instantly forgot about her own concerns. She looked at his wounds and felt her heart tighten with worry.

"Newt, what happened? Are you okay?" she asked, trying not to let her agitation show.

"Everything's fine, just worked a bit hard in the Maze," he replied, but she knew that wasn't true.

A few hours later, as Mia was heading toward Newt to check on him, Thomas approached her. His face was calm, and he looked rather... pensive.

"Blood is seeping from his wound, yet he's blowing on your scratches," he said, glancing toward the campfire where Newt was sitting.

Thomas's words pierced her like a cold wind. She wanted to respond, but at that moment, Newt walked up to them, limping with a slight smile on his face.

"Everything's fine, Thomas. I'll take care of myself," he said, wrapping an arm around Mia's waist.