The vehicle rumbles over the uneven terrain as Bertha—Marcus’s favorite, rugged old car—trudges toward the mountains. Jorge grips the wheel tightly, his eyes scanning the road ahead, while Newt sits in the passenger seat, silent but ever-watchful. The others are crammed in the back, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Katherine, pressed against the window, has barely spoken. Newt notices. Of course, he does. He’s noticed everything about her since the moment she started pulling away, her sudden quietness, her refusal to meet his gaze. It’s like watching the sun retreat behind clouds, leaving him chilled in its absence. But he doesn’t press her. Not yet.

From the corner of his eye, he steals glances at her, catching the way her hand fidgets with the hem of her shirt or the way her eyes dart around as if searching for an escape. She feels his gaze sometimes—he knows she does—but she doesn’t look back. Instead, she leans closer to Chris, who sits beside her, and Newt’s jaw tightens, though he keeps his face carefully blank.

The car jolts to a sudden stop, and everyone’s heads snap forward. Katherine’s heart leaps into her throat as she peers out the window. A pile of rusted, broken-down cars clogs the road ahead like forgotten relics of a bygone world.

“Well, guess we’re on foot,” Jorge announces, already opening his door with a groan. He slams it shut behind him, and the rest of them follow suit, boots hitting the dirt one by one.

Katherine grabs her shoes, sliding them on as quickly as her shaky hands allow. Chris stands nearby, waiting for her. His easy grin cuts through the tension like a knife through butter. “Shall we, my lady?” he says, extending an arm with exaggerated politeness.

She can’t help the laugh that escapes her lips, light and fleeting. “We shall,” she replies, looping her arm through his. For a moment, the world doesn’t feel so heavy.

But then her eyes catch on Newt, standing a few paces away. He’s watching them, his expression unreadable, but when their gazes meet, he quickly looks away, pretending to study the interior of a nearby car. Her chest tightens, guilt gnawing at her insides like a living thing.

The group moves forward cautiously, the crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound as they scan their surroundings. Katherine’s eyes wander to the towering peaks ahead, their jagged silhouettes slicing into the sky. The air feels heavier here, like it’s holding its breath.

Jorge rummages through the trunk of an abandoned car, pulling out a couple of dust-covered blankets with a sigh. “Well, that’s bloody useless,” he mutters, tossing them aside.

Katherine looks away, her unease growing. Something doesn’t feel right. The stillness is too complete, too unnatural. She’s about to voice her thoughts when a loud gunshot shatters the quiet.

“Down!” Jorge yells, and everyone dives for cover.

Chris grabs Katherine’s arm, dragging her behind a truck where Newt and Minho are already crouched. Bullets whistle through the air, shattering windows and ricocheting off metal with deafening clangs.

“You okay?” Chris asks, his voice low but urgent.

Katherine nods, though her heart feels like it’s going to burst out of her chest. Her eyes dart to Newt, who’s kneeling just a foot away. His face is pale, but his eyes are sharp, scanning their surroundings for any sign of their attackers.

“Hey, is everyone okay out there?!” Thomas shouts from another hiding spot.

“We’re fine!” Teresa’s voice answers, though the tension in it is unmistakable.

“Anyone know where those bloody shots came from?!” Newt demands, his voice cutting through the chaos.

More bullets spray through the vehicles, forcing them all to duck lower. Katherine’s hands tremble as she grips the edge of the truck, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

“Everybody!” Jorge’s voice booms over the gunfire. “Get set to sprint back to the truck! And hold your ears!”

Katherine braces herself, every muscle coiled and ready to move. But before she can take a step, a voice—a sharp, commanding voice—rings out through the mountains.

“Drop it. Now! I said drop it!”

Her head snaps up, peering over the truck. Two figures stand in the open, guns trained on Thomas and Jorge. Their faces are obscured by masks, but their stances are rigid, unyielding.

“On your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go! Move!”

“Easy,” Jorge says, his hands in the air as he’s forced to step back. The rest of the group watches helplessly as the two masked women herd them together.

“Don’t be stupid! Move. Slowly,” the dark-haired one commands, her sharp eyes scanning the group. Her gaze lands on Aris and freezes.

“Aris?” she says, her voice laced with disbelief.

Aris’s head snaps up, his brows furrowing. “Harriet?”

The woman lowers her gun, pulling down her mask to reveal a familiar face. “Oh, my God,” she breathes.

Aris steps forward cautiously, his voice shaky but warm. “Harriet.”

Before he can say another word, she slings her gun over her back and throws her arms around him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The blonde beside her pulls down her mask, a grin breaking across her face.

Aris’s eyes widen as recognition dawns. “Sonya.”

Without hesitation, Sonya pulls Aris into a tight hug, her face lighting up with pure relief. “Aris, you’re lucky we didn’t shoot your dumb ass,” she says, her voice breaking into a laugh as if the tension of moments ago has been erased entirely.

Chris, standing a few steps away, crosses his arms and clears his throat dramatically. “Ahem!” He rolls his eyes, drawing the girls’ attention with a pointed cough.

Harriet is the first to notice, her head snapping toward him. Her face breaks into a grin before she strides forward and pulls him into a fierce hug. “Chris.”

“The one and only,” he replies with his signature cheeky smile. His gaze flicks to Sonya. “Hey.”

Sonya shakes her head in exasperation, but there’s warmth in her eyes. She steps forward, wrapping her arms around him, holding on for just a few extra seconds before pulling back. “You all right, man? How...?”

There’s something in her expression that catches Katherine’s attention. It’s not just happiness or relief—it’s deeper, layered. Adoration? Love? she wonders, her heart giving a small pang at the realization.

Chris’s face reddens ever so slightly, and he’s quick to avert his gaze, but it’s too late. Katherine notices the blush creeping up his neck. A knowing smile tugs at her lips, though she doesn’t say anything, letting him have his moment.

“What’s happening?” Minho’s sharp voice cuts through the scene, his hands still awkwardly raised as if he’s waiting for instructions. His brows are furrowed, his confusion evident.

Aris turns to him, still smiling. “We were in the maze together,” he explains, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Harriet raises a finger to her lips and whistles sharply. The sound echoes through the mountains, followed by the shuffle of feet and voices calling out. “We’re clear, guys! Come on out!” she shouts.

“Copy that! We’re clear!” someone replies in the distance.

“Stand down!” Harriet commands.

Meanwhile, Sonya’s hands remain on Chris’s shoulders, her eyes scanning his face as though she’s trying to confirm he’s really there. “My God, you’re alive,” she murmurs, her voice soft but filled with emotion.

Chris shifts uncomfortably under her gaze, his usual bravado faltering for the first time. He shrugs, trying to play it cool, but Katherine sees right through him. She’s never seen him look this nervous before, and it amuses her.

Jorge, leaning casually against the truck, catches the interaction and smirks knowingly. “Ain’t young love just the cutest?” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head as if he’s seen it all before.

Harriet strides ahead, calling out to the soldiers. “Back it up, Joe! Back it up!” Her voice echoes through the tunnel as the group begins moving. She throws a quick glance over her shoulder. “We’re taking them to base.”

Aris, walking beside her, leans in with curiosity. “Wait, how did you guys get here?”

“The Right Arm got us out,” Harriet replies, her voice steady, but there’s a flicker of pride in her tone.

At the mention of the Right Arm, Thomas’s head snaps up. “Wait. The Right Arm? Do you know where they are?”

Harriet doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she leads the group toward a waiting jeep, its engine idling softly. She opens the door and finally turns to Thomas, her expression unreadable. “Hop in.”

The group begins to pile into the vehicles, everyone scrambling to find a seat. Katherine is about to climb into the jeep when a hand closes around her arm, pulling her back.

It’s Newt.

She freezes, her heart racing as she turns to face him. His expression is guarded, but his eyes—those warm, honey-colored eyes—are filled with something she can’t ignore. Hurt.

“So,” he says quietly, his voice laced with frustration and a trace of vulnerability. “You’re gonna ignore me forever?”

Her stomach twists painfully, guilt surging through her like a tidal wave. She lowers her gaze to the ground, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles, though even she doesn’t believe her own words.

Newt lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Yeah. Right.” His hand drops from her arm, but the space it leaves feels colder than the mountain air.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The noise of the others fades into the background as Katherine’s mind races. She wants to tell him. She wants to explain everything. But the words catch in her throat, trapped by fear and shame.

Newt watches her carefully, his gaze softening despite himself. He takes a small step closer, lowering his voice so only she can hear. “Katherine,” he says, and the way he says her name feels like a plea. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Her breath hitches, and for a split second, she considers telling him everything. But then the moment is gone, and she steps back, retreating behind the wall she’s built around herself.

“I’m fine,” she says, forcing a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Newt doesn’t believe her—not for a second—but he nods anyway, his jaw tightening as he steps back. “If you say so.”

And with that, he turns away, leaving her standing there, her heart aching in a way that feels almost unbearable.