𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 {𝐧𝐞𝐰𝐭 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫}

sixty four: the eight stupid fucking letters

Thomas very reluctantly came around on the idea.

I don't think anyone was really a massive advocate of the plan – but we had no other choice. She was our only way in.

We knew what we needed to do; everything was finalised and set into place. Thomas, being the closest to Teresa before the attack, was put on the front lines and given the largest task.

Getting her to trust us.

Because if she didn't trust us, or even fear us enough to allow us to execute our plan, then there was no chance we were going to get Minho back. And that meant losing Newt too.

I refuse to let that happen.

The boy had stayed close to my side since our last discussion –  he believes I assume it's because he just doesn't like to be away from me.

I know it's actually because he's already given up, and is just trying to give us as much time together as possible.

A part of me hates him for that. He should fight harder – Newt should want to stay alive, for us, but more importantly, for him.

I want to scream at the blonde; cry and kick and punch at him so he'll stay, so maybe, just maybe, he'll try just the smallest bit harder to put himself first and not the people around him.

Sometimes it's okay to be selfish. It's okay for Newt to be selfish, just this once.

But he doesn't seem to want to talk about it. He's made up his mind, and he's decided that he'd rather risk his life to save the boy who saved him back in the maze.

He says that as the plan is already in motion, there's no point discussing it. I disagreed, of course, but seemed to be easily ignored as Gally had ushered us down into the sewer that opened up into the city, hiding in the spot we had settled on to stray from the crowd.

It was busy in Wicked's town, which made sense, as Gally told us it was rush hour, and with the new opposed curfew, people were eager to get home.

No one stopped to look at us; to watch a group of people weave their way through bustling herds of entitled assholes. They were too caught up in their own depressing lives to realise that we were going to tumble their world to the ground and set it on fire.

Gally's plan showed no mercy – he was ruthless and cold, just like I remembered.

Thomas was still mortified with the idea, naturally. He thought it cruel, to him and to Teresa. I understood where he was coming from, but I was barely sympathetic.

I didn't feel bad for Teresa; she's the reason we're in this position in the first place. The person I felt bad for, however, was Tom.

So, when we reached the exact spot we had agreed on, my heart plummeted as I knew there was no turning back for the boy. He was going to go through with it, whether he liked it or not.

Gally and Jorge turned towards us from the front of the crowd, hushing us and gesturing for Thomas to go ahead. We had mapped out Thomas' exact movements – we knew exactly where he will be and at what points during the night. We needed to time this perfectly.

Jorge had spoken in a whisper to the boy, telling him last minute encouragements and to remind him what we are fighting for. I don't think he really needs to be reminded.

The boy nodded slightly, looking up at the man. Thomas didn't look nervous or even sad, he looked angry, actually.

For the first time in six months, he was going to confront the one person he hates and loves the most.