The Glade had been tense since Frypan's kitchen supplies went missing, and two days later, the situation only worsened. That morning, Gally had discovered his Builder tools were gone, along with the canvas bag he used to keep them in. The discovery had sent him into a furious hunt across the Glade, demanding answers from anyone who happened to be nearby.
By evening, Alby had called an emergency Keeper meeting, pulling everyone into a closed-door session to figure out who might be responsible for the thefts. Since only Keepers were allowed, Irelyn wasn't permitted to attend, so she spent the afternoon with Clint and the Med-jacks, trying to focus on her work as she waited for news.
As the sun began to set, she joined the others at dinner, settling down at the usual table beside Newt. Across from her, Gally sat like a coiled spring, his jaw clenched so tightly that she could see the muscles flexing under his skin. His fists were knotted on the table, his shoulders stiff and tense as if he was just barely holding himself back from hitting something—or someone. The usual warmth in his gaze was gone, replaced by a simmering anger that seemed ready to snap at the slightest spark.
Newt leaned over, giving her a gentle nudge. "You alright, love?"
She managed a small smile. "Just… a bit worn out. Everyone's been so on edge lately."
He nodded, his expression softening as he reached for her hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I know. We're all feeling it."
Around them, murmured conversations flickered about the missing items. A few Gladers cast wary glances in Gally's direction, clearly sensing his tension. Across the way, Alby was sitting with Minho, filling him in on what had been discussed during the Keeper meeting. Minho, who'd been out running the Maze all day, looked mildly annoyed but intrigued as he listened.
"So, we're just assuming someone's taken it all?" Minho asked, raising an eyebrow. "Who'd be dumb enough to steal from the Glade?"
Alby sighed, rubbing his temples. "Dumb or desperate. Could be either, really. The problem is, without proof, there's not much we can do."
The tense atmosphere seeped back into their own table, where Gally continued to stare at his plate, still not touching his food. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, betraying his barely-contained frustration. Irelyn watched him, feeling a pang of worry. Gally was never one to stay quiet for long, and the longer he sat in silence, the more she could sense his anger brewing just below the surface, ready to erupt.
Clint, trying to lighten the mood, spoke up. "Well, maybe it's one of the little ones pulling a prank. Remember that time Nick dared Tim to steal a hammer and then blamed it on the Greenie?"
Winston snorted. "Or maybe they're hoarding supplies somewhere, thinking they can survive out in the Maze or something." He laughed, but it was a nervous sound, his gaze flicking over to Gally. "Not that I'm saying they're all thieves, but you know how kids can be."
Gally's fists tightened even more, his knuckles turning white. His voice came out in a low, cold mutter, each word laced with a barely-restrained fury. "If that's the case, I'll drag whoever it is to the Slammer myself. We don't have room for shanks who think it's funny to steal from the rest of us."
The sharpness in his tone sent a chill down Irelyn's spine, and a few of the younger Gladers fell quiet, glancing uneasily at each other. Irelyn felt her own curiosity deepen, a nagging thought tugging at the back of her mind. She hadn't wanted to believe that someone would steal from the Glade—at least, not deliberately. But then she thought back to the past few days, to the subtle sense that something was out of place, that someone was watching.
And then there was Jackson.
She hadn't wanted to admit it, but she kept seeing him around, more often than she'd expected for someone who was so new. He'd pop up here and there, sometimes just watching from a distance, other times lingering a little too long in places he had no reason to be. He wasn't doing anything wrong, but… there was something odd about it. *Maybe he's just curious, trying to understand how things work* she thought, trying to push away her unease. *Or maybe he's seen something.* She wasn't accusing him of anything—just considering that he might've noticed something the others had missed.
"Maybe we could ask Jackson if he's seen anything," she suggested softly, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. "He's new, but he's been around a lot lately. Maybe he noticed something the rest of us didn't."
Gally's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing, a flash of anger darkening his gaze. His jaw tightened further, and he looked at her as if she'd just insulted him personally. "Jackson? You're really going to point fingers at the kid just because he's new?"
She blinked, taken aback by his sudden hostility. "No, Gally, I didn't mean—"
But he didn't let her finish. His voice grew harsher, rising above the murmurs at the table, each word cutting into her like a blade. "If you don't like the kid, maybe you should grow up and just leave him alone like everyone else, instead of making baseless accusations."
The words hit her like a slap, and her throat tightened as she struggled to keep her composure. She opened her mouth to explain, her voice wavering slightly. "I wasn't accusing him, Gally, I was just—"
He cut her off again, his tone hard and unforgiving. "We've got enough problems without people jumping to conclusions just because they feel uneasy. You've got nothing on him, so stop looking for trouble."
The sting of his words cut deep, the harshness in his tone tearing through her. Irelyn felt her face flush, a mix of embarrassment and hurt. She looked around the table, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on her, and the tightness in her chest grew until she couldn't bear it any longer. She had almost made it out of earshot when she heard Gally's voice again, softer this time, guilt slipping into his tone. "Irelyn, wait—"
But she didn't stop. She shook her head, keeping her gaze down as she walked away, her heart pounding and her vision blurring as she blinked back tears. The sting of his words lingered, raw and painful, twisting deeper with each step she took.
Suddenly, Newt's voice rang out, loud and commanding, sharp enough to cut through the evening air. "Take a walk, Gally," he snapped, his tone colder than she'd ever heard it. "You've done enough. That was bloody unnecessary."
Gally didn't respond, and Irelyn didn't look back. She kept walking, her steps quickening as she made her way to the solitude of her hut, each step feeling heavier as the hurt settled into her chest.
Inside the safety of her hut, Irelyn let herself fall apart. She hugged her knees to her chest, the quiet tears she'd held back spilling freely now. Gally's words echoed in her mind, each one a painful reminder of how he'd dismissed her, as if her concerns didn't matter at all. It wasn't just his anger that hurt—it was how easily he'd shut her down, without a second thought. She'd only wanted to help.
A soft knock on the door pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see Newt standing there, his expression gentle but filled with worry. He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, and came over to her, sitting down beside her on the bed.
Without a word, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder as he gently rubbed her back, his presence grounding her. They stayed like that for a few moments, his warmth slowly easing the sting of Gally's words.
"Hey, Sunshine," he murmured softly, his voice steady and reassuring. "I'm so sorry about what happened. You didn't deserve that."
She took a shaky breath, trying to steady her voice. "I wasn't accusing Jackson… I just thought… maybe he'd seen something. He's the only one I've really been around lately. I was just trying to think logically."
Newt nodded, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her shoulder. "I know, love. You were just trying to help." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But maybe it's best not to bring up Jackson again for a bit. Just until things calm down."
Irelyn frowned, conflicted. "I understand, but… it's just so frustrating. We're all on edge, Newt, and I don't understand why Gally got so mad at me for just suggesting we ask questions." She hesitated, then whispered, "I didn't think he'd snap like that."
Newt sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face and giving her a sympathetic smile. "Gally's got a lot on his mind with everything that's been happening. He cares about the Glade, about all of us, and this kind of betrayal—it's personal for him. And with the supplies missing…" He trailed off, his expression darkening.
Irelyn tilted her head to look at him. "How bad is it, really?"
Newt's face grew serious. "It's not an immediate threat, but it's enough to upset everyone. Without Frypan's supplies, we're down to basics for meals. He's re-rationing, so things are a bit tighter than usual. And Gally…" He glanced at her, hesitating before he continued. "With his tools missing, some of the repairs and projects are on hold. The Builders are doing what they can, but it's slowed everything down. We'll manage, but it puts extra pressure on everyone."
She nodded slowly, the weight of it settling over her. "That explains why everyone's been so tense."
Newt nodded. "And there's another thing. If we catch whoever's doing this…" His voice dropped lower, a harder edge in his tone. "They'll be punished, Irelyn. At least a few days in the Slammer. And if Alby thinks it's serious enough… they could be sent into the Maze."
Irelyn's eyes widened. "Sent into the Maze? That's... that's practically a death sentence."
Newt's expression darkened, but he didn't deny it. "Alby's talked about it before, when he thought someone might be a threat to the Glade. The Slammer's one thing, but stealing vital supplies? That's putting everyone in danger. And if this person's caught and doesn't stop… well, he'd have no choice."
She shivered, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "I can't imagine someone would risk the Maze just for the sake of a few supplies. It doesn't make sense."
Newt sighed, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "It doesn't. And maybe that's why everyone's so on edge. We can't make sense of it, and until we do, we're all… suspicious. The idea that someone would betray the Glade—it's not something we're used to." He paused, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "That's why Gally's been wound so tight. For him, this place is… everything. If he feels it's being threatened, he's bound to lash out."
She nodded, understanding but still hurt. "I know. I just… wish he didn't take it out on me."
Newt gave her a gentle squeeze, his lips pressing to her hair. "He'll regret it, love. Trust me. And when he's ready to talk, I'll make sure he listens. For now, just… take it easy. You don't have to shoulder this alone." His voice softened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tried to lighten the mood. "Besides, when my beautiful girlfriend's upset, it's my job to cheer her up. And, selfishly, I don't mind having you all to myself for a bit."
She managed a small, grateful smile through her tears. "Thank you, Newt… for being here."
He gave her a gentle squeeze, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he tried to lighten the mood. "Well, when my beautiful girlfriend's upset, it's my job to cheer her up. Plus, I don't mind having you all to myself."
A soft laugh escaped her, and she playfully nudged him. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"
He grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "Only because you're worth it."
They shared a warm smile, and for a moment, the hurt from earlier seemed to fade as Newt's presence filled the empty spaces Gally's words had left behind.
Newt reached down, taking her hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze. "Do you want me to stay with you tonight? Or would you rather I go talk to Gally, maybe bring him back here so you two can talk things out?"
She shook her head, a tired sigh escaping her. "No… I don't feel like talking to him right now. I just… I need some time."
Newt nodded, understanding. "Alright then." He gave her a teasing smile. "Lucky me, getting to spend the night with the most beautiful girl in the Glade."
She couldn't help but smile at his attempt to cheer her up, warmth spreading through her chest. "You're ridiculous."
They got ready for bed, Newt making lighthearted jokes and telling her silly stories in an effort to lift her spirits. By the time they lay down, the hurt from earlier had faded to a dull ache, softened by Newt's steady presence and his comforting words.
As he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, she nestled into his chest, letting his warmth and the steady beat of his heart lull her toward sleep.
Just before drifting off, she heard his soft, reassuring voice. "Don't worry, love. Gally will
come around, and we'll sort all this out. I promise."
—-
The next week dragged on with a sour tension that clung to every corner of the Glade. Frypan had announced that more supplies were missing from the kitchen, and he'd made a bitterly blunt threat to everyone over breakfast: "If these shucking thieves don't knock it off, we're all going to be living on broth and bread until the end of the week. I mean it."
The groans from the Gladers were loud, but they knew better than to argue. So, for the next two days, every meal was a bleak affair—thin broth and stale bread, with Frypan glowering at anyone who so much as looked like they were about to complain.
Irelyn felt the tension not just around the Glade, but in her own life too. She and Gally still weren't speaking. Every meal was an awkward balancing act as Newt tried his best to keep the peace between them, chatting with Irelyn, cracking jokes to cheer her up, all while Gally sat on the other side of the table, grim and silent. She would catch him glancing her way from time to time, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something, but he'd always clamp his jaw shut before any words came out.
Newt's efforts to keep things light didn't go unnoticed, and she was grateful for him. Still, there was a painful knot in her chest whenever she caught Gally's gaze lingering on her, only to look away just as quickly. She could see the tension in his posture, the frustration simmering under the surface. But he wouldn't apologize, and she wasn't about to break the silence either. Pride—and maybe a touch of hurt—kept her from making the first move.
Meanwhile, Gally had taken to sitting with Alby at meals, the two of them in deep, whispered discussions. Irelyn couldn't help but wonder what they were planning or plotting, but she pushed the thought away, focusing on her own work and her own routines.
It all came to a head one afternoon when a loud commotion sounded from the direction of the Runner's hut. Irelyn glanced up from her work in the Med-jack tent, exchanging a look with Clint and the others. She was sure she'd heard Alby shouting.
It wasn't long before word spread through the Glade—one of the maps was missing. Not a random supply or a piece of equipment, but one of the carefully documented Maze maps that Minho and the Runners had been working on for months.
Within minutes, Alby's voice rang out across the Glade. "Everyone, back to your places in the Homestead or your huts. Now!"
Irelyn felt a surge of unease as she made her way back to her hut. The other Gladers were milling around, muttering in confusion and frustration, but one by one, they filed into their assigned spaces. Alby and the Keepers had declared a full search of the Glade—a complete inspection of everyone's personal belongings, work areas, and any hidden nooks and crannies where stolen supplies could be stashed.
Settling into the doorway of her hut, Irelyn tried to distract herself by reading one of the Med-jack books she'd borrowed. The words swam in front of her eyes, her mind too distracted to focus. She could hear the faint sounds of Keepers rummaging through belongings, muttering to each other as they tore through every inch of the Glade. The tension in the air was palpable, every Glader on edge as the search continued.
Her stomach twisted when she spotted Gally, Zart, and Clint moving systematically from one hut to another, their expressions grim and determined. She knew it was protocol—Alby had made it clear that no one, not even the Keepers themselves, was above suspicion. But the thought of them rifling through her things made her chest tighten. *What if they think I've done something?*
She jumped slightly when Newt's familiar voice called out from outside her doorway. "Irelyn? We're here to search your hut."
Her heart sank as she looked up to see Newt and Gally standing there. Gally's expression was stony, his eyes fixed on the ground as he stepped past her into the small space. Newt followed, offering her an apologetic smile as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"Standard procedure," Newt said gently, his tone calm but firm. "We're checking everyone's huts, love. Just a precaution."
Irelyn nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I get it," she murmured, though her voice trembled slightly. She stepped aside to let them work, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched Gally head straight for the crates in the corner.
Gally's movements were quick and precise, his hands rifling through her belongings with a mechanical efficiency. He didn't look at her, didn't say a word, and the silence between them felt heavier than the tension in the air. Irelyn's chest tightened further, her frustration bubbling to the surface.
"Gally…" she started, her voice wavering with a mix of hurt and anger. "You're not even going to talk to me?"
He didn't respond, his jaw clenched as he moved to the next crate. His silence stung, and Irelyn felt her hands ball into fists at her sides. "You know I didn't take anything," she said, her voice sharper now. "Why are you acting like this?"
Newt, who had been carefully sifting through the contents of her backpack, straightened and placed a gentle hand on her arm. "Sunshine," he said softly, his voice steady, "he's just trying to focus. This isn't easy for him."
Irelyn turned to Newt, her eyes flashing with frustration. "It's not easy for me either, Newt. He's treating me like I'm just… just another suspect."
Newt's expression softened further, and he leaned in closer, his voice low so only she could hear. "He's not, love. Trust me. If he wasn't forcing himself to focus right now, he'd probably stop searching entirely to try and make things right with you. But we've got a job to do. He knows that. We both do."
Irelyn's shoulders sagged slightly at Newt's words, her anger giving way to the ache in her chest. She glanced back at Gally, who was now searching the small cabinet by her bed. His movements were precise, almost robotic, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands lingered on her belongings for just a second too long before moving on. He wasn't just being thorough—he was trying to keep himself together.
Newt gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. "He'll come around," he murmured. "Just give him time."
Irelyn nodded, her lips pressing into a thin line as she stepped back, giving them space to finish. She leaned against the doorway, her eyes flicking between Newt, who worked methodically but with care, and Gally, who was a storm of suppressed emotion. The contrast between them was striking, and it made her heart ache even more.
After a few tense minutes, Gally straightened, his hands resting on his hips as he scanned the room one last time. "Nothing here," he said gruffly, his voice low but steady.
Newt nodded, closing the flap of her backpack and placing it back on the crate. "Told you," he said with a small smile, glancing at Irelyn. "All clear."
Gally finally looked at her then, his eyes meeting hers for the first time. There was something in his gaze—regret, maybe, or guilt—but he didn't say anything. Instead, he gave her a curt nod before turning and walking out of the hut, leaving Irelyn and Newt alone.
Newt sighed, running a hand through his hair as he watched Gally's retreating figure. "He'll be alright," he said softly, turning back to Irelyn. "And so will you. Just… give it a bit of time."
Irelyn nodded again, though her chest still felt heavy. "Thanks, Newt," she murmured, managing a small smile.
He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before stepping back. "Always, Sunshine. Now get some rest, yeah? We'll figure this out."
As Newt followed Gally out of the hut, Irelyn sank onto her bed, her head in her hands. The search might have cleared her, but the strain it had put on her relationships with Gally and the others was harder to shake. And as the tension in the Glade continued to build, she couldn't help but wonder how much worse things might get before they found the answers they were looking for.
Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the Glade. Just as Irelyn was starting to lose herself in the words on the page, a sudden commotion broke out near the Homestead. She looked up, squinting to see what was happening.
From her vantage point, she could see Alby standing with a canvas bag in his hand—the missing bag Gally had been so furious about. Hanging from his other hand was a plaid shirt, one she vaguely recognized from the laundry line. In front of Alby stood a younger boy, no more than thirteen, looking pale and terrified as he tried to explain himself, gesturing helplessly.
Irelyn's heart tightened as she watched the scene unfold. Alby's face was set in a hard, unyielding expression, and even from this distance, she could see that the boy's pleas were falling on deaf ears. Moments later, Gally, Clint, Peter, and Zart stepped forward, each grabbing one of the boy's arms and guiding him—none too gently—toward the Slammer.
A pit formed in her stomach as she watched them lead him away, the boy's wide, fearful eyes darting around as he struggled to understand what was happening. Her gaze drifted to Newt, who was standing nearby, watching with a mixture of frustration and resignation. When he noticed her looking, he broke away from the others and headed toward her.
"Newt," she called as he approached, her voice tense. "What happened? Why did they take him to the Slammer?"
Newt sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before answering. "They found Gally's missing bag stashed with the Slopper supplies. It was filled with clothes—some of them that Peter recognized. So Alby questioned the kid, and it turns out the clothes belonged to him. But he swears he doesn't know how they got there, says he didn't steal anything."
Irelyn frowned, a sense of unease creeping up her spine. "But… if he's saying he didn't take it, maybe he's telling the truth?"
Newt shrugged, looking a bit helpless. "Maybe. But we can't exactly ignore it. Alby had to make a call, and he couldn't risk doing nothing. The kid's in the Slammer for the next two days."
She bit her lip, glancing toward the Slammer with a pang of sympathy. "And… what happens after that?"
Newt gave a small, resigned sigh. "Once he's served his time, Alby'll announce he's been properly punished. Everyone will move on and forget about it." He paused, noting the worried look on her face. "It's just how things work here, Irelyn. It's not fair, I know, but… we don't have much choice."
Irelyn looked away, her gaze drifting back toward the Slammer. The boy's scared face lingered in her mind, and a feeling of uncertainty gnawed at her. "I just… I hope we're not making a mistake."
Newt rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We're doing the best we can with what we've got, love. That's all any of us can do."