The First Glader

8

George woke before the sun.

Ada knew because she always woke first — but not today.

She cracked her eyes open and found him sitting cross-legged just outside the shelter, elbows resting on his knees, staring up at the sky as dawn tinted it pale blue. His curls were a messy halo around his head, and his posture was tense, like someone trying to figure out if this world was real or a lingering dream.

Nick slept on, dead to the world, an arm draped over his face.

Ada exhaled softly, then stepped out into the cold morning grass.

George didn't turn when she approached; he must have heard her, but he stayed still, breathing slowly.

"You didn't sleep," Ada said quietly.

After a moment, he answered, voice low and honest. "Didn't think I'd be able to."

Ada eased down beside him, careful not to sit too close. "First night's the worst."

George huffed a humorless laugh. "Good to know terrible sleep is normal around here. Makes me feel very welcome."

Ada studied him for a moment in the morning light. His eyes were tired, but awake—sharp in a way they hadn't been yesterday. The confusion was still there, but it was layered now with observation. Calculation. Curiosity.

He would adapt quickly. She could see it.

George finally looked at her, eyes green in the rising sun.

"Thanks," he said suddenly. "For putting up with me yesterday. I was... not in my right mind."

Ada shrugged. "You were better than Nick when he arrived."

"I literally flirted with you while half-conscious," George said dryly.

"And Nick threw up in my lap," Ada deadpanned.

George blinked.

"Okay," he said slowly. "Never mind. I'm proud of me."

She cracked—just barely—a tiny curve at the corner of her mouth.

George saw it.

And he lit up.

"That was a smile," he whispered triumphantly.

"No, it wasn't."

"Liar," he said softly, leaning just an inch closer. "I saw it. Don't deny me this victory."

Ada stood abruptly and walked away.

George grinned to himself, stretching his legs out.

Nick eventually emerged from the shelter like a grumbling bear, hair sticking in every direction.

George squinted at him. "Wow. You look like someone mashed a porcupine and a mop together."

Nick glared. "How are you already talking?"

"Talking is the only thing I'm good at right now," George replied earnestly. "Please don't take that from me."

Ada snorted into her cup of water.

George pointed at her. "See? She thinks I'm funny."

"She thinks you're loud," Nick countered.

"Loud, funny — tomato, tomahto."

Ada shook her head, trying not to laugh. George beamed.

They cooked breakfast—boiled eggs, a bit of fruit. Ada worked quietly, focused. Nick tried to be efficient but tripped over a crate at least twice. George attempted to help but ended up setting a stick on fire and nearly stepping in it.