The healer [Maze runner Newt x OC]

Chapter five

The sun beat down mercilessly, the desert turning into an unforgiving furnace. Grace panted, her feet dragging through the sand as her energy waned. "Can we please sit down for a moment?" she asked, her voice heavy with exhaustion. "I know we're running, but not all of us have Runner experience."

Minho, walking ahead, paused and glanced back. For a moment, he looked ready to argue, but seeing the state of the others, he sighed. "Alright, five minutes," he said, collapsing into the sand. "But if something comes for us, don't say I didn't warn you."

Grace let out a breath of relief and dropped to the ground, tugging off her shirt to leave herself in her sports bra. She wiped her face with the fabric, trying to cool down, before turning her attention to Winston. His face was pale, his body trembling as he lay on the makeshift stretcher.

Grace knelt beside him, pulling out her water bottle and holding it to his lips. "Drink, Winston. Just a little at a time." She kept her voice soft, like she used to in the Glade when tending to other injured Gladers.

As she worked, Newt crouched beside her, his brows furrowed in concern. "You alright?" he asked quietly, his hand brushing her arm.

Grace nodded, though her lips were tight. "I'll be fine. I'm just worried about him."

Newt gave her a faint smile, his fingers lingering on her arm. "You're bloody incredible, you know that?"

Grace looked up, her face warming under his gaze. But before she could respond, he leaned closer, as if drawn by something he couldn't explain. His breath brushed her neck as his hand moved to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

Then he froze.

"Grace..." His voice dropped, low and cautious. "There's something... on your neck."

"What?" she asked, frowning. "What do you mean?"

Newt gently moved her hair aside, revealing faint black lettering etched into her skin. His jaw tightened as he read the words aloud.

"Property of WICKED, Subject A14: The Healer."

Grace stiffened, her hand flying to her neck. "What?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "What the shuck are you talking about?"

Newt looked at her, his expression grim. "It's some sort of tattoo... like a label."

The others, overhearing, turned to them. "Tattoo?" Minho repeated, running a hand over the back of his neck. "Wait a second..." His eyes widened as his fingers brushed something.

"Everybody, check your necks!" Newt barked, standing abruptly.

Confusion rippled through the group as they all reached for the backs of their necks, twisting to see or asking someone else to check.

Grace, still stunned, stepped toward Newt. "Hold still," she said, her voice steadier now. Her fingers gently brushed his neck, pulling aside his collar. Her eyes narrowed as she read the black ink.

She blinked. "Newt," she said softly, meeting his gaze. "Yours says... Subject A5: The Glue."

Newt's mouth tightened into a thin line. "The Glue? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

Meanwhile, Frypan turned to Minho. "Check mine," he said, twisting so Minho could see.

Minho frowned, leaning closer. "Alright. You're Subject A8: The Sidekick."

Frypan groaned. "Seriously? The Sidekick?"

"Could be worse," Minho muttered. "What about me?"

Frypan smirked faintly as he read the tattoo on Minho's neck. "Subject A7: The Leader."