The First Glader

12

George, across the Glade: "I HEARD THAT!"

Alby smirked.

By midday, Newt's hands were dirty and he was sweating, but for the first time since arriving, he felt... almost normal. Not safe, not settled—just not drowning.

Ada found him by the water barrels. "How's your first day so far?"

Newt pushed hair off his forehead. "Overwhelming. But... good overwhelming? I think."

"Good," she said softly.

A faint rumble rolled through the Maze walls. Newt flinched so hard he stumbled back. Ada caught his arm before he fell.

"That sound," Newt whispered, staring wide-eyed at the walls. "That wasn't there earlier."

Ada kept a firm hold on him until the shaking stopped. "It's just a shift. The Maze rearranging. It doesn't happen during the day often."

Nick approached quickly, brow furrowed. "You okay?"

Newt nodded, though his voice barely held steady. "Startled me."

George skidded into the group, breathless. "Greenbean! Thought you got eaten by a pig."

Newt huffed a laugh despite himself.

George slung an arm over his shoulder—lightly, easily. "You're doing great, by the way."

Newt froze, cheeks pink. "...Thanks."

Ada watched the interaction with a soft, unreadable expression.

The rest of the afternoon they taught him small tasks: how to tie certain knots for building, how to collect water, how to sort edible plants from the ones George once described as "instant death bushes."

As the sun sank and the sky took on orange hues, Ada led Newt toward the edge of the Glade—close enough to see the Maze doors, but not too close.

Newt's steps slowed as his eyes lifted to the towering stone.

"It's... terrifying," he admitted quietly.

"It is," Ada said. "But you get used to that too."

"How?" he whispered.

She looked at him, her expression calm but honest. "By knowing you don't have to face it alone."

Newt swallowed hard, breath trembling like a leaf in wind.

Then he said quietly, voice small but sincere, "Thank you... Ada."

Something warm flickered in her chest, something protective and fierce.

She nodded once. "Come on, Greenbean. Time for dinner."

George shouted from across the Glade, "HEY! THAT'S MY WORD!"

Ada shrugged. "Too bad."

George groaned dramatically.

Newt laughed—a real one this time—and for the first time since he emerged from the Box, he didn't look scared.

He looked like he belonged.

George found Ada by the lake that evening, long after the others had settled into small tasks or quiet conversations. Newt was inside the shelter with Nick learning how to braid rope. Alby was finishing repairs near the pigpen. The Glade felt hushed, the sunset washing everything in gold.

Ada knelt near the water, her fingers trailing absently through the surface, lost somewhere deep in thought. George paused a few paces behind her, watching her silently. He wasn't usually quiet—not for long. But something about the way she sat, her posture soft and tired, made him... still.