Chapter One: The First Girl
The world jolted into motion.
Irelyn's eyes flew open, and she sucked in a sharp breath as the cold, metal floor beneath her shuddered and began to rise. She lay there, paralyzed, her pulse hammering in her ears. The air around her felt stale and metallic, tinged with the bitter tang of rust and something earthy, like damp wood left to rot. The darkness pressed in, thick and impenetrable, and with a sudden, terrifying clarity, she realized she had no idea where she was.
Or who she was.
The thought hit her with a hollow, sinking dread. She squeezed her eyes shut, searching her mind for a name, a memory, even a single familiar detail—but found nothing. Just a vast, suffocating emptiness.
A faint hum of machinery echoed through the walls, vibrating through her bones. She reached out instinctively, her fingertips brushing against smooth metal. Confined. Boxed in. Panic unfurled in her chest like a tight, coiling spring.
A flicker of dim, yellow light slashed through the darkness, illuminating the space for the briefest second before plunging her back into shadows. She flinched, her heart racing as the light sputtered on again, filtering through metal bars high above her head, casting thin stripes across her surroundings. She craned her neck, following the bars up, but the light disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving her alone in the dark once more.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to sit up, the platform beneath her bumping slightly as she moved. Her fingers trembled as they skimmed over the fabric on her body—soft cotton, thin but strangely comforting, in a color she couldn't see but somehow knew was a muted olive green. She was dressed in a loose, worn T-shirt, its edges frayed, and underneath, a snug sports bra that felt more like a relic of another life than her own. Her legs were clad in sturdy, fitted pants, their rough fabric unfamiliar yet oddly practical. Lacing up her calves, she felt the worn leather of tall boots, almost military in style, wrapping securely around her legs.
'Who dressed me?' The question sent a shiver down her spine, her heart thumping faster. These clothes, the boots—they felt deliberate, as if someone had prepared her for something, yet she couldn't grasp what.
Another flicker of light broke through the cage bars, illuminating the strange clutter scattered around her. She reached out, running her fingers over rough textures and hard edges—wooden planks stacked haphazardly against the walls, crates of food wrapped in thick plastic, a metal first-aid kit shoved into a corner. Random items lay strewn around, as if they'd been carelessly tossed in—a coil of rope, a set of mismatched tools, a flashlight without batteries.
Her hand brushed against the spine of a book, its cover rough and frayed. She pulled it closer, squinting to make out the words stamped into the worn leather: Introductory Medicine. The title stirred no memory, no flicker of recognition, only a hollow sense of unfamiliarity. 'Medicine... did I know anything about that? 'She thumbed the book open, pages crinkling beneath her touch, their scent musty with age and ink.
Nothing. Just strange words she couldn't connect to any part of herself. She let it drop back onto the floor, the sound echoing in the tight metal box.
The hum of machinery grew louder, and the platform beneath her lurched again, carrying her steadily upward. She could see faint flickers of light through the bars above her, like glimpses of something just beyond her reach. 'Up to what?' she wondered, the thought laced with a prickling dread. 'Where am I going?'
The air felt colder, pressing down on her chest, and her mind spun with questions that had no answers. She strained to remember anything—her name, her home, the face of a friend or family member. But each attempt ended in the same blankness, as if her memories had been scooped out and replaced with static.
'What happened to me?' she thought, panic rising in her throat. 'Who would do this to someone? And why?'
As if in response, the platform shuddered to a stop with a loud, metallic clunk.
Irelyn froze, her heart pounding, her breath held tight in her chest. For a split second, the world was utterly still.
Then—
The ceiling groaned open with a sharp hiss, and blinding light flooded into the Box. She threw her hands up, squinting against the glare, but the brightness stabbed through her skull, sharp and unforgiving. She could barely make out the blurry shapes above her, but soon, dozens of faces came into focus, peering down at her from the edge of the platform.
"Shuck me," someone whispered. "It's a girl."
The words echoed in the empty spaces of her mind, and she felt herself shrink under the weight of their stares. A girl. That word seemed to land strangely among them, as if it didn't belong. The boys exchanged glances, murmuring with a mixture of confusion and surprise.
"No way."
"They never sent a girl before."
"What's she doing here?"
She blinked hard, fighting to adjust to the light and the sound. Her head pounded, the strange murmuring voices swirling around her like static, distant and overwhelming.
"Hold tight, Greenie," a voice called down, calm and steady. "We're gonna get you out."
A shadow moved above her, and a tall boy with dark skin and a strong, steady presence dropped smoothly into the Box. He landed with practiced ease, crouching in front of her with a look of careful consideration in his deep-set eyes.
"Hey," he said gently, his tone both firm and oddly reassuring. "I'm Alby. I run this place."
The roughness in her throat made it hard to speak, and she swallowed, trying to find her voice. "Where... where am I?"
Alby offered his hand with a small, encouraging smile. "Let's get you out of here first. I'll explain everything once you've had a chance to catch your breath."
Something in his expression—his calm confidence, the glimmer of understanding in his gaze—helped steady her nerves, just a little. She reached out and grasped his hand, feeling the strength in his grip as he pulled her carefully to her feet.
The moment she stood, a wave of dizziness crashed over her, making her legs wobble. Alby caught her, his arm slipping around her shoulders in a brotherly hold, as if he'd done this a hundred times before. "Easy, Greenie. It's normal to feel like a mess at first."
He turned, glancing over his shoulder. "Gally! Get down here and give me a hand, yeah?"
With a faint scowl, another boy dropped down into the Box beside Alby. He landed with a thud, rising to his full height—a tall, broad-shouldered figure with sharp features and a steady, assessing gaze. His pale blue eyes fixed on her, flickering with suspicion. His dark brows were thick and angled, adding to the intensity of his stare, and his buzzed hair accentuated the defined, angular lines of his jaw. Freckles dusted the bridge of his nose and cheeks, softening his otherwise hard expression, but there was nothing welcoming about his posture. He looked as though he carried more responsibility than he'd asked for, and he seemed to view her arrival as just another burden.
"First girl Greenie," Gally muttered under his breath, his mouth tightening in displeasure. "This is gonna be trouble."
She shifted uneasily, feeling the weight of his gaze pressing into her. There was something unyielding in his stare, a quiet hostility that prickled under her skin. He didn't trust her—and he wasn't making any effort to hide it.
Alby gave Gally a quick, warning look. "Just help me get her out so we can unpack the Box."
Gally grunted, clearly reluctant but stepping forward nonetheless. He reached down, his grip firm and unyielding as he pulled her toward him. When she stumbled, he didn't offer the patient steadiness that Alby had; instead, he wrapped a strong arm behind her legs and lifted her up with an efficiency that left little room for comfort.
Between Gally and Alby, they boosted her up toward the edge of the Box, where waiting hands reached down to haul her the rest of the way out. She blinked against the harsh sunlight as she emerged, sprawling onto cool grass, her head still spinning. She tried to take in her surroundings, but all she could register were flashes—the vast stretch of green grass, bordered by towering stone walls that rose like cliffs on all sides, reaching dizzyingly high toward the sky.
And everywhere she looked, boys stood watching her, their faces a mix of curiosity, confusion, and... wariness. It was as if her presence disrupted some unspoken rule, something that had held steady for a long, long time.
But the dizziness was too much—too many questions, too much noise. The edges of her vision began to blur, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
"Hey, hey," Alby's voice cut through the haze, soft and reassuring. He knelt down beside her, placing a steady hand on her shoulder, his eyes warm with a quiet kind of concern. "You're okay. Just breathe, alright? You're safe here."
His voice was the last thing she heard as the world tilted, the weight of it all pulling her down, down into darkness.
When Irelyn opened her eyes again, a hazy canvas ceiling stretched above her, its edges blurred in the midday light seeping through. She took a shallow breath, catching the faint, earthy scent of herbs and something sharp and medicinal that lingered in the air. Her limbs felt heavy, and a deep ache pulsed at the back of her head, as if she'd been asleep far too long.
Blinking, she glanced around, trying to take in her surroundings. She was lying on a rough, woven cot that creaked slightly as she shifted. Her fingers brushed against the thin, scratchy blanket covering her, and her mind registered the strange feeling of lying in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by strange sights and smells.
She pushed herself up, a little too quickly, and the world spun, making her grip the edge of the cot to steady herself. The panic flared up before she could stop it, tightening her chest as questions raced through her mind. 'Who am I? What's my name?' She struggled to find something—anything—familiar to hold onto, but her mind was empty, an endless stretch of blankness that sent her pulse racing.
"What's my name?" she whispered, her voice cracking as fear seized her. "What—what's wrong with me?"
She looked around, her vision sharpening as she took in the dim interior of the tent. It was larger than she'd first thought—a broad, canvas structure with high walls and a peaked ceiling, almost like a small circus tent. Light filtered through patches where the sun hit the fabric, casting muted, warm glows over rows of cots, each neatly made with a blanket folded at the foot.
On one side of the tent, sturdy shelves lined the walls, stacked with jars and containers. Each one was labeled in blocky handwriting—some filled with dried herbs in shades of green and brown, others holding murky liquids or powders in faded glass. There was a rough, functional look to the place, like it had been pieced together over time. Despite the tent's canvas walls, everything inside felt solid and rooted, as though it wasn't meant to move.
The antiseptic scent hung in the warm air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the herbs, and beneath it all, the faint metallic tang of something old—blood, maybe, or rust.
Just then, the tent flap rustled, and the boy she remembered from before stepped inside. Alby, he'd said his name was. He walked over to her with a calm, measured pace, his gaze warm but intent as he looked her over.
"Hey," he said softly, crouching beside her, his tone steady and grounding. "Breathe, Greenie. You're alright."
Her heart pounded as she searched his face, clinging to the steadiness in his voice. "I can't remember anything," she gasped, her voice breaking. "Not my name. Not... nothing."
Alby's face softened, and he shook his head slightly. "That's normal," he said, his voice carrying a quiet reassurance. "Happens to everyone. Your name'll come back in a day or two. I promise."
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and she looked down, biting her lip as she fought them back. "What if it doesn't?"
"It will," he said firmly, his voice calm and certain. "Trust me, Greenie. It happens to all of us."
She took a shaky breath, some of the tension easing from her chest as his words sank in. The certainty in his voice steadied her, and she managed a small, tentative nod, though her fingers still gripped the edge of the cot as if she might slide away.
Alby offered her a faint smile, warm and just a bit lopsided, like he was used to coaxing people through their worst fears. "Come on," he said, holding out his hand once more. "I'll show you around."
The sun bathed the wide, grassy field in warm light, and Irelyn blinked at the sight. The vast open space was bordered on all sides by towering stone walls, impossibly tall and imposing. Her gaze traveled over the field, the patches of dirt paths winding through different clusters of activity—gardens, huts, small structures. It looked strange, almost like a village, but one walled in so tightly it felt more like a cage.
"Welcome to the Glade," Alby said, stopping beside her with a nod. His tone was calm, as if he'd said this to dozens of newcomers before. "The Glade is what we call this whole place inside the walls."
She glanced around, trying to process it all. The Glade. The word sounded strange but fitting. The towering walls surrounded everything, giving the impression of a green sanctuary... or a trap. "So, it's just... grass and walls?"
Alby chuckled, though there was little humor in it. "Not just that, Greenie. There's more to it, as you'll see."
They started walking, and Irelyn felt her mind racing with questions. As they walked, her gaze drifted toward the towering doors in each wall, standing dark and silent against the stone.
"What about those?" she asked, gesturing toward the nearest door. The massive structure loomed, almost blending into the wall but too menacing to ignore.
Alby's expression hardened slightly, his tone turning brisk. "Those are the entrances to the Maze. You'll hear more about it later, but for now, stay away. No one goes near those doors unless they're supposed to. Clear?"
The way he spoke shut down any follow-up questions, but the ominous tone of his words left her feeling cold. 'The Maze? ' Her curiosity flared, but she sensed he wasn't going to offer any more details.
Trying to shake off the unsettling feeling, she continued walking with him, glancing around the Glade. Boys of all ages moved through the space, each one focused on some task or another. A few cast curious glances her way, but no one approached.
"The... Glade?" she switched back to the previous topic, frowning as she tried to process the word. "Why's it called that?"
"Because it's all we've got. A patch of green, surrounded by those walls." He shrugged as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "A glade, right? Seemed as good a name as any."
Irelyn glanced around, the name fitting strangely in her mind. The high walls surrounding the grass and scattered trees felt more like a prison than anything as peaceful as a glade, but she kept that thought to herself.
They continued along, and her gaze drifted toward a group of boys near a well in the center of the open space, each of them working with quiet, practiced ease. One boy lowered a bucket while another hauled it back up, their movements almost synchronized.
"That's our water source," Alby explained, nodding toward the well. "Never runs dry, far as we can tell. Comes from below the Glade somewhere—one of the only things we can count on here."
She nodded, the simple setup reminding her of how isolated this place felt. "And... who built all this?" she asked, gesturing around the well and the walls.
Alby's expression darkened for a moment, but he brushed off the question with a quick shrug. "We don't know. Came here with it already set up. The building and stuff was all us though. Let's keep moving."
They walked along a worn path that led toward a small forest, their trunks thick and branches twisted together, casting the ground below into deep shadow. Alby gestured toward it, his expression turning somber.
"We call that the Deadheads," he said quietly. "A little forest where we bury our dead. There's a small stream running through there, useful for the Sloppers and Track-hoes."
The gravity of his words settled over her, and Irelyn felt a pang of unease as she looked at the grove. She wasn't sure which was more unsettling—the reality of death in a place like this or the fact that they had created such an organized system around it.
"Sloppers? Track-hoes?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You have... special names for everything?"
Alby chuckled, a bit of warmth breaking through his otherwise serious demeanor. "Guess we do. Gotta keep things in order here. Sloppers are the ones who clean up the place. Track-hoes handle the gardens and crops. Speaking of which..."
They passed into an area with rows of plants and vegetables, carefully tended by a group of boys. She noticed one boy standing a bit apart, watching the others with a calm, focused expression. He was tall and sandy-haired, with a small scar cutting through his eyebrow. Something about him made Irelyn relax, as though he radiated a quiet kind of steadiness.
"That's Newt," Alby said, nodding in his direction. "He's second-in-command here. One of the heads of the Track-hoes, though his main role is... well, a bit different." He glanced at her. "You'll get to know him soon enough. He's a good one—keeps everyone in line."
She watched Newt for a moment, noting the way he directed the boys with a few quiet words, a faint accent lacing his speech. Despite his calm demeanor, there was a heaviness about him, as though he bore more responsibility than most. She nodded to herself, feeling a small flicker of reassurance at his presence.
They moved on to the other side of the field, where a group of boys was working with wood and tools. The loud clanging of hammers filled the air, and Irelyn saw Gally among them, his expression focused as he barked orders. His short hair and intense gaze made him stand out, and she could sense his authority even from a distance.
"Gally," Alby said, his tone neutral. "He's in charge of the Builders. He's tough, but he gets the job done. We rely on him to keep everything standing around here."
Irelyn watched Gally for a moment, remembering the suspicion in his eyes when he'd helped her out of the Box. There was a gruffness to him, a hardness that told her he wasn't someone who let his guard down easily.
As they walked past the Builders, Alby gestured toward a small structure nearby, more rustic and enclosed than the others. "That's the Bloodhouse. The Slicers keep the livestock there—cows, chickens, hogs. Not everyone likes going there," he added with a sideways glance, catching the way her expression turned wary.
Irelyn nodded quickly, making a mental note to steer clear. The thought of slaughtering animals—or even just being near it—made her stomach twist.
They moved on, and Alby pointed out a small wooden structure, partially buried in the ground and set close to the North Wall. It looked ominous, like something out of place in the otherwise open field.
"That's the Slammer," he said, his tone dropping to a quiet, serious note. "Break a rule, you end up there for a night or two. We don't have many rules, but everyone's expected to pull their weight."
Irelyn's gaze lingered on the Slammer, a strange chill settling over her as she took it in. "What are the rules?" she asked, her voice quiet.
Alby held up three fingers, his expression unyielding. "Never go outside the Glade, unless you're a Runner. Never hurt another Glader—trust is all we've got here. And everyone works. No slackers."
She nodded, repeating the rules silently to herself. They were straightforward, but something about the first rule unsettled her. The "outside" he was referring to could only mean the Maze.
As they moved on, she glanced back toward the towering doors, unable to keep her curiosity in check. "And... what's a Runner?" she asked, testing the question gently, hoping he might finally offer more detail.
Alby shook his head, a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "You'll find out soon enough. For now, all you need to know is that you're not one of 'em."
She swallowed her questions, sensing that she wouldn't get anything more out of him. It was clear he wasn't planning to explain the Maze or the Runners anytime soon, and his reluctance only made her more intrigued—and a little unnerved.
Finally, they reached a cluster of wooden huts and a larger, barn-like structure in the center. Alby pointed to the main building.
"That's the Homestead. You'll sleep here with the rest of the boys for now." He paused, his tone softening slightly. "We're working on getting you your own space. Gally and his team will sort it out soon enough. Figured you'd want some privacy, being the only girl and all."
Irelyn nodded, though her mind was still whirling with everything she'd just seen. Questions piled up in her mind, but she held them back, feeling that Alby had told her all he was going to for now.
He crossed his arms, giving her an appraising look. "We'll figure out where you fit in soon. Everyone's got a job here. You'll spend time with the Keepers of each section until we find the right place for you."
There was a steadiness in his gaze, a quiet confidence that grounded her, despite the flood of new information. She managed a faint smile, a small nod in return, but kept her silence as her mind buzzed with lingering questions and the faint, uneasy thrill of the unknown.
Alby gave her a nod in return, his expression softening just slightly. "You'll be alright, Greenie. It's a lot, but you'll settle in."
Her faint smile widened, but the curiosity—and the unease—remained. She knew there were things he wasn't saying, mysteries she wasn't meant to understand just yet. But she couldn't shake the feeling that the answers she sought lay just beyond those looming walls.
That night, Irelyn lay curled in a hammock in the Homestead, staring up at the stars visible through gaps in the wooden roof. She could hear the other boys settling in around her, some whispering to each other, others quiet and already drifting off to sleep. She tried to ignore the muffled sounds of their voices, focusing instead on the strange, shadowed space around her and the events of the day.
When Alby had shown her to the Homestead, he'd placed a small crate beside her hammock. "This came up with you," he said, gesturing to it with a slight smile. "Usually, the boys' new clothes come up once a month in a much bigger crate. But this little one's yours."
She'd frowned, eyeing the crate. "Came up... in the Box?"
Alby nodded, giving her a knowing look. "The Box is the thing you came up in, along with our supplies. Every month, it brings what we need—and a new Greenie, like you." He'd said it casually, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes that suggested he understood her confusion.
With that, he'd left her to get settled, tossing her a thin pillow and blanket before turning back toward the door. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's another big day."
After he left, she'd opened the crate, her fingers hesitant. Inside, she found a set of clothing similar to what she'd woken up in but a little different. There was a fitted black tank top and an olive-green cargo skirt with utility pockets, along with a spare set of undergarments and a sports bra that looked more supportive than the one she was currently wearing. Beneath that, she found a pair of soft black pants, loose and comfortable, clearly meant for sleeping.
She'd let out a small breath of relief at the sight. But as she glanced around, she noticed that the boys had no hesitation changing in the open, stripping off shirts and pants without a second thought. The idea of doing the same made her stomach twist; she wasn't ready for that.
Carefully, she'd turned away and tugged the sleep pants from the crate, clutching her blanket around herself as she managed to wriggle out of her original pants and into the new ones while still under cover. It was awkward, but it gave her a small sense of privacy in a place that felt too open, too exposed.
Now, lying back in the hammock, she pulled the blanket up to her chin, letting herself finally relax. The day's events blurred in her mind, blending together in a confusing swirl of new faces, strange words, and towering walls. Every thought led to a question, each one feeding into the next until her mind was a tangled mess.
'Who am I?' she thought, her chest tightening with the weight of it. 'Where am I supposed to be?'
She wiped away the silent tears that pricked at her eyes, trying to focus on something else—anything else. Her gaze drifted back up to the roof, to the stars barely visible through the narrow slats. The night air was filled with the soft hum of insects, the occasional rustle of leaves in the Deadheads, and the quiet breathing of the boys around her.
Then she heard something else—a low, metallic grinding noise that seemed to pulse through the stillness, faint but persistent. She tensed, her ears straining to pick up more. The sound seemed to come from beyond the walls, a heavy, rhythmic clanking that echoed like the turning gears of some enormous machine.
A shiver ran down her spine, and she pulled the blanket tighter. 'Is that... coming from the Maze?' The thought unsettled her. Alby had brushed off her questions about it earlier, but there was something in his tone, something in the way the other boys had glanced at those doors, that made her feel like the Maze was more than just an enclosed area. More than just walls and pathways.
She hugged her arms around herself, listening to the strange, mechanical sounds beyond the Glade and the occasional muttering of the boys nearby. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, and she felt herself shrinking under the weight of her own uncertainty.
Eventually, exhaustion caught up with her, her body giving in to the day's strain. Her eyes grew heavy, and she drifted into a fitful, uneasy sleep.
And in the darkness of her dreams, the Maze awaited her—a twisted labyrinth of stone and shadows, its walls closing in around her, silent and cold.