Gally sat across from the newcomer, his brow furrowed in frustration. The infirmary was dimly lit, the air thick with tension. The kid looked bewildered, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Gally had seen it before—another Glader, fresh from the Box, unprepared for the chaos that awaited them.

“Great, just what we need,” he muttered, rubbing the spot on his head where the rock had hit him. It throbbed, a painful reminder of how quickly things could spiral out of control. He had acted on instinct, tackling them to keep them from running into the Maze. The last thing they needed was another body lost to the Grievers.

The silence between them was palpable, heavy with unspoken words. Gally’s anger simmered just below the surface. He hated feeling this way, but he couldn't help it; he was responsible for everyone here. “You can’t just charge into danger like that,” he snapped, glaring at the newcomer. “You don’t know what’s out there.”

He leaned forward, fists clenched, trying to gauge their reaction. “Listen, this isn’t a game. You’re in the Glade now, and you need to learn the rules. Fast.” Gally's voice was low, intense, a mix of authority and fear. He didn’t want to scare them, but the truth was harsh; survival depended on understanding the dangers that lurked beyond the walls.

Gally took a deep breath, forcing himself to cool down. They didn’t need another reason to panic. “Just… stay calm and stay put.” But his gaze remained hard, a warning that this was not the time for mistakes.