The First Glader

16

Ada barked a laugh. "Gally!"

"What?" he said, deadpan. "I didn't say I would. I said—if he gave me a reason."

Ada couldn't decide whether to hug him or throw a pebble at him.

"You're impossible," she said.

"So are you," he countered.

Ada softened. "You'll like him eventually."

Gally hesitated. "...Maybe."

Ada bumped him again. "You will."

He finally met her gaze, something soft settling behind his eyes. "I trust your judgment."

That quiet truth hit her deeper than she expected.

"And I trust you," she said.

Gally's breath caught—barely, but enough.

He looked away quickly, blinking hard. "I don't know why that means so much."

Ada studied him carefully. His strong hands. His steady breathing. His blue eyes that mirrored hers more closely than anyone else's ever had. That faint ache in her sternum again—the one she didn't have words for.

Because there weren't words.

Not yet.

She reached out and took his hand gently—the same way she took George's, but differently. Softer. Warmer. Older somehow.

Gally froze.

Then relaxed.

Slowly. Carefully.

His fingers curled around hers like it felt right without him knowing why.

Ada said quietly, "You're not alone anymore. None of us are. And you especially aren't."

Gally swallowed. "Because of you?"

"Because of all of us," Ada said. "But yeah. Also because of me."

His grip tightened once.

Not possessive.
Not desperate.
Just sure.

Ada squeezed back.

Gally let out a breath he'd been holding since the Box. "Good," he murmured.

Ada tilted her head. "Good?"

Gally nodded. "I don't ever want to be alone again."

Ada smiled gently. "You won't be."

And for the first time since he arrived, Gally smiled too.

A real smile.

Small, crooked, unguarded.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"For what?"

"For staying," he said.

Ada squeezed his hand again. "Always."

The Glade was quiet that night.

The kind of quiet that made the air feel warm and heavy, like even the trees were holding their breath.

Ada climbed the treehouse ladder with a small lantern in hand, wanting space, wanting air, wanting to stop thinking for once. She sat near the railing, legs tucked to her chest, the dim gold light flickering against her skin.

She didn't hear George until the wood creaked behind her.

"Thought I'd find you up here," he said softly.

Ada's heart jolted. She turned. "Couldn't sleep."

George stepped inside the treehouse, hands in his pockets, curls falling around his forehead in that messy, irresistible way.