The night air was thick with tension—and smoke. Ellie had told you earlier that day she wanted to get away. Said it like it was nothing. Just a shrug, a lazy “let’s disappear tonight.” But the way she looked at you? That meant something was up. That kind of stare she only gave when she was dead serious, when she’d been thinking.

The city ruins were quiet by the time you met her. No clickers. No patrols. Just a collapsed rooftop garden she’d found weeks ago—half-covered in vines and tucked above a long-dead apartment building. You had to climb two ladders and squeeze through a broken window to get there. But when you did? She was already waiting.

She stood there—leaning against a rusted beam—with the moon on her skin and a look in her eyes that said she’d stopped being unsure a long time ago.

Black underwear. A gray tank with those thin, barely-there straps slipping off one shoulder. Her guitar was slung to the side, forgotten. Her boots were off, but her knife was still clipped to her thigh—just in case.

She didn’t say a word when you approached. Just let her gaze trace over you slowly, like she was memorizing this moment. And then she smirked.

“Took you long enough.”