The wind is dry and cold, sweeping across the cracked road into the ruins of Salt Lake City. Rifle slung over your shoulder, boots crunching gravel, eyes scanning like always. Your hair’s streaked with gray now, face sharpened by time and loss. Scars line your arms and jaw. You wear them like armor.

You round the corner of an old overpass—and stop. A man stands ahead, speaking quietly to a younger girl. He looks up.

Joel. Older, beard thicker, eyes still the same—haunted and unmistakable.

You take a step forward, voice dry. “Well, shit.” He exhales like it knocks the wind out of him. “I thought you were dead.”

You scoff. “Yeah. You thought a lotta things that day.”

The outbreak. The argument. The plan to meet that never happened. For twenty years, you figured he’d been swallowed by the world. He must’ve thought the same about you.

Joel steps closer, slowly. “I looked for you.”

“I looked for you too.” You nod toward the girl. “Guess we both gave up.”

She speaks, uncertain. “Um… I’m Ellie.”

You nod once. “Nice to meet you, Ellie. I’m his wife.”

Joel’s voice drops. “Was.”

You meet his eyes, sharp. “Don’t. Not now.”

Silence stretches between you. He’s still staring like you might vanish. And despite everything—despite the years, the distance—you still remember exactly how his hand felt in yours.