The First Glader

12

Newt woke to voices—soft ones, murmuring just outside the shelter. Sunlight streamed through the woven wall, warm on his face. For a moment he forgot where he was.

Then it all rushed back.

The Box.
The Glade.
The Maze.
Ada's voice steadying him in the darkness of his mind.

He sat up slowly, blinking at the unfamiliar space. His chest tightened with anxiety. Everything felt too big, too loud, too exposed.

A gentle knock tapped on the shelter frame.

"Newt?" Ada's voice. "Can I come in?"

Newt swallowed. "Yes."

She stepped inside, holding a small bowl of berries and water. "You should eat something."

Newt took the bowl with both hands. "Thank you."

Before he could take a bite, George barreled in behind her, nearly tripping over the threshold. "MORNING, GREENIE!"

Newt jumped so violently the berries nearly spilled.

Ada smacked George's arm. "Too loud."

"What? I'm being welcoming!" George insisted. He crouched dramatically beside Newt. "You, my friend, are officially our newest Greenie."

"Greenie?" Newt repeated.

"Means newbie," George said proudly. "Greenbean, if I'm feeling affectionate."

Newt blinked, unsure if he was supposed to be offended or grateful. Ada hid a smile behind her hand. "You'll get used to him."

"No one ever really gets used to me," George corrected. "They just surrender."

Nick stuck his head in the doorframe. "Stop harassing him."

George gasped. "Excuse me, I'm bonding with our Greenbean—"

"George," Nick warned.

George deflated. "Fine."

Newt let out a tiny breathy laugh, almost surprised at himself. Ada watched him carefully— the way his shoulders relaxed, the way the tension in his jaw loosened a fraction.

"Come on," she said. "Let's show you more of the Glade."

Newt stood, shakier than he wanted to be. Nick walked beside him without comment, just close enough that his hand brushed Newt's arm if he swayed.

Outside, the Glade bustled in a quiet way—birds calling in the trees, the faint bleat of goats, the soft chop of George attempting to split firewood and missing half the time.

Alby strode over, wiping sweat from his brow. "You slept long."

Newt bristled. "Sorry."

"No." Alby shook his head. "Good. You needed it."

Newt blinked, startled by the gentleness beneath the rough tone.

Alby jerked his chin toward the pigs. "Come help me feed them."

Newt hesitated, glancing at Ada for confirmation. She nodded once, encouraging.

So he followed Alby.

It wasn't glamorous. Carrying buckets. Scooping feed. Avoiding being headbutted by Percy. But Alby never raised his voice, never grew impatient, never let Newt feel useless.

"You're a quick learner," Alby said at one point.

Newt nearly dropped the feed scoop. "I—really?"

"Yeah. Better than George."