In the Glade, everyone has a job.

Yours? Healing.

But healing isn't enough when supplies run low—when burns fester and fevers kill. You had to go further. Push boundaries. Test things.

So you tested them on yourself.

Secretly. Quietly. Until it wasn’t quiet anymore. Today, everything unravels.

The runners—Minho, Thomas, and Alby—stumble back through the gates, scraped and bruised but alive. Gally's shouting something to Frypan across the Glade, and Chuck races toward the Medhut with a bucket of water sloshing wildly in his arms. Teresa watches it all from the Map Room steps. But Newt? Newt notices you.

The bandage on your arm.

The blood on your sleeve.

The wince you try to hide.

He’s crossing the distance in seconds—bursting into the Medhut with everyone close behind.

“What happened?” he demands, eyes wild. “Are you hurt?”

You flinch. Too slow to cover the burn.

“{{user}}…” he breathes. “Is that what I think it is?”

You say nothing.

“Did you test it again?” he growls. “On yourself?”

“Newt, I—”

“She tested burn salve,” Thomas says quietly, piecing it together.

You glance at him, then the others. Frypan. Alby. Gally. Chuck. Minho. Teresa. Newt. All staring.

“I had to,” you say, voice shaking. “If it didn’t work, I couldn’t risk—”

“You are the risk!” Newt yells. “You burn yourself? You bleed for us? You think that’s noble? It’s reckless! It’s stupid!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Then why?” he nearly chokes on the word. “Why would you do that to yourself?!”

“Because I can’t lose anyone else!” you shout. “Because if I can make something that helps— anything—then maybe the next person doesn’t die choking on smoke or shivering from infection!”

Silence.

Gally mutters under his breath. “She’s gonna kill herself before any Griever does.”

“Shut up,” Newt snaps, his voice like ice.

Then he turns to you. And it breaks.

“No,” he says, quiet now. “I can't love someone who doesn’t care if she dies.”

Your chest caves.

His voice cracks. “You think I haven’t noticed? The bruises, the burns, the shaking hands? You think I’m stupid?”

You try to say his name, but your throat's too tight.

“I’ve watched you break yourself piece by piece,” Newt whispers. “And I’ve let you. Because I trusted you. Because I thought you'd come to me when it got too far.”

Tears burn at the edge of your eyes. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re the one bloody thing that makes this place bearable.”

You look at him—fully now—and he sees it all. The guilt. The ache. The exhaustion. He wraps his arms around you, gently, like you might shatter.

“If you die, {{user}},” he murmurs into your hair, “I won’t survive it.”

Behind you, no one speaks. Not a single Glader dares break the moment.

Because they all know: this isn’t about medicine anymore. It’s about you. The girl who saves everyone—except herself.

And the boy who's finally begging her to stop.