The First Glader

11

Ada climbed down first, boots clanging softly against metal. "Hey," she said gently. "Can you hear me?"

He jolted at the sound, recoiling slightly. His breaths grew quicker, shallow, panicked.

Nick lowered himself beside her. "It's alright. We're not going to hurt you."

The boy opened his eyes.

Soft brown. Clear and wide with terror. Searching everything and finding nothing that made sense.

He swallowed hard. "Where am I?"

The accent caught Ada off guard—not the word, not the question, but the voice itself.

British. Light. Lilting at the edges. A softness she hadn't heard since before the Glade.

George leaned over the edge of the Box. "Whoa—he talks fancy!"

Ada shot him a warning glare. "George."

"What?" George whispered defensively. "He does."

Nick nudged him sharply with his boot. "Be quiet."

The boy winced and covered his ears as though the noise made everything worse.

Ada softened her voice to barely a whisper. "It's okay. We're going to help you out of here. You're safe."

His gaze snapped to her again—fearful, fragile, but clinging to her words like a lifeline.

Alby jumped into the Box next. "Let's lift him. Easy."

Between the three of them, they helped the boy stand. His legs wobbled under his weight. He grabbed Ada's arm instinctively, fingers clutching tight enough to hurt.

"It's alright," she murmured, steadying him. "Lean on me."

They guided him up out of the Box. George finally stopped pacing long enough to help pull the boy over the edge.

The moment the boy's feet touched grass, he froze.

The Glade stretched out before him—trees on one side, buildings under construction, rows of crops, the towering Maze walls casting long shadows.

His breath hitched. "This... this isn't real."

"It is," Ada said gently. "And you're alright."

He didn't look convinced.

George crouched in front of him, hands on his knees. "Okay, first rule of the Glade: don't panic."

Nick slapped the back of George's head. "That is literally the worst first rule."

Alby ignored them both. "What's your name, kid?"

The boy flinched, eyes darting. He opened his mouth—then shut it again.

A sound caught in his throat. Panic. Embarrassment. Humiliation.

"I—I don't know."

Ada stepped closer. "It's alright. You can choose one. Anything you want."

He stared at her for a long moment—longer than he'd looked at anyone else—eyes flicking back to her like she was the only safe point in a world made of unknowns.

Finally, barely audible, he whispered:

"Newt."

Ada smiled softly. "Newt. Okay."

The name settled into the air like it'd been waiting for him all along.

George clapped his hands once. "Great. Perfect. Welcome to the Glade, Newt."