the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. maps and blueprints were spread across the table, everyone leaning over them, voices hushed but sharp. thomas was explaining a route— something about sneaking in through the west wing of wicked’s compound but then he said something else, you couldn't remember — when newt suddenly scoffed, jaw tight.

"what?" thomas asked, glancing up.

"you're afraid your little girlfriend will get hurt?" newt snapped, voice slicing through the air like glass.

the room went silent. jorge froze mid-sip of his coffee. frypan’s head slowly lifted. your eyes darted between the two boys, confusion twisting in your stomach.

"what the hell, newt?" thomas said, frowning, trying to laugh it off.

but newt wasn’t laughing. his eyes were blazing, wild almost. “you heard me!” he shouted, slamming his hands on the table. “you’re making stupid bloody decisions because of her!”

thomas stood, taken aback. “newt, calm down—”

before anyone could react, newt shoved him — hard— pinning him up against the wall. everyone jumped. the sound of the impact echoed off the metal walls.

“you’re afraid she’ll get hurt?” newt hissed, his face inches from thomas’. “you think i don’t see it? youre not just doing this for minho anymore, you're doing it for her!—” he stopped himself, his breath ragged.

thomas’s eyes widened, shock flickering to concern. “newt…”

newt blinked, realizing what he’d done. his grip loosened. his eyes softened. “bloody hell,” he whispered, stepping back, voice breaking. “i’m—i’m sorry.”

he turned before anyone could speak and stormed out, the door slamming behind him. you didn’t move at first. thomas rubbed the back of his neck, still stunned. “what was that about?” jorge muttered.

you didn’t answer. you just got up and followed newt.

you found him a few minutes later, sitting on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over, eyes fixed on the dark skyline. the city below was dead quiet —only the wind filled the silence.

you approached slowly, sitting beside him. “hey,” you said softly. he didn’t look at you. his hands were clasped together, knuckles white. “i didn’t mean to do that,” he murmured, voice trembling. “he didn’t deserve that.”

“i know,” you whispered. “you’ve been… off lately. what’s going on, newt?”

he finally looked at you then. his eyes were tired —broken in a way that scared you. for a second, you thought he might tell you. but instead, he gave a small, sad smile.

“just tired, love,” he said.

you watched him in silence, the wind tugging at his hair. his shoulders trembled, like he was holding something in — fear, anger, maybe pain.

you didn’t know it yet — but beneath his sleeve, hidden just under the cuff of his jacket, was the faint, dark scar of a fresh bite. the infection had already begun its slow crawl through his veins.

and newt knew. he knew it was only a matter of time.