Newt watched as his partner, a maze runner, went into the maze that night. He always worried, but he knew they’d be okay. He knew they always made it out. They were always first, and never hurt besides a few scratches and profound exhaustion. But the next morning was different. More creatures had stirred in the maze the night prior, and the next morning, you stumbled toward the doors, wounded badly. You met his eyes for a split second before slumping against the mazes’ wall as the entrance slammed shut once more. You hadn’t made it—not this time. Now you had to survive a second night and make it out the next morning, assuming you survived the blood loss and the cold.