The First Glader

12

For a long moment, neither spoke.

The lake rippled softly. A breeze tugged at Ada's hair. George's eyes flicked to the strand that fell across her cheek—involuntary, tender—and she felt it like a pulse beneath her skin.

She cleared her throat, trying to steady herself. "You're supposed to be annoying."

George huffed a tiny laugh. "I can be both."

Ada finally allowed herself a smile. A real one.

George's shoulders eased. His voice dropped again, rough around the edges. "Good to see you smile."

Ada looked down at her hands. "It's rare these days."

"Then I'll... try to fix that." He swallowed. "If that's okay."

Her heart tightened painfully.

"It's okay," she whispered.

George let out a slow breath—as though he'd been holding it for weeks.

They sat together in quiet after that. Not awkward quiet. Steady quiet. The kind that settles between people who trust each other more than they'll admit.

The sky faded from orange to soft blue.

George eventually leaned back until he was lying in the grass, hands behind his head, gaze on the stars barely beginning to appear.

Ada stayed sitting, knees drawn up, staring at the lake.

"Hey," George said softly.

Ada looked over.

He didn't lift his head—just flicked his eyes toward her.

"I'm glad you're not alone anymore," he murmured, voice the gentlest she'd ever heard it.

Ada's chest tightened, ache and warmth pulling in equal measure.

"Yeah," she whispered.
"So am I."The Maze felt different in the daytime.

Ada couldn't explain it—it wasn't safer, not really, but the air was different. Still. Sleeping. Like the danger was tucked somewhere deeper behind stone and shadow.

Nick felt it too. He always did. That was one of the reasons she liked running with him. He didn't panic, he didn't babble like George, and he didn't go silent in the unsettling way Alby sometimes did. Nick was balance.

He walked beside her now, boots crunching softly on the stone floor, eyes flicking between the left turn and the straight path ahead.

"Same as yesterday," he murmured. "No changes."

Ada nodded, fingertips trailing the wall in a habit she didn't remember forming. "But the shift last night was closer."

Nick exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Felt like it was right outside the Glade."

"Do you think that means something?"

"It all means something," he said. "The trick is figuring out which somethings matter."

Ada huffed a small laugh. "You sound like you swallowed a philosophy book."

Nick grinned. "I think I swallowed George's constant commentary. Now my brain is desperate to balance it out."

Ada snorted, shaking her head. The echo bounced lightly off the stone and disappeared.

They walked for a few minutes in comfortable silence. Ada checked the markings she'd carved on previous runs—small scratches in the wall, a map she was slowly coaxing into comprehensible form. Nick carried the charcoal stick, marking intersections as they passed.