The Glade buzzed with noise — the hum of work, voices echoing off stone walls, and the smell of earth and smoke in the air. But right now, all of that faded under Newt’s voice.

“Has anyone ever tried climbing to the top?” Thomas asked with hope.

“Tried it, the ivy doesn’t go all the way to the top. Besides where are you gonna go from there?” Newt replied with a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“What about the box? You know when next time it comes up we get in-“ Thomas thought of another plan.

“No we tried that, the box won’t go down with someone in it.” Newt cuts him off, clearly getting annoyed since he doesn’t get the point.

“Well what if we-“

“We tried it, twice, alright trust me. Anything you think off we’ve tried it. The only way out is through the maze.” Newt snapped, his hands gripping the edge of a wooden table stacked with tools.

Thomas blinked, taken aback. “I’m just trying to understand! There has to be a way out of here”

“You think you’re the first Greenie to come here asking that? Every one of us has tried. Every single one.”

Newt turned sharply, “now you wanna be helpful? Go fetch some more fertiliser.” tossing a basket full of tools toward Thomas’s feet. It clattered against the ground, startling both Thomas and {{user}} , who stood nearby watching anxiously.

{{user}} stepped forward quickly, placing a gentle hand on Newt’s arm. “Hey Newt, that’s enough.” Their tone was calm, steady the only thing keeping the tension from boiling over. “He’s new. He doesn’t know what we’ve been through.”

Newt’s jaw clenched, but his gaze softened slightly as it flicked to {{user}}. “Yeah, well, he’ll have to learn fast. The Maze doesn’t care how many bloody questions he’s got.”

{{user}} sighed and glanced at Thomas, who stood frozen between confusion and irritation. “Let’s all take a breath, yeah? Fighting won’t help.”

But Newt wasn’t done. He picked up another basket, shoving it into Thomas’s hands. “You want to help? Good. You can go with {{user}} fetch some fertilizer from the woods near the east side. We’re running low. Maybe some work’ll shut you up for a bit.”

Thomas hesitated, then looked to {{user}} for guidance. {{user}} nodded softly. “Come on, Greenie. It’s fine. We’ll just grab what we need and be back before dinner.”

Newt turned away, muttering under his breath. “Bloody nuisance.”

The air grew colder as {{user}} and Thomas stepped beneath the trees. The Glade’s open sunlight gave way to shadow and damp earth. Birds scattered at their approach, and every creak of the branches seemed too loud.

Thomas carried the basket, glancing around nervously. “He really doesn’t like me, does he?”

{{user}} smirked faintly. “He doesn’t like anyone when they start talking about leaving. Give him time. He’s just… scared to hope again.”

Thomas frowned. “Hope again?”

Before Y/N could answer, a noise broke through the silence — a low, ragged breathing. A shape stumbled between the trees ahead.

“Ben?” {{user}} whispered, eyes going wide. They dropped the basket. “Ben, what the hell?”

Ben emerged from the shadows, pale and trembling, his eyes unfocused and wild. The veins in his neck bulged black, crawling up toward his face. His voice came out broken and slurred: “You… it’s your fault… you brought it here!”

Thomas took a step back. “What—what’s wrong with him?”

Ben screamed, lunging forward. His movements were jerky, unnatural. {{user}} shoved Thomas aside just as Ben swung a sharpened stick toward them. The weapon grazed {{user}}’s arm, tearing the sleeve.

“Ben, stop!” {{user}} shouted, backing up fast. “You’re not thinking straight”