The First Glader

13

Ada stared at the grass, then at their hands, then finally at the two boys who—somehow—had become the strongest constants in her strange new world.

"Okay," she whispered.

Nick smiled. "Good."

Alby nodded. "About time."

She shoved him lightly. "I liked you better when you didn't talk."

Alby cracked a rare grin. "Liar."

Ada's chest warmed.

For a moment, the weight of leadership—the responsibility, the deaths, the Maze—felt lighter. Not gone, but carried by three sets of shoulders instead of one.

Nick leaned back, letting the sun warm his face. "Hey," he said casually, "after we finish with the boards, you want to help us check the north paths?"

Ada raised a brow. "You need my expertise?"

"No," Alby said smugly. "We need your incredible personality."

She threw a piece of grass at him.

Nick laughed so hard he nearly fell over.

Ada shook her head, but her heart felt full in a way that scared her less than it used to.

This—these moments, this ease, this strange little family forming—felt safe.

Real.

Strong.

And Ada realized something then:

She didn't have to survive this place alone anymore.

She had Nick's quiet wisdom.
Alby's stubborn strength.
George's reckless heart.
Newt's growing trust.

Together, they weren't just surviving.

They were becoming a unit.

A real one.

"Yeah," Ada said softly, looking at the both of them. "I'll go with you."

Nick grinned.

Alby nodded like he'd expected that answer all along.

And for the first time since waking in the Box, Ada felt like the Maze didn't own her.

Not completely.

Not anymore.

For the next three days, Ada did everything in her power to avoid George.

Not obviously—she wasn't hiding behind trees or sprinting away when she saw him—but she chose tasks on the opposite side of the Glade, volunteered for garden duty whenever George was building, and made sure Nick or Newt was always nearby.

If George walked toward her, she drifted toward Alby.
If George tried to talk, she gave short answers.
If George lingered nearby, she suddenly remembered something urgent she needed to do.

And George noticed.

He noticed everything.

By the second day, he looked confused.
By the third, confusion turned into frustration.
By the morning of the fourth, George was practically vibrating with it.

Nick saw it first.

"You're going to burn a hole in her back if you keep staring," he muttered while tying rope, not bothering to look up.

George snapped his head away. "I'm not staring."

"Alright," Nick said calmly. "You're not."

George kicked a rock. Hard. "She won't even look at me."