The First Glader

32

Thomas woke the next morning thinking about the stars.

Or rather—thinking about Ada under the stars.

Her voice soft.
Her posture finally relaxed.
Her guard lowered just enough for him to glimpse the girl hiding behind the general.

He'd gone to sleep replaying her whispered, "I don't have the luxury of falling apart," over and over.

So naturally, he expected... something. Not warmth. Not openness. Just... acknowledgment.

But Ada acted like nothing had happened.

When Thomas walked toward breakfast, Ada was already there, standing beside Alby, handing him a new runner report. Her expression was calm, guarded—the exact opposite of the fragile, trembling version of herself he'd sat beside the night before.

She didn't look at Thomas.

Not once.

Thomas hesitated by the cook station. Chuck shoved a bowl of porridge toward him.

"Why do you look like a kicked puppy?" Chuck asked.

Thomas kept staring at Ada. "I... talked to her last night."

Chuck froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "You WHAT?"

Thomas winced. "Not like—talk talk. We just sat. She didn't threaten me. Didn't yell. Didn't insult me. It was... normal."

"Nothing Ada does is normal," Chuck muttered. "What did you talk about?"

"Stuff."

Chuck squinted. "Stuff?"

"Stuff," Thomas repeated.

Minho dropped into the seat across from them, yawning loudly. "What stuff?"

Thomas hesitated. "I... don't think I should say."

Minho's eyebrow shot up. "You didn't cry in front of her, did you?"

"What? No!"

"Did she cry?"

"No!"

"Oh my god," Minho gasped. "Did you HOLD HANDS—"

"Minho," Thomas hissed, cheeks burning. "We didn't—just shut up."

Minho laughed so loudly that half the Gladers turned to stare. Gally, of course, noticed immediately. His eyes flicked from Minho... to Thomas... to Ada.

He stiffened.

Very slowly, Gally set down his plate and stood.

Chuck whispered, "Oh no."

Gally marched across the Glade, jaw tight, fists clenched. Thomas instinctively backed up, bumping into a tree root.

"What did you do yesterday?" Gally demanded.

Thomas blinked. "I... worked? Watered the Gardens? Helped Winston? Ate dinner? Slept—"

"You talked to her."

Thomas's stomach dropped. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything that matters in this place," Gally growled. "And Ada was... off this morning. I can tell."

Thomas swallowed. "She wasn't off."

"She was quiet."

"She's always quiet."

"Quiet in a different way," Gally snapped. "You said something to her."

"I didn't," Thomas insisted. "She talked to me."