The First Glader

8

"Sit," Ada ordered.

George plopped down immediately. "Yes, ma'am."

Ada's eye twitched.

Nick muttered, "He's going to be a problem."

George grinned. "A delightful problem."

Ada threw a berry at him. He caught it and winked.

They spent the next few hours showing George the basics.

He listened — surprisingly well. He asked good questions. He didn't push too hard or pretend he wasn't overwhelmed.

But every so often, he'd slip something in:

"So this goat is the famous Willow... does she know she's prettier than Ada?"

Ada nearly choked on her water.
Nick groaned.
Willow bleated proudly.

Or:

"So we can't touch the Maze walls... Noted. But can Ada touch them? She seems like she could slam them open with sheer will."

Or:

"So if that lake is for washing, where's the bathroom? Actually no — don't tell me. Let me guess. I bet Ada has a secret bathroom she doesn't share."

Finally she snapped, "Do you ever stop talking?"

George turned to her with the most innocent expression imaginable.

"No," he said sweetly. "Not when it makes you look at me like that."

Nick dropped the bucket he was carrying and walked away to avoid laughing.

Ada threw another berry at George, harder this time.

He caught it again, smirking.

Late afternoon brought a quiet lull. Nick went off to repair a tool handle. Ada hauled water from the lake. George followed her—not closely, but not far either.

He didn't speak for a while.

Finally, as she knelt by the water, he sat beside her, dipping his fingers in.

"This place is weird," he said softly. "Calm and terrifying at the same time."

Ada nodded. "It gets easier."

"Does it?" he murmured.

She didn't answer.

George studied her profile—sharp, capable, shadowed with exhaustion he wasn't sure she even noticed she carried.

"You survived something bad here," he said quietly.

Ada's hand froze on the bucket handle.

George didn't push.
His voice stayed gentle.

"You don't have to tell me," he said. "Just... I can feel it. On you."

Ada swallowed, throat tight.

George looked back at the lake. "I've only been here a day, and the walls already feel wrong. Heavy. Like they're breathing."

Ada breathed in sharply—because that was exactly how she had once described them to Nick.

George continued, voice barely more than a whisper. "I think I'm scared of this place."

Ada finally looked at him.

He didn't hide. He didn't pretend. He didn't use humor to dodge the fear.

He just told the truth.

And something in Ada softened in a way she didn't expect — protective, fragile, and new.

"You should be scared," she said quietly. "But you're not alone."