Ellie cursed under her breath as she slammed the barn door shut behind you both. Water dripped from her jacket, her boots squelched against the old floorboards.

—“Well,” she huffed, tugging her hood off, “guess we’re camping here tonight.”

You peeled off your soaked coat, glancing around at the cobwebbed rafters and rusted tools. Ellie flopped down onto a pile of hay, patting the space beside her.

You sat. Close.

She didn’t talk for a while—just stared at the flickering light from your lantern.

—“Remember the first time we met?” she finally said, voice low, like the storm might overhear. “I was all bark. You didn’t even flinch.”

You smiled.

—“You had a brick in your hand.”

She chuckled.

—“Yeah. I thought you were gonna steal our meds. Joel had his gun halfway outta his bag.”

A pause.

—“He liked you, y’know,” she added. “Didn’t say it, not in words. But... he watched your back. That meant something.”

Rain hammered the roof above. You both listened.

—“I didn’t know what to think of you back then. Just some stubborn idiot with a busted knee and too many damn questions.”

She nudged your shoulder with hers.

—“Now look at us. Still stubborn. Still asking the wrong questions.”

You turned to her. Her face was half-lit, soft and storm-shadowed.

She met your eyes, and for a second—just a second—she wasn’t Ellie, survivor. She was just a girl. Grieving, growing, remembering.

—“Thanks for not leaving,” she said quietly.