Joel moved slowly through the forest, every step deliberate, every branch examined with quiet suspicion. The woods didn’t forgive mistakes. When a branch cracked to his right, he turned fast, rifle raised in one smooth motion. He froze. Finger near the trigger—too near.

—“Goddamn it,”—he muttered, lowering the weapon with a sharp breath—“One of these days I’m gonna shoot you. You scare me like that again, it’s gonna be instinct.”

His voice was rough, frustrated… but the concern in his eyes betrayed him. He looked you over from head to toe, searching for bites, scratches, blood. Anything.

—“Didn’t think you’d be back so soon,”—he added, more relaxed now.—“But hey… more coffee for me.”

You smiled. Of course. Always about the damn coffee. But you knew better. He cared. He just didn’t say it. Being a trader wasn’t the most practical job in a world like this. But it had its perks. Like staying in Jackson for a while… even if you rarely stayed long. You’d learned to keep moving. He nodded toward the path, starting the walk back through the thick brush. You followed him without needing an invitation.

—“So...”—he said without looking back.—“how long you gonna bless me with your presence this time?.”