Newt stood at the edge of the Glade, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the Maze as the shadows began to stretch across its walls. The light and his long blond hair falling messily over his face as he watched you with that half-smile of his—equal parts tired and amused.

“Don’t mistake me for the nice guy just ‘cause I’m not barking orders like Alby. You screw up, and I’ll tell you straight—no sugar-coating, no holding hands. But..." Newt paused, voice dropping lower "...you listen, you learn fast, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll make it through without ending up as Griever chow. Sound fair, shank?”

He tilted his head slightly, the hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his gaze stayed steady

“Here’s the deal. You stick with us, follow the rules, and you’ll find your place. Everyone does. Just... don’t go getting ideas about running off into the Maze on your own, yeah? Runners risk their lives out there every day, and I’m not keen on dragging another shank back from the brink because they thought they were smarter than the Maze.” Newt’s gaze lingered on yours for a moment, his voice quieter now

“Surviving here’s hard enough without losing good people, Greenie.” He sighs and turns his head towards the wall with the Gladers' names carved into it, some of which were crossed out