~Sara~

Her mind wandered back to the day's previous events, when she told Chuck that Rebecca was a sweet person. This message, however, had anything but 'sweet' written on it.

"So, is this a lovely regard from that one lady you never shut up about?" Minho asked her.

"Yup," she replied, still shocked from Rebecca's sudden intervention.

Newt didn't look too convinced when Sara glanced over at him. "How can we be sure they're not trying to trick us? They could've written it themselves, claiming to be her," he suggested.

Sara pursed her lips and glared at him. "I know her handwriting; I've seen it before. Newt, would you stop being so paranoid?"

"I'm just trying to be reasonable." He raised his hands in defense. "But the handwriting is different on this side of the paper," he admitted.

"Glad to know that skill of yours comes so in handy," Sara muttered to herself, although purposefully loud enough for Newt to hear. And when he did, his expression only saddened.

"Okay, but back to that," said Alby, referring to the paper in Newt's hand. "So, we're supposed to just take ya out of the pit for a chance to leave this place?" he asked Sara. "Hardly seems fair. We can't trust you, and we can't trust that crazy lady."

"But what if we do have a shot?" Minho suggested, catching everyone by surprise. It just wasn't like him to consider other possibilities. "We can't waste the opportunity, ya know? That's just stupid, and you know it," he told Alby.

Sara wasn't sure if Minho really meant it like that or if he was just trying to help her case.

"Enough, Minho. Don't you dare repeat what you said in the Gathering, I'm bloody sick of it," Newt muttered, glaring at him.

"What are you guys even talking about?" Thomas asked, and everyone just looked at him with irritation. They really didn't have time for more inquiry—they only needed answers.

"Slim it, all of you," Sara snapped at them. "I said I know it's her, and we can actually get us out of here."

"But when's that happening? This is just a bloody threat, not a clue to get us out," Newt argued as he waved the paper in front of her.

"Alright, you know what? That's it. Sara, let's go. Back to the pit," Alby said with resolve.

She huffed and began to protest. "What? No, wait—"

Alby held out a hand to stop her. "You already told us what you knew. You're done. Did you forget where you're supposed to be?"

Before Sara could argue against him, Newt gave her an apologetic look and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Sorry."

Thomas tried to step in. "Wait, Newt. You guys can't—"

"Shut your hole, Greenie! You're in the way," said Alby, frowning at him.

Sara angrily shook Newt's hand off her shoulder, and then bid Alby to take her back to the slammer already.

"No, I haven't forgotten," she said to Alby, matter-of-factly. "And if it's not too much to ask for, make a shuck decision about me already, and then you guys go ahead and get the shuck out of this hellhole."

Alby locked the door again after throwing her back inside, and she watched as the three of them walked away from her, pretty much sentencing her to death.

That's how it would all end.

Yet she didn't have a death wish. The sole concept of having to step foot in that dreaded place again made the hairs on her arms stand on edge. Her mind traveled back to her first arrival, when she faced the Grievers. Her heart had never pounded so fast, as if her chest would burst. She could feel it accelerating just by remembering the events that took place on that day.

Nonetheless, if there was no other choice than to banish her, then so be it. Maybe Sara was just foolishly clinging to the fact that Rebecca wouldn't let her die a horrible death in the Maze, or maybe she was just being her usual naïve self.

But she was tired.

Even if she died, the boys could get to safety. If she wasn't the one to get them out, Rebecca would be there in her place. There would always be someone to get them out. Like she said, as long as that goal was fulfilled, even if everything else went to klunk, so... be... it.

~Newt~

Newt turned to Alby and whispered pleadingly, "She's right. How long are you gonna drag this for? Please, I beg you, forget the banishment."

"You're confusing," Alby told him, flailing his arms in the air. "You don't want her dead, but ya can't decide what else to do with her. And no, we still need her to be present in the next Gathering before we can come to a unanimous verdict."

Newt passed a hand through his hair with frustration. "That's a bunch of nonsense. You know there won't be a consensus. I'll never vote for banishment. I know a couple others that won't either, including this shank, I'm sure," he said, gesturing at Minho.

"You think I wanna banish her?" Alby's anger was rising by the minute. "I wanna wait until she speaks in that shuck Gathering, okay? So I'm sorry if it's taking so long, but I'm sure you'll agree that making a quick decision right now will send her straight to the Maze, right?" He repeatedly pointed to the walls of Maze.

Newt simply didn't like watching her being locked up—it was the third time. She was treated like a criminal, and there were other guys in the Glade who'd done worse things and received less chastise. Unable to convert his thoughts into words, Newt let out a loud groan. What else could he say to Alby?

He came up with the first argument on the top of his head. "Can't you just rule out the punishment? You're the buggin' leader, for shuck's sake. Won't everyone have to just accept it?"

"Not if it's so controversial," said Alby, shaking his head. "I can't just make that decision and ignore the majority's opinion. I'm sorry, Newt." His voice softened.

It was probably the first time Newt and Alby ever had a disagreement over something, and for the first time, Alby was refusing a request from Newt.

To Newt's surprise, Minho stepped in to confront Alby. "The Council's never gonna agree to let her go. Man up and make that decision yourself. Screw those other klunk-heads."

Bothered by the confrontation, Alby eyed him up and down. "What are you still doing here—don't you have a Maze to run?" he reprimanded Minho.

Newt raised an eyebrow and gave Alby a questioning look. He couldn't just send the Runners out at that moment, it was madness.

"What? Answer the question!" Minho pressed on, unyielding to Alby's demands.

Alby brought his face closer to Minho. "The Maze. Now!"

Minho pushed the leader by the shoulders to get him out of his face. "Hold it, Mr. President. That Gathering took forever—I thought we'd get the day off!" he complained.

Newt couldn't tell if Minho was in a light joking mood, or if he was trying to pick up a fight with Alby. If it was the latter, then Minho officially lost it. That probably wasn't the brightest idea with everything they had at hand. Alby's temper was holding up by a thread—literally anything could spark the demon inside of him.

Alby wasn't having Minho's attitude. "Like shuck you are. Aren't your Runners in the Maze already? Ya might not get as much done today, but it's still somethin' so get out of my face."

"There's no one in the Maze right now!" Minho shouted. "Not without me, so you can blame your stupid Gathering for the delay."

"I won't let by a single day without a run—am I gonna have to drag you to the entrance?"

"Shuck no," Minho said with resolve. "If you're that tired of us, then you can just suck it up, old man. But I'm not risking my life or anyone else's out there for a couple hours of nothing. Don't make me teach you how to be a real leader." He tilted his head at Alby, almost challenging him to say something else.

"Are you questioning an order, shuck-face?" Alby squinted his eyes at Minho.

This is where Newt always had to step in; no one else like him to split a dispute among the leader and the guy who couldn't keep his mouth shut. Newt the nice guy.

"He's right, Alby. Not worth the risk," Newt told him.

"Aw Newt, you do care about me," said Minho, making a high-pitched voice in mock flattery.

Newt rolled his eyes. "Don't flatter yourself, I'm thinking about everyone's safety in general," he muttered, still upset with Minho.

"Newt, we can't waste a single second of daylight," said Alby, turning against Newt.

"We can't risk the Runners' lives out there. They don't have much time before the bloody doors close, and the most certain thing to happen is one or multiple Griever attacks. Is that what you really want?" Newt raised his voice, something he rarely ever did with Alby.

Alby waved him off when he realized arguing with Newt was pointless. "What does it matter anyway... do whatever," he muttered angrily as he stomped away, leaving without awaiting a response.

Minho and Newt glanced awkwardly at each other, then Minho mumbled a quick "thank you," before he and Newt parted ways, but not before muttering one last signature comment of his—something about how he could've dealt with Alby himself.

Newt rolled his eyes.

Somehow, Newt wasn't sure he was doing things correctly.

He felt like he'd failed big time. He'd failed as Alby's second since no one really wanted him in that position after everything that happened. Gally didn't ever let him forget how bad of a leader he was. That shank couldn't wait to debunk Newt from his position and take his place.

Newt had a responsibility he was willing to carry out, but he didn't care about a title. If people didn't want him to lead alongside Alby, then so be it. He cared more about Sara, who was in danger, awaiting in a rusty pit for almost two nights until the Council decided what to do.

Two nights. Counting a full twenty-four hours in between.

It felt like a lifetime longer than that.

More than anything, Newt felt he failed the people he cared about. Sara in the pit, in danger of getting banished; and Minho, the only person he could really count on; and Alby was making careless decisions on his own.

But Newt didn't know how to fix any of it. It'd gone too far.

❀❀❀

Right after the doors closed, Newt was on his way to check on the new girl—Teresa—and he'd barely opened the door to get a word with the Med-jacks when suddenly, mad screaming broke out from across the Glade.

What now?

He immediately rushed out of the Med-jack hut and sprinted out to the open of the Glade. He could feel the strain on his right foot, and he had to slow down before he risked tripping on his own feet.

Bloody leg.

He spotted Chuck in the clearing, right outside of the homestead. The kid looked disturbed as Newt approached him.

"Hey, Chuck, what was that? Do you know where it came from?" Newt asked him.

"Yeah, I—I saw Alby run into the deadheads after we all heard the screaming," he said, pointing a shaky finger toward the deadheads. "He was carrying a bow and arrow. Dude, I think Thomas was back there."

"What?"

Newt was so tired of all the strange things that were happening, and somehow, they always involved Thomas. He started running to the deadheads, following the howling screams. Now it sounded like two people were screaming.

Finally, he spotted Alby, and he was aiming an arrow at... someone.

Newt took cautious steps, taking a closer look. "Alby, what—"

The leader shot an arrow, and it struck Ben on the shoulder.

Wait, Ben? Wasn't he with the Med-jacks?

Ben's body toppled off from Thomas and slumped to the ground. Thomas scrambled back up, his face white with panic, and he had a few bloody spots on his face and neck.

Newt hurried over to them. "Tommy, are you okay?"

"Y—yeah, sort of," he stammered. The shank looked like he'd seen a ghost.

"What happened?"

Thomas was bewildered beyond reason. "I don't know, man. Ben just went crazy and attacked me," he replied. Thomas hadn't been in the Glade too long, and he'd been the most attacked. What was going on?

Alby approached them. "Newt, help me carry him over to the open, then get Clint and Jeff."

He went and grabbed Ben by the armpits and Newt took his legs as they carried him out of the deadheads, a spooked Thomas following just behind.

They set Ben on the ground, and Newt tried to check if he still had a pulse.

"If he's dead, let's just have the Baggers come pick him up," said Alby.

Newt gave him a disgusted look. "He's alive, Alby. I can feel his pulse." Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. "Med-jacks!"

They both came sprinting as fast as they could with a stretcher in hand, and several other Gladers gathered around to take a look at Ben. His sickly green veins were worse than before, and he looked like he was completely absorbed by lunacy.

As they took him away to the hut, Alby and Newt both turned to Thomas.

"What did he say to you?" Alby asked him.

"He said he saw me, and that it was all my fault... he said that I was bad. I don't even understand how." Thomas shook his head helplessly.

"How the bloody heck did he escape the Med-jacks?" Newt wondered. "They were supposed to watch him," he added, his expression hardening as he looked at Alby.

"No idea," said Alby. "Or even how he got here without anyone seeing him." He rubbed his chin.

"What do you think we should do with him?" asked Newt.

Alby's face showed almost no emotion. "Banish him. No other choice. Tomorrow at closing time."

Thomas looked up. "W—what do you mean banish him?" he asked, absolutely clueless.

Alby and Newt shared a glance. 

Newt stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Tommy. Listen, it's been a hard couple of days for you, alright? Especially today. Go ahead and rest. We'll take care of everything. You have a big day tomorrow, starting with the jobs again." Newt raised his eyebrows and tried to search for any sense of agreement in Thomas's eyes.

"Why don't you guys tell me what's really going on?" asked Thomas. Newt wasn't sure if he was just grimacing or if he looked about to cry, but he felt sorry for the poor shank.

"Thomas, I promise I'll tell you tomorrow—just go rest," Newt ordered a little harshly.

With that, Thomas finally trudged off, but Newt knew that the boy's curiosity wouldn't let it go.

"What the shuck is going on, man?" Alby asked, absentmindedly. "Seems like everything's just blown up in the last couple of days. Ya think Gally's right about Thomas? I mean, why would Ben suddenly go banshee psycho on him like that?"

Newt was just as perplexed. "I don't know. Too many things are happening." Then he remembered what Alby mentioned right before Newt told Thomas to leave. "Are you sure banishment is the solution? Seems like that's the only resort you're settling for lately, instead of it being the last," he said with an underlying accusation in his voice.

Alby rolled his eyes at him. "You've just gotten too soft, Newt. And that's mainly because of your girlfr—Sara..." he gave Newt an awkward side glance, "...besides, you know what we have to do with kids who get stung, especially if they try to hurt another Glader. He didn't just try to hurt Thomas. He was literally choking him."

"Well, in that case..." With his head hung low, Newt's voice softened.

Newt hated banishments. Even if the person getting banished deserved to get banished, it was always the worst feeling to have to get rid of someone who had no control over their actions.

Alby turned to leave but stopped himself, turning back to face Newt. He placed his hand on Newt's shoulder but didn't look at him in the face.

"Listen, man... sorry for blowin' up earlier," he apologized. "We'll figure out what to do with Sara too. Hopefully we can find a way to free her, but I can't promise you anything. Those slintheads have their heart set on killing her."

Newt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yah. Thanks, Alby."

❀❀❀

Later at night, when Newt was walking over to his old hammock, he spotted Thomas sitting on the grass, a little farther away from the sleeping Gladers.

Newt knew how traumatizing the day's events must've been for him, so much that sleep completely left him. More than anyone else, Newt understood what it was like to spend sleepless nights lost in his own thoughts.

He decided to go sit next to Thomas, see if he could comfort him somehow. And Newt also needed to give his apologies, which he'd been dragging over for too long.

"Hey, can't sleep?" Newt grunted as he positioned his leg in a comfortable position that wouldn't strain his ankle, and he sat on the ground.

Thomas watched him carefully, his eyes focusing on Newt's ankle.

He better not bloody ask.

"Nah, I don't think I'll be able to sleep again after today," Thomas replied, turning his face away from Newt.

"Well, it's what happens sometimes when someone gets stung—they go psycho as they go through the Changing. Alby told you about that, didn't he?" asked Newt.

"Yeah, but... what Ben said, I don't understand. And what's gonna happen to him? Alby said he was getting... um, banished." Newt could tell Thomas was very uncomfortable with that, as it was to be expected. Newt himself couldn't get used to such a horrible thing, even after all that time living in the Glade.

Newt started playing with the bits of grass on the ground. "Yah. He broke one of the most important rules we have. Even worse—he tried to kill you. There's no other choice than to throw him into the Maze."

It got quiet for a few seconds, then he looked over at Thomas only to see he was staring back at him, horrified. It took a lot of explaining, but Newt tried his best to show him that they did certain things for the better of everyone, even if they sounded terrible.

The main reason he came to talk to Thomas sprung back to Newt's mind. "Hey, well... I actually came here 'cause I have something to say that I should've said a long time ago."

"What is it?" Thomas mumbled, having a one-on-one stare down with the north wall of the Maze—at least that was what it looked like he was doing.

Newt couldn't understand the guy's obsession with the Maze and the Runners. Thomas was indeed crazy for craving such things Newt would give his two eyeballs to avoid. Never again. That was what he swore to himself that day he wanted to end everything in the Maze. Even after walking out alive, never again was still an oath he would keep true.

Newt snapped out of it, and finally said the words. "I'm really sorry about what happened that other night, Tommy."

Thomas was confused for a moment, but then it clicked, so he shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"I shouldn't have reacted like that—although... not like it matters anymore," said Newt, his voice quieting down, almost inaudible.

"You're still mad at her then?" Thomas wondered.

Newt was startled by the question. "Not about that. About the other thing... you know, in all honesty, I don't know how to answer," was his response.

And he really didn't know.

Am I mad at her? Should I be?

Maybe he should've listened to her—understood her better. She needed him to support her, and all he did was push her away.

But he wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, especially if his suspicions were justified.

She might've had other intentions—she might've been pretending to be sorry, even pretending to care about him. But what they both had was special. Newt felt it. Maybe she changed her mind—he wouldn't know. He was scared he was letting his emotions control his reasoning, but he was completely lost. He didn't know whether or not the next decision he intended to make regarding Sara would be the right one, and it depended on who it was right for.

Not knowing the answer to just about anything was wearing him out mentally and emotionally. Newt was tired. So tired.

During Newt's mental chaos, they were both sitting in complete silence, except for the unintelligible voices of other sleepless Gladers nearby.

Thomas's voice broke the silence so suddenly that Newt slightly flinched.

"I think she's innocent," he said. "And I think people know it, they're just too scared to admit she can do what no one's been able to do for—what was it—almost three years?"

Thomas, the Greenie who'd been in the Glade for no more than three days, just opened Newt's eyes a little bit more. He still had time to figure out what to say in the next Gathering with Sara, but it wasn't that easy to confront the situation anyway.

Newt then recalled what Thomas said Ben kept repeating.

I saw you. It's all your fault. You're bad.

How?

Newt literally looked over at Thomas again, eyeing him up and down, and nothing at all sent a flashing warning sign that he was bad. Thomas looked like he wouldn't hurt a flea. But then again, so did Sara, and she still lied.

Another striking thought came to Newt's mind.

Perhaps Sara knew why Ben tried to kill Thomas. What could Ben have seen about him during the Changing? About her?

"Thanks, Newt," Thomas blurted out.

Newt furrowed his eyebrows. "For what?" That was so random. He came to apologize and ended up receiving Thomas's gratitude instead.

"For being the only person willing to explain things to me, and for worrying about me."

Newt half-smiled. "Don't sweat it, it's nothing."

His damaged ankle began to throb again, and Newt gently massaged it. Again, Thomas's gaze was fixed onto Newt's foot. He instantly stopped touching it, driving away the attention from it. Maybe Thomas wouldn't ask. Maybe.

"What happened to your foot?"

Too late.

"Uh..." Newt stammered, shifting uncomfortably, "...it just hurts."

He could physically see the curiosity building up in Thomas's eyes. "Must be really bad, I've seen you limping all the time. Are you okay—how'd you hurt it?"

Newt began to breathe rapidly, placing his hands on the ground to push himself off the ground. Thomas was taken aback by Newt's sudden urge to be on his feet, ready to go. He had no idea how much Newt hated—no—despised speaking of the subject. It brought back to memory so much pain.

"I'm fine, alright? Just a minor setback from my days in the Maze," said Newt, unable to calm himself. There was a little more distance between the two of them, and Newt looked down to see that he'd been unknowingly backing away from Thomas. To make matters worse, he realized what he just said, knowing full well it only captured Thomas's attention.

"Wait—you were a Runner?" Thomas's eyes sparkled.

Thomas practically brought attention to everything Newt wished to forget, and he couldn't handle any more of it. He felt it was his own fault though; he brought this upon himself.

"Please, no more questions, Tommy," Newt whispered, almost begging him.

Thomas looked so shocked at the sight of Newt faltering. "Sorry, Newt. I—I'm sorry."

The image in front of Newt eyes—the sight of Thomas sitting on the ground—went blurry as tears stung his eyes. He was trying his best to hold them in. He needed to get out of there. Now.

As Newt turned the other way to leave without another word, Thomas called out, "Hey, maybe you should go see Sara. I'm sure she'll love to see you. I don't know—maybe it'll make you feel better?" Thomas sounded like he didn't even know what he was saying anymore.

Newt had stopped walking at the mention of her name. "Don't," he warned him with a trembling voice.

Thomas inhaled a sharp breath. "Sorry, I didn't—"

Newt was out of there before he could bear to hear another word from him. He moved his legs faster and faster, disregarding the constant pain in his foot.

A ridiculous thought crossed his mind.

If he forced his injured leg to run and give more than it could give, that could give him back his agility. To forget that he was crippled. That he could still be one of the high-rank Runners he used to be. That maybe his limp could be cured with more running.

He ran until he came to an open spot in the deadheads, and just as his leg was about to give out on him, he dropped to his hands and knees just to collapse onto his back, clutching his foot in excruciating pain. He groaned and gritted his teeth as he rubbed his foot, clutching it hard to make the pain go away.

Bitter tears escaped his eyes as he came back to reality. The damage in his foot was irreversible and running only made it worse.

Memories of Sara coming to that exact spot whenever she was upset seemed to appear in flashes all around the place. Every scene played out in the exact spot where it once happened as if mocking him for his loneliness. They reminded Newt of all those moments they spent comforting each other.

And now, there was no one. She wasn't with him. Just when he thought he could be stronger than ever, a simple conversation with Thomas brought so much reminiscing, proving that he wasn't any less weak now than he was before. Before her.

He sat up, leaning his back against a tree trunk and hugging his knees up to his chest. With his head in his hands, he unleashed another flow of tears. His soft whimpers turned into silent sobs.

Sara's betrayal hurt him badly; it not only damaged his trust in her but also his self-esteem.

How else was he supposed to feel when such a beautiful girl had captivated him so much with her wit, her humor, and her kindness, and then he discovers she's a liar?

She genuinely made him believe that he was unconditionally loved, that he had worth, that despite his poor mental health, there was still hope for him. He felt used, as if she had only taken advantage of how easily it was for him to fall for her.

But if it was true that she was sorry and that she actually loved him, he felt awful about what was going on. He didn't know exactly what path brought her to cross his as she only gave him vague details when she confessed her lie, but she seemed to have a purpose far beyond his understanding, and now he was on the verge of losing her too.

He couldn't let anyone see him crying like that; it would be such a scandal. He didn't want anyone's pity—he didn't need it.

He raised his head in realization. She said that to him. Those exact words.

I don't need your pity.

He understood that feeling to the fullest and felt ridiculous about it.

Helplessly, he cried even harder, disregarding whether or not someone might've been able to hear him.

He didn't care.

The only thing that was left to complete his miserable life was if he couldn't save her from dying. If he couldn't save her, then much less would he be able to save himself.

Not this time. Not ever.