Chapter Text
Ellie groaned, a deep, guttural sound of discomfort, as she stirred from the thick fog of sedation. Her eyelids fluttered, the harsh daylight slicing through the remnants of her drug-induced sleep. Her body felt foreign—heavy, sluggish, like she was wading through molasses. Every muscle ached, her limbs unwilling to cooperate as she tried to gather her bearings.
Her vision wavered before sharpening, bringing the unfamiliar fabric draped over her into focus. A dressing gown—cheap, scratchy, and offensively floral, clinging to her like a bad memory. Confusion twisted her features into a scowl.
"What the hell am I wearing?" she muttered, her voice hoarse, barely more than a breath of disbelief. Her fingers weakly grasped the material, as if peeling it away would somehow explain how she had ended up in it. This wasn’t hers. This wasn’t what she’d last been wearing.
From the front seat, Joel’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable—cool, but guarded, as if he had braced himself for this moment. The steady hum of the tires on asphalt filled the space between them.
"Just take it easy, Ellie. The drugs are still wearing off," he said, his voice a low, measured drawl. There was something in his tone—something more than concern. Fatigue, maybe. Or hesitation.
Ellie frowned, her foggy mind scrambling to put the pieces together. Her pulse picked up, a flicker of unease curling in her gut.
"What happened?" she asked, the question carrying a thin edge of desperation. Her memories were hazy, fractured. She grasped at them like water slipping through her fingers. The bus. The panic. Her hand reaching for Joel’s—his grip, strong but fleeting. The doors. The struggle. And then… nothing. Just a suffocating void of blackness.
She swallowed hard, the dryness in her throat making it painful.
Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face before meeting her gaze again through the mirror. There was weight in his expression—something heavy, something worn.
"We found the Fireflies," he admitted, the words slow, deliberate, laced with something she couldn’t quite place. Regret? Resignation? His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze shifting away for a moment before locking onto hers again. "Turns out, there's a whole lot more people like you, Ellie. Others who are immune. Dozens, in fact."
A sharp, icy jolt shot through her veins. She blinked, her breath hitching.
Joel hesitated, as if measuring the impact of his next words before speaking. "But it ain't done a damn bit of good. They've… they've given up on finding a cure."
Silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Ellie stared at him through the mirror, waiting—waiting for him to take it back, for him to say something, anything, that would make it less devastating.
But he didn’t.
His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles white. "I'm taking us home," he murmured, as if the words were supposed to be some kind of comfort.
Ellie turned away, shifting onto her side so she no longer had to see his reflection. The world outside the window blurred into streaks of muted color, her breath coming in shallow, unsteady pulls. Her hands curled into fists against her stomach.
It couldn’t be true.
All the pain. All the death. Every agonizing step she had taken, every scar on her body, every loss she had endured—it had to mean something.
Her immunity—her purpose—had to mean something.
But now? Now she was just another fucking lost cause.
A dull, hollow ache bloomed in her chest, expanding outward until it settled into every fiber of her being.
Joel’s voice, softer this time, broke through the silence. "I'm sorry."
Ellie squeezed her eyes shut, lashes damp against her cheeks, willing herself not to cry.
She had given everything.
And it still hadn’t been enough.
They found themselves stranded on the outskirts of Jackson, the car sputtering its final, pitiful breaths before giving out completely. Joel had barely managed to guide it to the side of the road before the engine died with a stuttering choke. Now, silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the cool autumn breeze.
Ellie sat slouched in the passenger seat, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the outline of the scarred bite on her forearm. The skin there was smooth but sunken, a permanent brand of survival. She let her thumb run over it, over the ridges and dips, lost in thought. The weight of everything they had endured pressed down on her chest, suffocating and relentless. Every sacrifice, every life lost along the way—it all felt like it had led to nothing.
Joel, standing by the open hood of the car, released a heavy sigh before slamming it shut with a frustrated clang. "Well, looks like we're walking," he muttered, his voice tight with irritation. He glanced toward the road ahead, then to the thick tree line bordering the path. His gaze sharpened with quiet determination as he nodded toward the woods. “Should be a straight shot through here.”
Ellie exhaled, the weariness in her bones seeping into her voice. "Alright," she murmured, tugging the sleeves of her flannel down over her wrists, as if the fabric could shield her from the creeping exhaustion.
Joel started forward first, boots crunching against gravel before giving way to the softer earth beneath. After a few moments of quiet, he tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting to something lighter. "It's actually kinda pretty, ain't it?"
Ellie blinked, as if seeing their surroundings for the first time. The towering trees swayed gently, their branches adorned with leaves painted in hues of gold and deep crimson. Wildflowers peeked through the undergrowth, their delicate petals untouched by the destruction that had consumed the rest of the world. The grass rippled with the wind, the crisp scent of pine and damp earth filling the air.
She inhaled deeply, letting the clean, untainted air fill her lungs. It was a stark contrast to the decayed, metallic stench of abandoned cities and blood-soaked battlegrounds.
"Yeah," she admitted, her voice softer, carrying a note of wonder.
Joel pulled back a section of a rusted barbed-wire fence, holding it open for her. "Alright. Now watch your head going through," he cautioned, nodding for her to go first.
Ellie ducked under the twisted metal, sliding through with practiced ease. She turned back, gripping the wire and holding it steady. "Here… got it," she muttered, her brows furrowed in concentration as she made sure it wouldn't snap back at him.
Joel grunted as he followed, moving a little slower than her, his muscles stiff from the long drive. The moment his boots hit solid ground again, he let out a quiet groan, rolling his shoulders. "Oh… feelin' my age now," he muttered, a wry chuckle escaping him.
Ellie smirked. "Yeah, well… you’re ancient."
Joel let out a scoff, shaking his head. As they started walking again, his voice took on a more reflective tone. "Y'know… don’t think I ever told you, but Sarah and I used to take hikes like this." His gaze flickered to the trees ahead, his expression distant, lost in a memory. After a brief pause, he glanced back at Ellie, a small, almost hesitant smile forming. "I think, ah… I think the two of you would've been good friends."
Ellie’s steps slowed, just slightly. She looked up at him, reading the flicker of emotion in his face, the way his jaw tensed as he cleared his throat.
Joel coughed into his fist, an awkward attempt to mask the vulnerability woven into his words. "Think you really would've liked her. I know she would've liked you."
Ellie felt a strange ache settle in her chest. She had never met Sarah, never even seen a picture of her, but Joel’s love for his daughter was something she could feel—something that lingered in the way he spoke about her, in the rare glimpses of raw emotion he allowed himself to show.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "I bet I would've," she said softly, a quiet understanding passing between them.
Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he looked ahead again.
The climb was slow, their bodies aching from the long trek, but with each step, the view ahead unfurled into something magnificent. Jackson lay before them, bathed in the soft, golden glow of spring. From their vantage point, they could see the town nestled against the river, a patchwork of cabins and farmland surrounded by a protective wall. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and even from this distance, they could make out the figures of people moving about—a community, thriving, alive.
Joel exhaled sharply, not out of exhaustion, but out of sheer awe. He placed his hands on his hips, nodding toward the scene ahead. "Wow. Look down there. Just a little bit further now," he murmured, his voice tinged with quiet wonder.
Determined to press on, he stepped onto a fallen log, using it as leverage to hoist himself up onto the ledge above. The wood groaned under his weight, shifting suddenly. With a sharp *crack*, it rolled from beneath him, tumbling to the side and leaving no way for Ellie to follow.
"Shit," he muttered, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. He wasted no time, turning back and extending his hand down to her. The movement was instinctive, a gesture cemented by years of survival. "Gimme your hand."
Ellie bent her knees and jumped, her fingers grasping onto Joel’s calloused palm. His grip was firm, unwavering, as he hauled her up beside him, his strength making the effort seem effortless. She found her footing, steadying herself on the rocky ground as Joel released her hand, giving her shoulder a reassuring pat.
"Alright, come on," he encouraged, reaching out to brush the dust from her red flannel.
Ellie hesitated. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her breath uneven. "Hey, wait," she said, her voice quieter now.
Joel turned to face her, his brows knitting together in concern. He studied her, his expression unreadable but patient, waiting for her to speak.
She swallowed hard, inhaling deeply, as if bracing herself against the weight of the truth she had carried for so long. "Back in Boston… back when I was bitten… I wasn't alone," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Joel didn’t react—not yet—but she could tell he was listening. Really listening.
Ellie’s fingers found the pendant hanging from her neck, the Firefly insignia cool beneath her touch. Her thumb brushed over the engraved name as an image of Riley’s grin flashed through her mind. "My best friend was there. And she got bit too," she continued, her voice thick with something she wasn’t sure she could control. "We didn't know what to do. So... she said, 'Let's just wait it out. Y'know, we can be all poetic and just lose our minds together.'"
She let the words settle, let them breathe in the air between them.
Joel’s gaze softened, a deep sorrow creeping into his features. He knew where this was going—knew it all too well.
Ellie looked up at him then, her eyes searching his, raw and unguarded. "I'm still waiting for my turn," she admitted, the confession leaving her lips like an exhale she had been holding for far too long.
Joel’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into loose fists at his sides. "Ellie—"
But she wasn’t finished. She cut him off, her voice resolute. "Her name was Riley, and she was the first to die." She took a breath, steeling herself. "And then it was Tess. And then Sam."
The names hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. A list of ghosts. A testament to the ones they couldn’t save.
Joel shifted closer, his presence solid, grounding. His voice was quiet, steady. "None of that is on you."
Ellie’s lips parted, then pressed together again. Her head shook, her eyes glistening with something unshed. "No, you don’t understand," she whispered, and this time, there was an urgency in her tone, as if she needed him to hear her—really hear her.
Joel sighed, his fingers absentmindedly reaching for his watch, thumb brushing over the fractured glass. A reflex. A habit. "I struggled for a long time with survivin'," he admitted, his voice rough around the edges, weighed down by the years. "And you… no matter what, you keep finding something to fight for." His gaze lingered on her, his expression open in a way it rarely was. "Now, I know that's not what you wanna hear right now, but it’s—"
"Swear to me," Ellie interrupted, her words cutting through his like a knife.
Joel blinked, taken aback. "What?"
Her eyes locked onto his, unwavering, demanding. "Swear to me that everything you said about the Fireflies is true."
His breath hitched, his body going unnaturally still.
She knew. Maybe she had always known.
Joel’s mind raced. He could still see the hospital—the blood-soaked floor, the doctors slumped against sterile walls, the weight of Ellie limp in his arms as alarms blared in the background. The Fireflies had been willing to kill her for a chance at a cure. And he had taken that choice away.
If he told her the truth now, if he unraveled everything he had so carefully stitched together, he knew what it would cost him.
Her trust.
And he couldn’t lose her.
Not her.
His lips parted. His heart pounded against his ribs.
And then—
"I swear," he said. His voice was steady. Unwavering.
Ellie searched his face, her gaze piercing. Seconds stretched into eternity.
Then, at last—
"Okay."
Jackson sprawled before Ellie, unlike anything she had ever seen in her young life. The remnants of Boston had been a prison, its towering walls meant to keep people in just as much as they were meant to keep the infected out. But here, in Jackson, the streets thrived. Vibrant and bustling, the town breathed with a kind of life that felt almost alien to her.
Shops lined the streets, their wooden signs swaying gently in the crisp breeze. Vendors called out their wares—fresh produce, handmade tools, clothing stitched together from whatever fabric they could salvage. The smells hit her all at once—warm bread, roasted meat, the faintest hint of burning firewood lingering in the air. People strode along the sidewalks, some carrying baskets brimming with supplies, others engaged in casual conversation, laughter spilling into the streets like a melody.
For a moment, Ellie just stood there, taking it all in.
This place was… alive.
The contrast was jarring. Most of the world she'd known was cold and broken, its people hardened, surviving rather than living. But Jackson? Jackson felt untouched by the horrors beyond its gates, like some relic of the past stubbornly clinging to existence.
And then, she noticed the eyes.
People were staring.
Some tried to be subtle about it, casting glances from the corners of their eyes, pretending to focus on their work. Others were more obvious, their gazes openly tracking Ellie and Joel as they passed. Conversations quieted as they walked by, hushed whispers carrying through the streets.
A sudden unease settled in her gut, the kind that made her fingers twitch toward her knife.
"Sorry 'bout that," Tommy said beside them, catching the shift in her posture. "They’re still wary of newcomers."
Joel let out a low grunt, the sound more of acknowledgment than understanding. He shifted slightly, positioning himself just a fraction in front of Ellie—subtle, but deliberate. His gaze swept over the staring townsfolk, his expression darkening. The message was clear: Look too long, and you’ll regret it.
"Where are we goin'?" Joel asked, his tone edged with impatience.
Tommy turned to Ellie, his sharp features softening. "I picked out a house for y’all… after you came through last time," he explained, his voice carrying a warmth Ellie wasn’t used to. "It’s real nice. I think you’ll like it." He smiled at her, a genuine, welcoming thing.
Ellie sniffed, rubbing her hands together against the bite of the cold air. "If it gets me outta this freezing-ass weather, then great," she muttered. Her breath curled in the frosty air as she tucked her hands under her arms for warmth.
Tommy chuckled, the sound deep and easy. "Come on, then. It’s this way."
They followed him, weaving through the streets, past clusters of people who had paused their daily activities to get a better look at them. The attention made Ellie’s skin itch.
She leaned closer to Joel, her voice a sharp whisper. "These people got a real bad fuckin’ staring problem."
Joel smirked but kept his eyes ahead. "They’re just curious, kid."
"Yeah, well, they can be curious somewhere else." She huffed, shoving her hands into her pockets. "Feels like I'm a goddamn zoo animal."
Joel’s chuckle was low and amused. "We're almost there," he assured her, voice quiet but firm. Then, after a pause, he added, "Try not to kill anyone."
Ellie shot him a glare. "No promises."
His smirk widened. "Atta girl."
After a brisk walk through the heart of Jackson, they finally arrived at their destination. The sight of the house before them made Ellie stop in her tracks, her breath hitching in her throat.
It was… huge.
A grand two-story structure, its pale blue exterior was smooth and unblemished, the white trim crisp against the deep color of the wooden porch. The windows weren’t shattered, their panes gleamed under the golden afternoon light, and the roof showed no signs of collapse or decay. A sturdy railing wrapped around the front, leading to a small set of steps that beckoned them inside.
Ellie had seen houses before—old, crumbling relics of the past, their walls overtaken by vines, their ceilings sagging, their insides stripped bare by looters. But this? This house looked as if the world had never fallen apart.
"This ours?" Joel asked, tilting his head as he took in the sight. A low whistle escaped his lips, and he nodded in quiet admiration. "Damn… it’s real nice."
Tommy grinned, clearly pleased with his brother’s reaction. He clapped Joel on the back, a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. "Nothin’ but the best for my brother and his… girl," he said, his voice full of unspoken meaning.
Joel stiffened slightly at the phrasing, his jaw ticking for just a moment before he exhaled through his nose. He didn’t correct Tommy.
Tommy studied him carefully. He hadn’t expected Joel to return with her. When they first came through Jackson, Joel had made it clear—he was dropping Ellie off with the Fireflies and moving on. But now? Now they were back, together, standing in front of a house Tommy had picked out for them.
Something had changed.
"Go on," Tommy urged, his gesture lighthearted, but there was something knowing in his eyes. "Take a look around."
Ellie hesitated. The house looked too nice, too… permanent. The thought of staying anywhere for more than a night or two was strange enough—let alone somewhere that looked like a goddamn postcard. She glanced up at Joel, uncertainty flickering across her face.
Joel met her gaze, and as if sensing the hesitation gnawing at her, he gave her a small nudge. "Well, go on, kiddo," he encouraged, his lips tugging into a smirk. "You're faster than me, anyway. My back’s about to give out." To emphasize his point, he groaned dramatically, stretching his arms above his head.
Ellie rolled her eyes, but a grin broke through. "Jesus, you’re such an old man," she muttered before turning and bolting up the steps, disappearing into the house without another word.
Joel chuckled, shaking his head as he watched her go.
His amusement was short-lived.
"We need to talk," Tommy said, his tone quieter, heavier.
Joel let out a sigh, running a hand down his face. "Yeah," he muttered, shoulders sagging slightly. "Figured you were gonna say that."
Tommy crossed his arms, his expression lined with concern. "The hell happened, Joel?"
Before Joel could answer, a loud whoop echoed from inside the house.
"Joel!" Ellie’s voice rang out, brimming with excitement. "They got fuckin’ indoor plumbing! And it actually works!"
Joel barked out a laugh, shaking his head as he heard her footsteps thudding through the house. That kind of enthusiasm—real, unfiltered joy—was rare. It was moments like these that made everything worth it.
Tommy huffed out a chuckle. "Well, she’s easy to please."
Joel grinned, eyes still on the house. "Yeah. She is."
Tommy’s gaze softened, studying his brother for a beat before nudging him lightly on the arm. "We’ll talk later," he promised. "For now, go check out your new place. If y’all need anything, we can run out and grab supplies."
Joel nodded in appreciation, then wasted no time climbing the steps. The warmth of the house wrapped around him as he stepped inside, the scent of old wood and clean linen filling his senses. He took a moment to scan the space—wide-open living room, stone fireplace, a kitchen with actual countertops that weren’t covered in dust or grime.
But Ellie was nowhere in sight.
He followed the sound of movement, stepping through the hallway toward the back of the house.
And then he saw her.
She was standing just outside, her small frame framed by the late afternoon light. She had found the garage, its side door propped open, revealing a fully furnished space inside. A small kitchenette, a separate bathroom—hell, the only thing missing was a bed and maybe a TV.
Her eyes flicked across every detail, taking it all in, as if trying to convince herself that it was real.
Joel leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"So," he drawled, watching her closely. "What do you think, kiddo?"
Ellie shifted her weight, a faint wince tugging at the corners of her mouth as her lower back twinged in protest. It was a reminder—an echo—of the countless nights she’d spent curled up on cold, unforgiving ground. Concrete. Dirt. The hard floor of an abandoned convenience store. There had never been softness, never anything resembling comfort. And now, here she stood in a warm, enclosed space with a roof that didn’t leak and floors that didn’t creak under threat of collapse.
"This is a lot better than the ground," she muttered, almost as if she didn’t trust herself to believe it yet. A hint of relief crept into her voice, softening the ever-present edge she wore like armor.
Joel's smile broadened as he stepped further into the garage-turned-haven, his boots echoing dully on the smooth floor. He crossed his arms, studying the layout—modest, but solid. Clean. Safe. Permanent.
"I'm gonna assume you've already staked your claim on this place?" he asked, a knowing lilt in his tone. The corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, the weight of the world momentarily lifting from his shoulders.
Ellie turned to him with a grin that seemed too big for her face, lighting her features with a joy that was rare, sacred. She nodded, eyes darting around the space like she was cataloging everything she'd make hers—the counter, the little table, the spot under the window where she’d want the bed to go. For a moment, she looked her age. Fourteen. Not a killer, not immune, not the weight-bearing center of a dying world.
“Yeah,” she said simply. “I call dibs.”
The idea of having her own room was something she hadn’t thought possible again. There’d been a brief stint in the QZ when she'd been given a small room during an evaluation period—bare mattress, no personal touches allowed—but even then, she knew it was temporary. Eventually, she'd get rotated back into bunkrooms, with girls who either hated her, feared her, or ignored her altogether. A shadow of melancholy passed over her features as her thoughts flickered to Boston, to the Firefly pendant tucked in her pocket, to Riley. Her stuff was probably gone. Tossed. Forgotten.
Joel exhaled through his nose, sensing the shift in her mood even if she didn’t voice it. He gave the room another once-over and scratched the back of his neck. “Well,” he said, his voice gravelly but kind, “you’re gonna need furniture. Somethin’ to sleep on, at least. Once we get somethin’ to eat, I’ll help you move the bed from the spare room. We’ll make it yours.”
Ellie’s stomach growled in perfect timing, loud enough to echo slightly in the quiet space. She placed a hand on her gut and groaned. “I am so fuckin’ hungry,” she admitted, not even trying to hide it.
Joel chuckled, shaking his head. “Let’s go, then. Tommy said there’s a mess hall nearby. Sounds like they actually serve real meals here.”
He turned toward the door, but Ellie darted past him with the energy of someone half her weight and none of his years. She tugged on the sleeve of his flannel shirt, urging him forward. “C’mon, old man. Don’t make me carry you,” she teased.
Joel let out a low laugh as he followed, unable to suppress the warmth in his chest at the feel of her hand clutching at his sleeve like a lifeline.
Outside, the wind bit at their cheeks again, but it no longer felt quite so cold. Ellie’s boots slapped against the frozen ground as she pulled him along, her eyes darting from signposts to wooden buildings with chimneys puffing steady trails of smoke into the pale sky. The streets bustled with people—some carrying firewood, others walking hand in hand, children running ahead of watchful parents. Laughter mingled with the sound of distant music drifting from a nearby porch radio.
And still, people stared.
Their gazes lingered—some curious, some guarded, some trying not to be obvious about it. Ellie noticed. She always noticed. But this time, she didn’t shrink away. Her hunger was louder than their scrutiny, and her focus stayed locked on the carved wooden sign pointing toward the Mess Hall.
As they neared the mess hall, Ellie’s footsteps slowed. That nervous flutter in her chest—the one she hadn’t felt in a long time—tightened its grip. She tried to brush it off, but the sight of the small crowd gathered outside made it impossible to ignore. Children, younger than her, chased each other in carefree games across well-maintained patches of grass, their shrieks of laughter echoing like wind chimes on a summer breeze. Parents lounged nearby, some chatting, others keeping quiet watch, the kind of protective presence Ellie had only ever associated with Joel. It was the picture of a life untouched by fear, by loss. A life Ellie had never known.
And it made her feel like a ghost walking among the living.
Her hand instinctively twitched toward her sleeve, tugging it lower over her scarred forearm. Eyes followed her and Joel with palpable curiosity. She could feel the weight of their attention pressing down on her skin, as if the town itself were holding its breath, waiting to judge whether they were friend or foe. Ellie’s confidence faltered. Her shoulders hunched slightly, like a stray dog approaching a back porch—hopeful, but bracing for the door to slam.
Sensing her discomfort, Joel stepped in front of her without a word. He stood tall, broad shoulders squared, his body a solid barrier between Ellie and the eyes that watched them. His presence was like a wall—immovable, deliberate. The intensity in his gaze dared anyone to look too long, to ask too many questions.
“Let’s go, kiddo,” he said, low and firm, his voice a comforting anchor. His arm swept around her, steadying her steps as he led her toward the open doors of the mess hall.
The instant they stepped inside, warmth enveloped them—dry, comforting warmth that seemed to melt away the frost clinging to their clothes. And then came the smell. It hit Ellie like a truck: buttery mashed potatoes, crisp roasted chicken skin, peas swimming in butter and garlic, the faint scent of fresh bread wafting from somewhere unseen. Her mouth watered so quickly it was almost painful.
Gone were the days of cold cans, stale crackers, and half-charred squirrels skewered over dying campfires. This was food—real food—and it called to her like a siren song.
The line moved steadily, townsfolk greeting the familiar staff with casual smiles and tired jokes. Ellie and Joel stood out like wolves in a flock of sheep, but the servers behind the counter didn’t flinch. Instead, a woman with wisps of silver in her hair and a face carved by laughter and sun offered Ellie a plate without hesitation.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice kind and rich with warmth.
Ellie stiffened at first. Suspicion was her default reaction to kindness. But the woman’s eyes weren’t judging—just curious. Friendly. Genuine.
“Yeah,” Ellie said quietly, her grip tightening around the tray.
The woman’s smile deepened. She reached for an extra piece of chicken and placed it on Ellie’s plate, then filled a glass of water and set it beside it. “Growing girl like you needs her strength,” she said with a wink, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Ellie blinked, stunned for a moment by the sheer normalcy of the interaction.
Joel elbowed her gently. “What do you say, Ellie?” he murmured, teasing.
Ellie’s face flushed with the kind of awkwardness that only came with being caught off-guard. “Oh. Uh… thank you,” she said, flashing a crooked smile.
She scanned the room, her instincts pulling her toward solitude. In the far corner sat an empty table—quiet, tucked away, safe. Without waiting, she made a beeline for it, head down, tray balanced carefully in her hands. Joel followed a few steps behind, easing into the seat across from her with a quiet groan as he settled in.
Ellie didn’t wait. Her fork dove into the chicken like a weapon, and she took a bite so fast she nearly forgot to chew. A moan of pleasure escaped her lips.
“Jesus,” she muttered around a mouthful. “This is insane.”
Joel watched with quiet amusement, his fingers tapping absently on the edge of his tray. “Slow down there, kiddo,” he said with a smirk. “Chicken’s not gonna grow legs and run off.”
Ellie glanced up, cheeks full, then quickly wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve. “Sorry,” she mumbled, though her grin betrayed her. “It’s just—fuck, it’s good.”
“I’ll say,” Joel agreed, cutting into his own piece with deliberate slowness.
For a moment, they ate in silence. Not the tense, survivalist silence they were used to—this was the quiet of full bellies and soft lighting, of comfort unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Ellie glanced around the room, taking it all in: the wood-paneled walls, the chatter of families, the gentle clinking of utensils. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was nothing to run from. And that brought with it its own kind of anxiety.
“So…” Ellie began, her voice tentative, testing the waters of casual conversation. “What do people even talk about when they’re not trying to kill each other?”
Joel chuckled, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Tommy said there were some kids your age,” he offered. “Might be worth tryin’ to talk to ‘em.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “And say what, exactly? ‘Hi, I’ve got trauma and a bite mark that should’ve killed me but didn’t?’”
Joel winced. “Well, maybe don’t lead with that.”
Ellie scoffed, but there was a flicker of something behind her sarcasm. Hope, maybe. Fear. “I dunno. Last time I tried to be friends with kids my age, it didn’t end well.”
Joel looked thoughtful, rubbing his chin. “What about those comics you like? What’s it called… Starlight Vengeance?”
Ellie rolled her eyes, snorting. “Savage Starlight, old man.”
“Right, that,” Joel said, grinning. “Maybe some of ‘em read it too. You’d be surprised.”
Ellie smiled despite herself, a soft one that faded just as quickly. Her fingers found the edge of her sleeve again, tugging it down over her arm.
“There’s one small problem,” she murmured.
Joel looked up. “What’s that?”
“The big-ass bite mark,” she whispered, barely audible over the clatter around them. “It’s not always gonna be cold. I can’t wear long sleeves forever. And if someone sees it…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.
Joel’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around his fork. “Shit,” he muttered. “I’d almost forgotten about that.” He ran a hand down his face, then nodded, voice low. “Alright. We’ll talk to Maria and Tommy. Figure something out.”
Ellie nodded, her appetite waning slightly as the weight of reality returned.
And then she saw her.
A girl, maybe around her age, with warm tan skin and long black hair braided over her shoulder, sat at a nearby table. Her eyes met Ellie’s. And held. A smile—shy, but genuine—curved the girl’s lips.
Ellie froze. Her pulse skipped. Heat crept into her face like a flash fire. She tore her gaze away, pretending to focus intently on her food, though her hands trembled just slightly as she picked up her fork.
“Damn hormones,” she muttered, shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes into her mouth in a desperate attempt to save face.
Joel quirked a brow. “You say somethin’?”
Ellie shook her head quickly. “Nothing. Eat your chicken, old man.” But the blush on her cheeks didn’t fade—and neither did the memory of that smile.