The Glade was quiet. Not the eerie kind the good kind. the kind where no one’s yelling, and the fire’s low, and even Minho’s asleep for once. You laid on your back, head resting in Newt’s lap, arms tucked under your hoodie as the night sky stretched wide above.

“See that one?” you murmured, pointing lazily. “Looks like it’s flickering.” Newt tilted his head, one hand gently sifting through your hair without even thinking about it. “That’s just a plane.”

You scoffed. “Planes don’t exist here.”

“Neither do you,” he teased, smirking. “You showed up, flipped the whole place upside down, and then beat Gally in front of half the bloody Glade.” You grinned, eyes still fixed on the stars. “Guess I’m the plot twist.”

A comfortable silence settled. “You ever miss home?” Newt asked quietly. “I don’t remember it,” you said. “But sometimes… I miss something I can’t name.” He didn’t reply. Just kept combing his fingers gently through your hair. No pressure. No weight. Just presence. You sighed. “If the world ever makes sense again, let’s promise to find a place where the stars don’t move.” Newt smiled down at you, voice a whisper. “Only if you’re still there to watch them with me.”