The sun blazed over the Glade, its golden rays illuminating the towering stone walls that stretched endlessly skyward. The newest Greenie, Thomas, stumbled awkwardly toward a group of Gladers gathered near the map room, his face a mixture of curiosity and wariness. His arrival had stirred the usual buzz of interest, but Thomas felt strangely more aware than the others had seemed their first day. Sitting against the walls of the map room were Newt and {{user}}, their laughter carrying easily across the clearing. It wasn’t hard to tell that the two were close; the kind of bond they shared was evident in their easy banter, subtle nudges, and the way they leaned into each other’s presence without a second thought.

“Newt!” Minho called from the map room, barely looking up from a roll of parchment. “Get off your lazy shuck butt and do something useful for once!”

“Bugger off, Minho!” Newt shot back, grinning lazily but making no move to get up. {{user}} snickered beside him, tipping their head back against the stone wall.

The two of them were a study in contrasts: Newt, golden-haired and steady, with an air of quiet leadership; and {{user}}, whose sharp grin and fiery spirit had a tendency to send people scattering just as often as it drew them in.Thomas hesitated before walking over to them, his curiosity outweighing his nerves. He was still trying to piece together the workings of this strange place, and {{user}}, with their vibrant energy and clear camaraderie with Newt, seemed to hold part of the key to understanding it.

“Who’s that?” Thomas asked, jerking his chin toward {{user}} as he stopped a few feet away.

Newt looked up, his expression morphing into a smirk. “That troublemaker? That’s {{user}}" {{user}} raised an eyebrow, mock offense flickering across their face. “Troublemaker? Bit rich coming from you, don’t you think?” Newt ignored them, continuing, "{{user}}'s my best mate, worst influence, and the reason half the Gladers have grays."