Two months had passed since Irelyn's placement with the Med-jacks, and in that time, she'd grown more confident in her role. At first, the constant whirl of injuries and illnesses had overwhelmed her—the sight of blood, the endless questions about how to help, and the pressure of trying to keep the Gladers in working order. But with each passing day, she had learned more, gained confidence, and found her place among the other Med-jacks.
Clint had become something of a mentor to her, showing her the ropes with quiet patience. He didn't talk much, but when he did, it was always helpful. She had memorized the names and uses of every herb they grew in the Gardens and studied the few medical books they had in the tent until their spines were cracked and worn. What she couldn't find in the books, Clint was always willing to explain.
She'd grown used to the rhythm of life in the Med-jack tent. Gladers would come in with everything from small cuts and bruises to sprained ankles or deep gashes from tools gone wrong. Irelyn had learned to stay calm, even when the injuries were bad. The younger Gladers, especially, would come to her now—kids like Tim and Ryan, who had a knack for getting into accidents. They trusted her in a way they didn't always trust the other Med-jacks. Maybe it was because she was gentler with them, or maybe it was just because she was the first girl Greenie, and they saw her differently. Either way, she didn't mind. She liked that they felt comfortable with her.
"Alright, hold still, Tim," Irelyn said, carefully cleaning a small cut on his hand. He winced, but stayed still, his wide eyes watching her every move.
"You gotta be more careful with the tools," she said softly, wrapping a clean bandage around the cut. "You don't want to end up like Frypan."
Tim looked confused. "What happened to Frypan?"
Irelyn smiled, tying off the bandage. "He cut his hand pretty bad in the kitchens yesterday. Came running in here yelling about losing his thumb. Turned out it was just a little slice."
Tim giggled, his nervousness easing as he hopped down from the bench. "Frypan's always yelling."
Irelyn chuckled. "Yeah, he is. But that's just Frypan."
Tim grinned and ran off, leaving her to clean up the supplies. As she worked, she found herself thinking about how far she'd come in such a short time. Two months ago, she wouldn't have known the first thing about wrapping a bandage, let alone dealing with sprains or infections. Now, it felt like second nature. And she liked it. There was something satisfying about helping people, about knowing that she could make a difference, even if it was just in small ways.
Clint walked into the tent just as she finished tidying up. "How's it going?" he asked, glancing at her handiwork.
"Good," Irelyn replied, wiping her hands on a rag. "Tim cut his hand, but it was nothing serious."
Clint nodded, his expression unreadable as always. "You're doing well," he said simply, giving her a rare nod of approval.
Irelyn smiled, a small swell of pride in her chest. "Thanks."
Before Clint could say more, the tent flap opened, and Newt stumbled in, holding his side. "Bloody hell, that hurts."
Irelyn's heart skipped a beat, her eyes going wide as she rushed over to him. "Newt, what happened?"
Newt winced, sitting down heavily on one of the benches. "I was helping out with the Builders, carrying a big ol' plank over my shoulder. Gally got distracted and didn't warn me before he let go of his end. The whole thing slipped right off his shoulder and smacked me right in the ribs." He grimaced, glancing down at his side. "Scratched me up pretty good, too."
Irelyn shook her head, already reaching for a cloth and a small pair of tweezers. "You really need to be more careful. Or at least work with someone who'll watch where they're swinging things."
Newt chuckled, though it turned into a wince as he pressed a hand to his bruised ribs. "Not sure Gally's capable of that. I think he's too busy thinking up new ways to test my patience."
Irelyn gave a sympathetic smile and gently lifted his shirt, inspecting the damage. "Hold still," she murmured as she assessed the area—a nasty bruise was already forming, and several small splinters were lodged along the scratched skin.
"Ouch!" Newt yelped as she prodded the area, his face scrunching up in pain. "Careful, Sunshine."
She shot him a look, though there was a playful glint in her eyes. "You should've been more careful. Now hold still."
Newt grumbled but settled, watching her as she set to work, carefully removing the splinters one by one. Her fingers were steady, her movements practiced and gentle, and it struck him how much she'd grown in her role over the past two months.
Irelyn carefully dabbed a cloth over Newt's ribs, trying to be as gentle as possible. He winced, but his usual calm demeanor never faltered. She'd come to expect that from him by now—the way he could stay steady, even when things went wrong.
"Sorry," she murmured as he flinched again.
Newt managed a faint grin, his voice soft. "Trust me, I've had worse. Besides, you've got a gentle touch, Sunshine."
Irelyn smiled, unable to help the warmth that rose in her chest. She'd spent so much time with Newt over the past two months, watching the way he managed the Gladers, especially the younger ones. He could stay calm and encouraging even when things were tough, his voice steady and his eyes kind. She admired that about him, how he handled everyone with quiet authority, like a big brother to each one of them.
"Thinking hard over there?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as she dabbed more antiseptic on his bruised ribs.
She blinked, realizing she'd been staring. "Sorry," she mumbled, her cheeks warming. "Just… lost in thought."
Newt's lips quirked up into a soft smile. "You're always thinking about something, aren't you?"
She smiled back but didn't answer, focusing instead on finishing her work. In these last two months, she'd come to understand Newt in ways she hadn't expected. She'd seen the little signs of weariness he tried to hide from everyone else, like the way his hand would drift to the back of his neck whenever he was frustrated. She'd also learned that he liked the quiet moments, like sunrise over the Gardens. Sometimes, they'd sit in silence, side by side, watching the sky turn pink and gold before the Glade fully woke up. Those moments felt like small treasures, ones she wanted to keep close.
One day, not long after she'd started with the Med-jacks, he'd told her, almost as if he'd been holding it in, that he sometimes wondered what life would be like without the Maze looming over them. She hadn't understood at the time, but now, as she looked down at the bruises he'd gotten simply from helping, she thought she did. Newt didn't hate the Glade, just the Maze—the way it took from them, threatened their peace. The Maze weighed on him more than anyone else, she realized, and she wanted to be there for him, to make things even a little easier.
She reached over, pressing down gently on one particularly sore spot, and Newt winced, his fingers instinctively covering her hand.
"Easy there, Sunshine," he murmured, his fingers brushing hers. "I need those ribs in working order, you know."
Her heart skipped a beat as she met his gaze. Their hands stayed that way for a moment, his fingers warm against her skin, and it brought her back to a day in the Gardens not long ago, when he'd leaned over and placed kisses on her shoulder almost absently while they were talking. It had been such a small gesture, but it had made her realize that Newt wasn't just a friend to her.
"All done," she said softly, squeezing his hand before pulling hers away. "You're all patched up."
"Thanks, love," he replied, his voice warm.
Just then, Gally strolled into the Med-jack tent, giving them both a casual smile as he came over. He took one look at Newt's bruised ribs and shook his head with a grimace. "Thought I'd come check to make sure I didn't get you too good."
Newt chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Nah, Doc, here, cleaned me up and Im good to go."
Irelyn watched as the two of them exchanged a grin, her heart softening at the easy, familiar way they talked. In the months she'd known them, she'd come to appreciate their friendship—one that seemed to balance Newt's quiet calm with Gally's fire. And Gally, despite his gruffness, was one of the most loyal people she'd ever met.
As Newt stood up, she noticed Gally's hand brushing her wrist as he leaned in, catching her eye with a playful glint. "Thanks for patching him up, Red," he said. "I'd rather have you do it than Clint. You're less likely to stab him with a needle."
She laughed, playfully swatting his arm. "Well, you're just lucky I haven't had to stitch you up yet."
He grinned, his thumb absently brushing over her pulse point before he stepped back, the warmth of his touch lingering. Gally's way of showing affection was subtler than Newt's, but she'd come to recognize it—the steady presence, the way he'd make sure she had a seat by the fire or leave an extra blanket for her on chilly nights.
She remembered the moment she'd realized her feelings for him ran deeper than she'd thought. They'd been working together in the Med-jack tent one afternoon, and she'd climbed onto a crate to reach the high shelf, only for it to wobble beneath her. Gally had been there in an instant, catching her with a firm grip around her waist. She'd laughed nervously, and he'd scolded her with a teasing smirk, but there had been a softness in his eyes she hadn't expected. That moment had stuck with her, and since then, she'd noticed how his protective side would come out, especially around her.
Newt was chuckling as he stood up, testing his ribs with a wince. "I'm going to feel that for a few days," he muttered, but his eyes sparkled with humor as he looked between Irelyn and Gally. "Thanks for the help, Sunshine."
"Try not to get yourself hurt again," she teased, folding her arms with a smirk.
"Can't make any promises,Love. See you at Dinner" Newt replied with a grin, kissing her cheek before heading out of the tent, most like to find something easier to do with his ribs.
Gally nodded to him and gave a quick "be right there" before turning back to Irelyn."You've gotten pretty good at this Med-jack thing, haven't you?"
She shrugged, trying to keep the pride out of her voice. "Guess I've had good teachers."
Gally's eyes flickered with warmth, and without thinking, he reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on her cheek. "Probably good that you are so good at it. We might have to steal you for the Builders if Clint ever let you go."
Irelyn laughed, rolling her eyes. "As if you'd actually put up with me on your crew."
He chuckled, his hand dropping back to his side, but the gentle smile on his face lingered. "I'd make an exception."
In that quiet moment, with the faint scent of herbs and antiseptic around them, Irelyn felt the depth of what she'd come to feel for both Gally and Newt. The Glade had become her home, and these boys had become her family—each in his own way. She cared about them deeply, and as she looked into Gally's eyes, she knew that whatever came next, she'd be there for them, just as they'd been there for her.
—-
The following day, the steady hum of daily work filled the air as Irelyn made her way back from a quiet break near the Gardens. The warm late morning sunlight bathed the Glade in a golden glow, and the smell of freshly tilled earth and sweat clung to the air. She passed Newt on her way back, flashing him a quick smile before heading toward the Med-jack tent to finish out her day's tasks.
Just as she entered, a loud, blaring alarm pierced through the Glade, making her jump. The noise echoed off the towering stone walls, cutting through the hum of conversation and work. Irelyn froze, her heart skipping a beat. She had heard it once before, but the suddenness of it still startled her.
Clint, passing by with a load of supplies, glanced over at her, smiling at her wide-eyed reaction. "That sound means the Box is coming up. More supplies… and the Greenie."
Right. Of course. Irelyn relaxed, her pulse steadying as she followed Clint. She still wasn't used to the routine of it all—the way the Box arrived like clockwork, once a month, bringing whatever the Creators had decided they needed to survive. And, of course, a new Glader.
She remembered the first time she had seen the Box arrive after her own. The rush of activity, the way everyone seemed to know exactly what to do, like some well-oiled machine. It had been overwhelming, but now, two months in, she had begun to feel like part of the system. Part of the Glade.
Irelyn joined the small crowd gathering near the Box, watching as the heavy metal contraption rose from the ground, gears grinding and metal creaking as it locked into place with a solid thud. As the alarm quieted, Alby, Minho, and Newt were already stepping up to prepare to unload the contents, the older boys used to the routine.
She spotted Gally nearby, his shirt sleeves rolled up, leaning against a wooden beam with a hammer in hand. He noticed her looking and gave her a quick nod, a smirk playing on his lips. Irelyn nodded back, still feeling the aftershocks of the alarm reverberating in her chest.
"Alright, let's see what we've got," Alby called, gesturing for everyone to help unload the Box.
The doors of the Box creaked open, and Irelyn watched as the boys moved in, lifting crates and supplies. The smell of fresh wood and the sharp scent of metal filled the air as the contents were dragged out, stacked in neat piles for the various groups to sift through.
Irelyn stepped closer, spotting the new Greenie sitting in the corner of the Box. He was young, maybe twelve or thirteen, with wide eyes that scanned the Glade nervously. His hands fidgeted at his sides, but he seemed calmer than Irelyn had been when she first arrived.
Minho stepped forward, offering the boy a hand. "You good, Greenie?"
The boy nodded, his voice quiet. "Yeah, I think so."
"That's a first," Minho muttered with a smirk, guiding the boy out of the Box. "No fainting, no screaming. You might be one of the easy ones."
Alby joined them, giving the kid a once-over before clapping him on the shoulder. "We'll get you settled in. Welcome to the Glade."
Irelyn watched as they led the new Greenie off to one side, Alby starting his usual speech about the rules of the Glade. She remembered how overwhelming it had been to wake up in the Box, surrounded by strangers. The boy seemed to be holding it together, but she knew from experience that things could change fast. She shook her head, remembering her own fear, and turned back to the Box to help with the supplies.
The Gladers worked quickly, unloading crate after crate. Irelyn grabbed hold of one of the lighter boxes and followed Newt and Gally, who were already hard at work organizing the supplies into piles. As they began opening the crates, she could see the variety of goods sent up by the Creators.
"Got a load of window panes and wood this time," Newt called to the Builders, motioning for them to take the large, carefully wrapped sheets of glass.
"More clothes, too," Clint added, grinning as he helped lift a crate of assorted boys' clothes from the Box. "Finally. Half of these guys are walking around in rags."
Minho opened it up as soon as they set it down, tossing a few garments aside. "Looks like they finally sent us some decent shoes," he muttered, holding up a worn but functional pair of boots.
Beside the clothing crate, animal feed was stacked for the Bloodhouse. Zart and the Track-hoes hauled in another load of wood, along with a fresh set of tools, including saws and nails. Irelyn spotted gardening supplies next—a crate full of seeds and soil mixes for the Gardens. More crates held rolls of canvas, a few scattered metal sheets, and even a new batch of knives, which Frypan picked up eagerly for the kitchens.
The supplies seemed endless, each crate revealing something essential for their survival. It was a strange feeling, knowing the Creators sent everything they needed—but never more than that.
Finally, near the back of the Box, Irelyn spotted a smaller crate with her name scratched into the side. A thrill of excitement sparked as she stepped forward to lift it out.
"Another one for you, Irelyn," Newt called over, noticing her lingering at the edge. "Let's see what you got this time."
She smiled, her heart skipping a beat as she hefted the crate into her arms and carried it toward the others. She set it down on a nearby table, and a small crowd of Gladers quickly gathered, their curiosity evident. It amused her how eager they all were to see what the Creators had sent her, as if her personal box was a monthly event in the Glade.
"Open it up!" Frypan urged, nudging her with a grin.
Irelyn pried open the lid, lifting it to reveal the contents inside. Right on top was a neatly folded military-style jacket in olive green. She ran her fingers over the fabric, feeling the softness and weight—sturdy but comfortable, with roomy pockets and brass buttons that gave it a rugged look.
Next, she pulled out a pair of denim shorts, the edges frayed and worn, like they'd been through some adventures of their own. They looked perfectly comfortable for the warm days here. Underneath was a gray tank top, simple but well-made, its material soft to the touch. She held it up, smiling at the thought of having another option for the days when the sun was relentless.
"A whole new outfit," Clint commented, leaning over for a closer look. "Not bad at all, Greenie Girl."
She set the clothing aside and dug a little deeper, pulling out a rugged-looking backpack. Made of canvas with sturdy leather straps, it was exactly the kind of thing she needed—practical, durable, and big enough to carry supplies between the Med-jack tent and the Homestead. Irelyn slung it over her shoulder to test the weight, feeling how naturally it settled against her back.
Gally, who had just returned from carrying crates to the Builders' area, stepped up beside her, glancing down at the contents of her box. He reached in, pulling out a blanket that had been folded neatly beside a small, plush pillow. "This thing's way softer than the scratchy ones we have," he muttered, rubbing his fingers over the blanket's soft plaid fabric.
Irelyn laughed, watching him feel the material. "Maybe the Creators are trying to spoil me a little."
"Lucky you," he said with a grin, placing the blanket and pillow back in the crate.
With a chuckle, she continued her search, amused by the interest from the boys. Each item seemed to draw some comment or reaction, and their excitement was strangely endearing. She had to admit, it made the process of opening her box even more fun.
"What's that?" Clint asked, pointing to a small, brown leather-bound book nestled in the corner of the crate.
Irelyn pulled it out, flipping through the pages to reveal a collection of illustrations, diagrams, and handwritten notes. It was a medical reference, a little thicker than the last one she'd received. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of it, realizing how much it would help her as a Med-jack.
"More reading for the Med-jack tent," she said, holding it up with a grin. "Guess they're serious about turning me into a real healer."
Jack peered over her shoulder, whistling low. "Looks like they want you to be the Glade's next miracle worker."
Irelyn laughed, shaking her head. "Guess I'd better start studying."
Reaching into the box one last time, she found a simple but elegant watch. The face was round and classic, with a dark leather strap. She slipped it onto her wrist, examining it with an amused look.
"Nice watch," Newt commented, eyeing it. "Gonna keep us on schedule now, Sunshine?"
Irelyn grinned, tapping the glass face. "Sure, as long as we're assuming it's set to the right time. Not that we have any way of knowing." She glanced up, smirking. "For all I know, it could be ten hours off, and I'll just be showing up late to everything."
The boys chuckled, but their amusement held a touch of disbelief.
Winston scratched his head. "It's almost shuckin' weird, isn't it? Us Gladers have been here for two years, doing everything by the sun, and they give you a watch?"
"Maybe they're expecting you to track how long it takes you to bandage us up," Gally teased, glancing at the watch with a smirk.
"Or," Minho chimed in, crossing his arms, "they just want you to look fancy. Definitely a step up from the rest of us with our scratched-up hands and dirt-streaked faces."
Irelyn laughed, leaning into the playful mood. "Oh, sure. They want me to be the Glade's official timekeeper and the Med-jack. Guess I'm just getting all the jobs around here."
The group laughed again, their teasing easing the strange feeling that always settled over her when she saw items hand-picked for her, sent by the mysterious Creators. Her first box had been more about necessities—olive shorts, a fitted black tank top, a sleeping bag, a journal, cloth pads, a hairbrush, and a pen. Practical things, each one essential in its own way. But this box felt like an upgrade, a step toward comfort in a place that rarely offered it.
Gally smirked as he took in her new supplies. "Those softer blankets and pillows are probably to keep you from getting cranky when you can't sleep."
Irelyn laughed, shoving his shoulder lightly. "I'm not that bad."
Gally raised an eyebrow, grinning. "As if! You're a menace without sleep, Red."
Newt appeared beside them, casting an amused glance at Gally before ruffling Irelyn's hair playfully. "Well, we'll all be grateful for the upgrade, won't we?"
She rolled her eyes, unable to keep from smiling at them. Despite the strangeness of the situation, she had to admit it was comforting to share these moments. The supplies, the boys, the life they were all building together—it was starting to feel almost… normal.
"Alright, enough messing around," Clint called, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "Still plenty to unload. Let's get to it."
The crowd around her dispersed, the boys grabbing crates and heading off to their respective areas. Irelyn slung her new backpack over her shoulder, the comfortable weight of it reminding her of the life she'd carved out here in the Glade. She glanced down at the watch on her wrist, a small, personal reminder that time kept ticking, even here.
Another two days had passed since the new supplies arrived, along with the latest Greenie. The boy was still adjusting, like they all had to, and hadn't remembered his name yet. Today was his second day of rotations, starting with the Builders. It hadn't gone as well as it could have.
"Careful with that," Alec muttered, half-dragging the Greenie toward the Med-jack tent. The boy winced, clutching his bandaged hand as they approached.
Irelyn, already cleaning up after her last patient, looked up as they entered. Concern flashed in her eyes as she walked over to meet them. "What happened?" she asked, her voice steady and warm.
"Got a little too eager with the saw," Alec replied, his tone flat. "Didn't cut too deep, but figured you should take a look."
Irelyn's gaze softened as she assessed the boy's hand, already wrapped in a makeshift bandage. She nodded and gestured for him to sit on one of the benches. "Let's have a look," she said gently, unwinding the bandage. The boy stayed quiet, wincing as she carefully examined the wound. It wasn't the worst injury she'd seen, but it would slow him down for the rest of the day.
"You're lucky it's not worse," she told him, applying some antiseptic to the wound. "You've got to be more careful, okay?"
The boy nodded silently, his face still pale from the shock and pain.
Once she'd rebandaged his hand, Irelyn stood back, offering him an encouraging smile. "Alright, you're all set. Just take it easy for the rest of the day."
The boy nodded again, relief settling over his features. "Thanks."
"No problem," Irelyn replied, grabbing her water bottle and gesturing for him to follow her. "Come on. I'll walk you back."
As they neared the Builder's site, Irelyn spotted Gally, shirtless and directing his crew with his usual intensity. His tan skin gleamed with sweat under the sun as he barked out orders, his voice cutting through the afternoon heat. She couldn't help the faint blush creeping up her neck as she watched him work.
Gally noticed them approaching, his sharp gaze landing on the Greenie's bandaged hand. For a moment, he looked ready to snap, his mouth tightening in that familiar way she'd seen so many times before. But then he caught Irelyn's steady gaze beside the Greenie, and he took a breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he wiped sweat from his brow with the towel slung over his shoulder.
"What happened?" he asked, his voice still gruff but with an unusual edge of restraint.
"Saw accident," Irelyn answered calmly for the boy. "He's fine now, though."
Gally huffed, shaking his head in mild frustration. His usual impatience softened as he glanced back at the boy, a hint of something more measured in his gaze. "Can't even use a saw without getting hurt, huh?"
Irelyn shot him a pointed look, crossing her arms. "He's kinda young for sawing, Gally. Maybe you could start him with something smaller? Like hammering. You remember how that went for me," she added, arching an eyebrow with a playful smile.
Gally rolled his eyes, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He met her gaze, as if letting her ground him, and then he nodded, turning back to the Greenie with a steadier look.
"Alright," he said, his tone softer but still firm. "Go find Alec, ask him to show you how to make some window frames. Start with something smaller before you pick up another saw, alright?"
The Greenie's shoulders relaxed, and he gave Irelyn a grateful glance before heading off to find Alec. Irelyn watched him go, impressed by Gally's restraint. Two months ago, he probably would've barked at the kid without a second thought. But now, he took a breath, stayed grounded—and she had to admit, she was proud of him for it.
"Thanks for that," she said, stepping closer to Gally and wrapping her arms around his waist in a side hug. She pressed a quick kiss to his bare shoulder, her lips brushing against the warmth of his skin. Gally didn't flinch at the affectionate gesture, his hand moving to rest comfortably on her lower back, pulling her just a little closer.
"You need anything while I'm here?" she asked, tilting her head so that her chin rested on his shoulder, her eyes watching him closely.
Gally leaned in slightly, his voice soft as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I'm all good. Go back to your tent, Red. I got it covered."
She smiled warmly, glancing up at him. "You sure?"
"Yeah," Gally muttered, though there was a warmth in his gaze that lingered longer than usual. "Go on."
As Irelyn turned to leave, she overheard one of the other Builders, a tall, lanky guy named Martin, smirking as he nudged Gally with his elbow. "Never thought I'd see the day. You goin' soft on us, Gally?"
Gally shot him a warning look, his voice low and steady. "You want to spend the rest of the day fixing the outhouses, Martin? Because that can be arranged."
Martin's grin faltered, and he held up his hands in surrender. "Just jokin'," he muttered, though the glint of amusement never fully left his eyes.
Irelyn bit back a laugh as she walked away, hearing Gally's barked orders echo behind her. Martin was about to find out just how "soft" Gally wasn't.