The Box was early.

That alone put Gally on edge.

Sun wasn’t even halfway up the sky when the siren started wailing—sharp and loud, slicing through the Glade like a warning, not a welcome.

He was already walking by the time the doors slid open, hands flexing like he was bracing for a fight, even if he didn’t know with who yet.

The others gathered fast—same routine, same curiosity. Greenie Day always made people twitchy. Everyone wanted to see what the Maze had coughed up this time.

And there they were.

---

A brief pause passes before a dry remark cuts through the silence.

“Another greenie. Great.”

The tone carries no warmth—just the expectation of trouble and the weight of countless disappointments.

“Hope this one isn’t just extra dead weight.”

Even as those words fall flat against the raw reality of the moment, the new face shows hints of something unexpected: steadiness amid confusion, an unspoken promise of resilience. Though the words remain curt, the lingering gaze betrays a subtle curiosity—a silent bet on whether this newcomer might endure.

There’s no room for sentiment here. Survival depends on sharp eyes and sharper intuition. Yet in the brief intersection of glances, something shifts—a rare crack in the barricade of cynicism that’s been built up over far too many lost chances. Here on the edge of chaos, trust is both currency and curse—earned only one measured moment at a time.