The First Glader

11

Newt winced at the noise again.

Ada placed a hand on George's arm. "Softer," she murmured.

George nodded, cheeks going faintly pink in embarrassment.

Nick guided Newt toward the shelter. "Take it slow. You're still in shock."

Newt's legs trembled as he walked. Ada stayed at his side, letting him keep a hand on her sleeve whenever he needed the anchor. Alby walked close behind, protective in a quiet, unobtrusive way.

Inside the shelter, Nick helped him sit on a pile of woven grass and blankets. Newt exhaled shakily, then ran a trembling hand through his hair.

George offered him a cup of water—gently this time. "Here."

Newt took it with both hands. His fingers were shaking.

"Drink small sips," Ada said.

He obeyed immediately.

"Good," she murmured. "You're doing good."

He swallowed and looked up at her again. "Why's... why's my voice sound like that?"

Ada blinked. "Like what?"

Newt's brows knit. "Different. Wrong."

George perked up. "You mean your accent? Yeah, you sound all—" he wiggled his hand vaguely "—proper."

Newt looked horrified. "Proper?"

Ada glared at George. "Ignore him. Your voice is fine."

Newt's shoulders dropped a little. "So... I've always talked like this?"

Nick shrugged. "Probably. We all woke up not knowing anything either. Some things stick. Maybe accents are one of them."

Alby nodded. "You'll figure the rest out as you go."

Newt lowered the cup. "I don't want to be a bother."

The words were quiet but raw.

Ada's expression softened immediately. She sat beside him and rested a gentle hand on his arm.

"You're not a bother," she said firmly. "You're part of us now. And you're safe."

Newt's eyes shone with something fragile—relief mixed with fear.

George flopped onto the floor beside him. "And don't worry. If anyone here is a bother, it's definitely me."

Nick groaned. "Absolutely true."

Alby smirked. "Seconded."

Newt let out a small, breathy laugh—his first since arriving.

Ada smiled at the sound.

Outside, the Glade stretched into its usual morning. But inside that small shelter, with the four of them surrounding him, Newt's world steadied for the first time.

He wasn't alone anymore.

And neither were they.

Newt slept most of the morning.

Shock did that to people—their first day, their first hours. Ada kept checking on him, making sure he was warm, that he drank enough water, that his breathing stayed calm instead of spiking with panic. Each time she nudged the shelter flap aside, he blinked awake just long enough to look at her, like checking she was still real.

"You're safe," she'd whisper.

And he'd nod, eyes drooping again.

The others worked outside, giving him quiet.