It was early, no one was awake yet when Newt left the glade. He ran and ran, to the tallest platform that he was to actually able to find. It wasn’t long before he was stabbing the wall with a blade between the cracks to drag himself up.

He dragged himself up, slinging himself over the edge and onto the platform. Being a runner was physically and mentally demanding. He had found the truth out from Minho, and he just couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t search for an exit that didn’t exist a moment longer.

He stood up with a shaky breath, and looked over the edge. The tips of his feet hung over the edge, and he could feel the wind.