Chapter Two: Greenie in the Glade

A loud thud jolted Irelyn awake, followed by the steady rhythm of hammering. She opened her eyes, blinking against the early light streaming in through the slats of the Homestead walls. Sleep clung to her like a heavy fog, and she lay still for a moment, her head aching faintly from the restless night.

The thud came again, closer this time. It sounded like the Builders had already started working, the clang of metal and the heavy pounding of tools echoing across the Glade. Her hammock swayed gently, the motion pulling her further from the thin veil of sleep she'd managed to hold onto.

With a sigh, she rubbed her eyes, trying to shake off the fog in her head. She hadn't slept well—her mind had been too full, replaying everything she'd learned the day before. Now, with the early sunlight filtering through the Homestead, reality hit her all over again.

She still remembered nothing. No name, no past, no answers.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she glanced around. The other boys were sprawled across hammocks or curled up on sleeping bags on the ground, a few already gone to start their day. It was a strange, chaotic arrangement, but somehow… it felt organized, as if they'd made this odd setup their normal.

Just then, a soft voice interrupted her thoughts. "Mornin', Greenie."

She looked up to see a boy with sandy hair standing by her hammock, his expression warm and a bit amused. His lopsided grin and easy posture made him look approachable, even in the early morning light.

"You're the new Greenie, right? The girl who came up yesterday?" His voice was rough with sleep, but his accent lent it a soft charm that made her relax a little.

Irelyn gave him a small nod. "Yeah… that's me." The word "Greenie" still felt strange, like a placeholder for something she didn't yet understand.

The boy smiled, extending a hand. "I'm Newt. I'll be showin' you around today, help you get settled in. Figured I'd say hi before I started throwin' all the rules at you."

She hesitated for a split second, then took his hand, grateful for the warmth and steadiness of his grip. "Nice to meet you… I think."

Newt chuckled, his smile widening. "Trust me, Greenie, the pleasure's mine. You're the first girl to come up here—caused quite a stir." He glanced around at the still-sleeping boys, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Though I reckon they're already getting used to it."

She offered a small smile, grateful for his easygoing nature. Just talking to him made her feel a bit lighter, less alone.

"Anyway," Newt said, releasing her hand, "I thought I'd show you where the basics are first. You'll want to freshen up a bit before breakfast, yeah?"

Realizing she probably looked as tired and disheveled as she felt, Irelyn nodded. "Yeah, that'd be… good."

She remembered the spare clothes Alby had pointed out in the crate the night before and reached over to the small stack beside her hammock, grabbing the change of clothes—a black tank top and an olive utility-style skirt—along with the new undergarments that had come with them. She gave Newt a slightly self-conscious look, hoping he didn't think it was strange that she was gathering her things for a shower.

Newt seemed unfazed, simply gesturing for her to follow. "This way, then. I'll show you to the Deadheads."

They stepped out of the Homestead together, the cool morning air a relief after the stuffy warmth of the sleeping area. As they crossed the Glade, she took in the sight of boys already at work, their voices low, the smell of fresh earth mingling with the faint scent of smoke.

"Showers and outhouses are tucked in the Deadheads over there," Newt said, pointing toward the cluster of trees at the edge of the Glade. He led her to a narrow path winding between the trunks, the early light filtering through the leaves.

They soon reached a clearing where several small, weathered sheds stood in a line. Newt nodded toward them. "Outhouses. Not the prettiest, but they work. And the showers are just beyond—cold water only, though. So don't expect much."

Irelyn took it all in, her gaze lingering on the dark shadows in the woods. The Deadheads looked oddly peaceful in the morning light, but she couldn't shake the somber feeling it gave her after Alby had explained its purpose. She swallowed, trying not to think too hard about what lay beyond the trees.

"Thanks," she said, glancing back at Newt.

"No problem, Greenie. I'll wait out here—give you some privacy," he added with a gentle smile, clearly sensing her unease.

She managed a small smile in return, then headed into the trees. After using the outhouse, she made her way to the showers, a basic setup with makeshift stalls and pipes rigged to release a steady flow of frigid water. She washed quickly, the cold jolting her fully awake, and when she was done, she felt a little more herself—or at least, a little more grounded.

She changed into the tank top and skirt from her crate, the new clothes a bit stiff but a welcome change from the worn outfit she'd slept in. Folding her previous clothes, she made her way back to where Newt waited.

When she returned, Newt was leaning casually against a tree, waiting for her. His gaze flicked to the bundle of clothes in her arms. "If you leave those by your hammock, the Sloppers'll take care of 'em," he said with a shrug. "They wash all our stuff and bring it back dry."

"Thanks," she said, grateful to know she didn't have to wash them herself, especially since she had so few clothes. Newt's casual tone helped her relax a bit more—each small courtesy here made the place feel less intimidating, less… unknown.

"Feel better?" he asked, pushing off from the tree with a grin.

"A little," she admitted, running her fingers through her damp hair to try to tame it. "Thanks for showing me."

"Anytime," he replied easily, then gestured for her to follow him again. "Come on, Frypan'll have breakfast ready, and you look half-starved."

They made their way to an open area where several long, weathered picnic tables sat under the morning sun. Boys were already gathered around them, eating and talking in low voices. Irelyn felt a pang of awkwardness as she took in the sight of them. Most of the boys looked completely at ease, as if this strange place was home. She wondered if she'd ever feel that way herself.

Newt led her to an empty spot at one of the tables and gestured for her to sit. "Alright, let's get the introductions out of the way."

The boys sitting nearby glanced up as Newt and Irelyn approached.

"This here's Winston," Newt said, nodding toward a stocky boy with a mess of dark, wild hair and a smudge of dirt across one cheek. He was chewing on a piece of bread, his jaw working lazily. "He's a Slicer. Takes care of the livestock. Bit odd, but he's a good bloke."

Winston grinned at her, bits of bread sticking to his teeth. "Hope you like ham. I make sure it's nice and fresh."

Irelyn managed a small, polite smile, though the thought of slaughtering animals didn't sit well with her.

Next to Winston sat a lanky boy with a mop of brown hair. He gave her a shy, tentative smile.

"This is Clint, one of our Med-jacks," Newt explained. "He helped patch you up yesterday, I reckon."

"Nice to meet ya," Clint said, his smile friendly but a little awkward, like he wasn't used to meeting new faces.

Before Irelyn could reply, a familiar figure rose from the end of the table, his expression as unfriendly as it had been the day before. Gally.

Broad-shouldered and tall, he looked her over with a scowl, his pale blue eyes narrowing slightly. Freckles dotted his nose and cheeks, but his gaze was hard.

"Gally," Newt said with an edge to his voice. "Could at least say hello."

Gally snorted, his mouth twisting. "Don't like Greenies. Don't like surprises." Without another word, he grabbed his plate and stalked off, his heavy boots thudding against the ground.

Irelyn watched him go, uneasy. "What's his problem?"

Newt sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gally doesn't take kindly to change. Don't mind him. He's always like that."

Next to Clint, a quiet boy with a broad face and gentle eyes gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'm Zart," he said simply. "Track-hoe."

Irelyn tilted her head. "Track-hoe?"

"Gardener," Newt explained. "Helps with the crops."

Just then, a large boy in a grease-stained apron emerged from a nearby hut, carrying two plates stacked with food. With a wide grin, he set one of the plates in front of Irelyn.

"Here we are!" he said cheerfully. "Frypan's the name, food's the game. Eggs, bread, fruit, and ham. Eat up, Greenie."

Irelyn blinked down at the plate, surprised by how fresh everything looked. She'd expected something far worse—stale bread and watery soup, maybe.

"Thank you," she said quietly, offering him a small smile.

Frypan grinned back at her. "No problem. Just don't go wasting it. No room for slackers around here."

As Frypan headed back to the kitchen, Newt returned with his own plate and sat across from her. "Eat," he urged, nodding at her food. "You'll need it."

She hesitated for a moment, then picked up a piece of bread. The first bite was heaven—soft and warm, with a hint of sweetness. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was until now.

Newt watched her with a small smile. "So," he asked between bites, "what'd Alby show you yesterday?"

Irelyn swallowed a mouthful of bread, wiping her hands on her skirt. "Mostly the different jobs… and where everyone stays. He mentioned something about Gally building a hut for me."

Newt nodded. "Makes sense. Can't exactly have you sleeping with us smelly boys forever."

She smiled faintly. "He also told me a little about what's outside the walls. The Maze."

At this, Newt's expression darkened ever so slightly, but he covered it with a casual shrug. "Yeah, well, the Maze is something you don't need to worry about just yet. We've got enough going on inside the Glade to keep you busy."

Irelyn noticed the subtle shift in his tone, the way his easygoing expression seemed to turn guarded for just a second. She wanted to press further but sensed he wasn't in the mood to elaborate.

Trying to shake off the slight chill, she changed the subject. "I keep hearing these words… Track-hoes, Slicers, Greenies… Why do you all make up different words for everything?"

Newt chuckled, his eyes brightening. "Keeps things simple, doesn't it? After a while, you'll see it just fits. With so many of us here, and not much else to keep track of, having special names makes things feel… I dunno, more like ours."

She tilted her head, considering this, then nodded. "I guess that makes sense."

Encouraged, Newt continued explaining. "So, Track-hoes," he said, nodding toward Zart, who was sitting a few seats down, quietly focused on his own plate. "They handle the crops. Zart here is the Keeper for them—the head gardener, if you like. It's tough work, but we'd be in trouble without 'em."

Zart looked up at her with a small nod, his expression calm. "It's not so bad. Working in the dirt is kinda… peaceful."

Irelyn smiled at him, reassured by his quiet steadiness. "I think I'd like that, actually. I always liked being outside."

Newt nodded approvingly, then turned to Winston, who was tearing into his food with enthusiasm. "Then you've got the Slicers—Winston's crew. They handle the livestock, make sure we've got meat on the table."

Winston grinned at her, raising his cup. "It's not for the squeamish, that's for sure."

She wrinkled her nose but managed a smile. "I think I'll pass on that."

Newt laughed. "Fair enough. Then there are the Sloppers. They're the ones who clean up the Glade—dishes, floors, anything that needs a good scrubbing. Not the most glamorous job, but everyone starts there until they find a more permanent role."

Irelyn nodded, trying to keep all the roles straight in her head.

Just then, she remembered something else she'd heard. "And… what about the Deadheads?"

At this, Newt's face softened a little, and his voice grew quieter. "Deadheads is what we call the little forest over near the east wall. It's where we bury the dead. And it's also a place to go if you need some quiet. Not a lot of Gladers go there unless they've got somethin' on their mind—or someone to remember."

Irelyn nodded, the weight of his words settling over her. She hadn't thought much about what it meant to lose people here, but hearing him talk about the Deadheads made the reality of this place sink in a little deeper.

"What about… Keepers?" she asked, eager to steer the conversation back to something lighter.

Newt's expression brightened again. "Keepers are like the heads of each job group. Each crew has a Keeper to lead them and keep things in order. They all report to Alby, and we sort things out together when needed."

"And you're a Keeper?"

"Nah," Newt said with a grin. "Not officially. I'm second-in-command, so I help Alby wherever he needs me. I bounce between groups, make sure things are running smoothly."

A small smile tugged at her lips as she looked around at the boys, each one engaged in their own roles. Despite the strangeness of this place, there was an odd sense of community here.

She hesitated, then tried again. "And what about the Runners? They're the ones who go into the Maze, right?"

Newt's grin faded slightly, and he shot a quick glance around the tables before nodding. "Yeah. Minho's the Keeper of the Runners. They go out every day, tryin' to map the Maze and look for a way out. But like I said… you don't need to worry about the Maze just yet."

With that, he casually turned back to his food, effectively shutting down her line of questioning. Irelyn noticed his change in tone and made a mental note not to push him further on the topic—for now.

As she picked at her food, trying to piece together this strange world, Frypan reappeared with another tray, grinning as he set it down. "And don't forget about us Cooks!" he called out, shooting Newt a mock glare. "I don't need a fancy title to be important around here."

Newt rolled his eyes, giving Irelyn a conspiratorial grin. "Ignore him. He just wants you to think he's the most important person here 'cause he feeds us."

Frypan shook his head,

feigning offense. "Hey, I'm the reason you're not starving, shank. Show some respect."

Irelyn laughed, feeling a bit more at ease now that she was starting to understand the Glade's language and the people here. She didn't need to ask what "shank" meant—it was obvious enough. And for the first time since she'd arrived, the place didn't feel quite as alien.

After breakfast, Newt guided Irelyn toward the garden area. The morning air was still cool, though it carried the promise of heat later in the day. Boys bustled around them, heading to their assigned tasks—some hauling supplies, others chatting as they made their way to the kitchens, the fields, or the Builders' section.

Newt cast her a quick glance, his tone light but purposeful. "So, here's how it's gonna work. Every Greenie spends their first few days trying out different jobs. We'll put you with the Keeper of each group to see where you fit best."

Irelyn's heart sank at the mention of different jobs. She already knew there was one she couldn't do—wouldn't do. Before Newt could continue, she blurted out, "I can't work with the Slicers."

Newt stopped in his tracks and turned to face her, one brow raised. "That so?"

She nodded, her throat tightening. "I just… I can't."

For a second, he studied her with an unreadable expression, and then he gave a slow nod, as if he'd expected it. "Don't worry about that. I doubt Alby'd make you do somethin' you can't stand—much less something that'll turn you that pale." He shot her a small, reassuring grin. "We're not that heartless."

Irelyn let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Thanks."

Newt started walking again, and Irelyn followed close behind. "For today," he continued, "Alby wants you to stick with me and the Track-hoes. You'll be helpin' in the gardens—planting, watering, weeding, that kind of thing."

"Sounds easy enough," she muttered, though part of her knew she had no idea what to expect.

Newt chuckled. "Let's see if you're still sayin' that by the end of the day."

The day passed slowly, with Irelyn shadowing Newt through the garden area. The rows of plants stretched neatly along the northern wall, green vines curling up wooden stakes, while other crops sat in tidy patches of soil. A group of boys worked nearby, digging up weeds or tending to the crops under Zart's watchful eye.

Newt gave her basic instructions, and Irelyn did her best to follow along. It was hard work—much harder than it looked—but it wasn't unbearable. The sun climbed higher in the sky, and sweat started to bead on her skin as she dragged a watering bucket from one row to the next, the metal handle biting into her fingers.

Somewhere around midday, she heard a rustling as Newt pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a fitted black tank underneath. She caught herself staring for a moment at his slender but well-defined arms and shoulders, the subtle lines of muscle visible in the sun's growing warmth. There was a strength to him she hadn't quite noticed before—a quiet, unassuming kind of strength that seemed to come naturally to him.

"Hot one, eh?" he said, catching her gaze as he tossed his shirt onto a nearby fence post.

Irelyn quickly turned back to her work, her cheeks flushing. "Yeah. Definitely warmer than it was earlier," she mumbled, feeling a little flustered. She tried to focus on planting the next row, but every so often, her gaze drifted back to Newt, watching the easy, steady way he worked. He had a way of moving that made things seem effortless—graceful, even—like he was right at home here in the dirt and sun.

In between tasks, her curiosity got the best of her. She couldn't help but ask questions, needing to make sense of this strange new world, piece by piece.

"Why do you call me Greenie?" she asked as she knelt in the dirt, pressing seeds into the soil.

Newt crouched beside her, shoveling dirt into a neat pile. "'Cause you're new. Fresh outta the Box, like a sprout just breakin' through the dirt. Everyone gets called Greenie when they first arrive."

She frowned. "How long will I be a Greenie?"

Newt smirked. "You'll lose the title soon enough. Depends how fast you pick things up—and if you can stay outta trouble."

Irelyn gave a half-hearted smile but went quiet again as she kept working. The rhythmic movements of digging and planting gave her mind room to wander, though no memories surfaced—just empty fragments, like static flickering on the edge of consciousness. She tried not to let it unsettle her, but eventually, the question bubbled up.

"When do the memories come back?" she asked quietly.

Newt stopped what he was doing and looked over at her, a flicker of sympathy in his eyes. "No way to tell for sure. Sometimes they come back after a day or two. Sometimes it takes longer."

Irelyn's throat tightened. "What if they don't?"

"They will," Newt said, his voice firm but kind. "You're not the first to wake up with your mind all jumbled. It'll sort itself out. Promise."

She nodded, trying to believe him, though the uncertainty gnawed at her. "And how did you guys all get here? Do you remember?"

Newt's expression shifted—just slightly, but enough for her to notice. "That's a question we all ask, Greenie. None of us remember how we got here, and no one knows why we're stuck in this bloody place."

His tone darkened, and for a moment, she sensed the weight of his frustration—frustration that must've built up over time, day after day, with no answers.

"But," he added, his voice softening again, "we manage. Stick together, do what we have to. Alby'll explain more soon. Some things take time."

Irelyn sensed he was holding something back—something important—but she didn't press. The mention of Alby felt like a polite warning: Some things, you're not ready to know just yet.

Still, despite her unanswered questions, there was something comforting about being near Newt. His voice, his steady presence—they grounded her, quieting the storm of fear that threatened to rise inside her. When he spoke, things seemed a little clearer, a little less overwhelming.

As the afternoon wore on, she found herself stealing glances at him more often, noting the way his hands moved with a quiet confidence through the soil, the casual way he'd joke with Zart or offer a bit of advice to the younger boys. Newt had a calming effect on everyone around him, like he carried his own sense of balance and peace, even here in a place that felt anything but peaceful.

At one point, Zart cracked a dry joke about the endless weeds that seemed to spring up overnight, and Newt chuckled, shooting him a look. "Mate, maybe they're just tryin' to keep you on your toes," he teased, his accent giving the words a lilting quality that made Irelyn smile.

She felt herself relax more as the day wore on, realizing that even in a place as strange and daunting as the Glade, there were moments of lightness. And while her mind still throbbed with unanswered questions, she found a small comfort in the rhythm of the work, in Newt's easy companionship, and in the steady pace of life around her.

By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, the day's work was finally winding down. Irelyn's arms ached from hauling watering buckets, and her knees were sore from crouching in the dirt, but there was a strange satisfaction in it. Track-hoe work was tough, but it wasn't unbearable. She could see the fruits of her labor—tiny seedlings beginning to sprout, neat rows of soil ready for the next planting.

Newt stood beside her, wiping his hands on his pants. "Not bad for your first day, Greenie," he said with a grin. "You might just survive this place after all."

Irelyn smirked, brushing dirt off her hands. "Glad to hear it."

Just then, a familiar figure strode across the field toward them. Alby, his tall frame casting a long shadow in the fading light, approached with a calm but commanding presence.

"How's the Greenie holding up?" Alby asked, glancing between them.

"She's doin' alright," Newt answered, a hint of pride in his voice. "Didn't even complain. Much."

Alby gave her a small nod, approval flickering in his eyes. "Good. You'll find your place soon enough."

Irelyn hesitated, then asked the question that had been lingering in the back of her mind all day. "Is that all we do here? Just… work? Do you ever do anything for fun?"

Newt and Alby exchanged a look, and for the first time since she'd met them, they both cracked matching grins—mischievous, knowing smiles that made her stomach flip with nervous curiosity.

"Oh, Greenie," Newt said, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You haven't seen nothin' yet."

Alby chuckled, clapping a hand on Newt's shoulder. "Let's just say, we know how to make things interesting."

As they walked back toward the Homestead for dinner, Irelyn noticed the easy camaraderie between Newt and Alby, and the way the other Gladers greeted them with a quick nod or a grin. There was a sense of community here that surprised her, even if she still felt like an outsider looking in.

When they reached the picnic tables, Irelyn sat down beside Newt, and Frypan served her a plate of roasted vegetables, bread, and a generous helping of ham. She hadn't eaten this well since… well, she couldn't remember. She dove in, savoring each bite as the other boys gathered around, their laughter and conversation filling the air.

As she ate, there was a sudden whoosh and crackle, and she looked up alarmed to see a bonfire roaring to life in the center of the clearing. The flames danced high, sending a warm glow over the Glade and casting flickering shadows on the walls. Irelyn's eyes widened, caught off guard but drawn to the fire's warmth and the way it seemed to transform the atmosphere.

"Welcome to one of our bonfires," Newt said, appearing beside her with a crooked grin. "We do this every few days. Helps keep us from goin' bloody mad."

Irelyn grinned brightly at him as the flickering fire gave the Glade a different feel—warmer, lighter, as if the weight of survival had been temporarily lifted. It felt less like a place built on necessity and more like a small, strange community.

As the boys finished their food, they began to spread out and join in various activities. A group started wrestling in a ring outlined with rope in the grass, laughter ringing out as they flipped and pinned each other. One of the smaller boys—a wiry kid Irelyn didn't recognize—let out a triumphant whoop as he managed to topple a much bigger guy, earning cheers from the others.

Newt noticed her watching, and he chuckled. "Some of 'em look forward to the grappling more than the food. Keeps the energy up."

Irelyn's gaze shifted, catching sight of Gally among the group wrestling. He was laughing—a sound she hadn't expected from him—and trading playful shoves with the other boys. The intensity she'd seen in him before had softened, and there was something almost carefree in his expression. This was a different side of Gally, one she hadn't seen yet, and it made her wonder if maybe he wasn't as unfriendly as he'd first seemed. Right now, he just looked like another boy letting loose with his friends.

"Gally never misses these things," Newt murmured, following her gaze. "It's about the only time you'll see him smile."

As they watched, Gally let out a loud laugh as he grappled with another boy, rolling and shoving until he pinned him to the ground with a victorious grin. His laughter was infectious, and for a moment, Irelyn caught herself smiling too.

Before she could say anything, Newt slipped away, muttering something about being right back. Irelyn leaned back, taking in the fire, the laughter, the sense of belonging that hung in the air, even if she wasn't fully a part of it yet.

A few moments later, Newt returned, holding a tan jacket. He handed it to her with a casual grin. "Figured you might get cold. This came up in the spare clothes crate last month—boys' jacket, but it should fit alright."

Irelyn took the jacket, surprised by the thoughtfulness. She slipped it on, and though it was a little roomy in the shoulders, it was warm and soft, a welcome layer against the cool evening air. "Thanks, Newt," she said, glancing at him with a hint of a smile. "I didn't realize it'd get this chilly."

"Always does," he replied. "Mornings and nights are brisk here. S'pose it's the Maze keeping everything shaded."

He settled down beside her again, his gaze fixed on the fire. Irelyn pulled the jacket around herself, feeling more comfortable—and a little more like she belonged. She glanced sideways at Newt, wondering if he always went out of his way to make people feel at home or if he'd just taken pity on her, the confused new girl. Either way, she appreciated it.

As the bonfire crackled, Newt reached down into the grass beside him and pulled out a jar filled with clear liquid that shimmered faintly in the firelight. He unscrewed the lid and took a sip, letting out a satisfied sigh.

A sharp, fruity scent drifted toward her, and she gave him a curious look. "What's that?"

Newt grinned and held the jar out to her. "This? Gally's specialty. Don't ask me what it is—I don't think even he knows. But it's nice after a hard day."

She hesitated, glancing at the jar. But what was the worst that could happen? She lifted it to her lips and took a cautious sip.

The liquid was smoother than she expected, with a sweetness that hit her tongue first, followed almost immediately by a sharp, burning warmth that seared the back of her throat. Irelyn coughed, sputtering as the alcohol hit her system like a punch.

Newt laughed, clapping her lightly on the back as she coughed into her sleeve. "Careful, Greenie. That stuff's got a kick."

Irelyn wiped her mouth, her eyes watering as she shoved the jar back toward him. "What the hell is that?"

"No clue," Newt admitted, still chuckling. "But it does the job."

He took another sip, clearly more at ease with it than she'd been, and gave her a playful nudge with his elbow. "Not bad for your first taste, though. Better than most of the other shanks. They usually spew it all over the place."

Irelyn managed a weak laugh, feeling the warmth of the drink spread through her chest. "It's… strong."

"That it is." Newt flashed her a grin. "But it'll keep you warm tonight, I promise."

The fire crackled, and they settled into a comfortable silence again, the air between them feeling a little lighter now. Irelyn found herself relaxing more, the alcohol buzzing faintly in her veins and the warmth of the fire lulling her into a strange sense of calm.

She glanced down at the grass, picking idly at the blades between her fingers. "Do you think… this will ever feel normal?"

Newt didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he gazed into the fire. "I dunno," he said softly. "But you'll get used to it. We all did."

His words were honest, if not exactly comforting. Still, there was something reassuring in the way he said it—like she wasn't alone in her struggle to figure this place out.

For a moment, they both sat quietly, listening to the crackle of the fire and the occasional bursts of laughter from the others. Irelyn found herself watching Newt out of the corner of her eye, noticing the way the firelight danced across his features. His messy blonde hair caught the light, casting faint shadows across the scar that cut through his eyebrow.

There was a quiet strength about him, a steadiness that made her feel like things would be okay—even if she didn't quite believe it yet.

"So," Newt said suddenly, turning to her with a playful glint in his eyes, "what else did you notice today, Greenie?"

Irelyn smiled, grateful for the change of subject. "Well… I noticed that Gally has a permanent scowl."

Newt laughed, a real, deep laugh that made

Irelyn's heart lighten. "Yeah, you'll get used to that too."

"And Frypan," she continued, "is way nicer than I expected someone named Frypan to be."

"That's true. But don't let him hear you say that, or he'll make you wash dishes."

They both laughed, the sound mingling with the hum of conversation around them. For the first time, the weight pressing on Irelyn's chest eased a little. The fear and confusion of waking up in this place hadn't disappeared, but it no longer felt quite so overwhelming.

She still had no idea who she was, or how she'd ended up here. But at least, for tonight, she didn't feel entirely alone.

Newt gave her a friendly nudge with his shoulder. "Not bad for your first day, eh?"

Irelyn smiled, the warmth of the fire and the alcohol chasing away the chill that had followed her since waking up. "Not bad at all."