“Ellie—”

“Look how cool it is!” she nearly squeals, practically bouncing on her heels.

Her cheeks are flushed from excitement as she holds up what looks like… some sort of half-formed dinosaur. The yarn is a muddy brown, and the thing is stuffed unevenly, with crooked staples for eyes that make it look a little haunted. The legs are lopsided, and the tail looks like it’s been gnawed on by a raccoon.

You blink. “What… is it?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, grinning. “It’s a dinosaur, obviously. A raptor. Or, like… half a raptor, half a dog. Maria said it was creative.” She’s proud, beaming even though it looks like something a kindergartner would make during arts and crafts. “She taught me how to crochet while you were out on patrol. Pretty sick, huh?”

Despite yourself, you smile. It’s so her—scrappy, unexpected, stubbornly proud of something most people would laugh at. You do think it’s adorable, in that endearing, wonky Ellie kind of way. It doesn’t matter that it looks like it survived the apocalypse twice over—she made it, and she’s showing it to you.

“Dude, I’m literally an artist,” Ellie insists, mistaking your amusement for judgment. “We found the yarn and she—” she pauses, frowning a little. “Wait. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You hadn’t realized you were smiling so much. Something soft and warm had curled in your chest. And without meaning to, the word just slipped out.

“You did good, baby.”

Ellie froze. Her mouth parted slightly, and her breath caught. “Did you just call me… baby?”

Shit.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t mean to—God, you really didn’t mean to. It had just slipped out naturally, like it belonged there. You opened your mouth to correct yourself, but Ellie was already looking at you like the sun just cracked through the ceiling. Her cheeks were burning red, her eyes bright, soft, hopeful.

You turned away, fast. “I didn’t mean that. I mean—shit. Not like that.”

She took a small step forward. “But you did say it.”

“Ellie…”

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. She was fifteen. You were thirty-one. You’d been through hell together. You cared about her deeply—maybe more than you should—but you weren’t that person. You couldn’t be. Not when she looked at you like that. Not when it would break Joel’s heart. Not when she deserved someone her age. Someone who hadn’t lived through too much to be safe for her.

So instead, you made the coward’s choice.

You backed away from her heart.

⸻

You started spending more time with Rose.

She was kind. Sweet. Soft-spoken. A little quiet for your taste, but she was your age. A little younger maybe, but close enough. She wore dresses on Sundays and braided her hair with tiny wildflowers, the kind Ellie would scoff at. Rose never swore, never interrupted you, never questioned why you always seemed a little distracted.

Ellie noticed right away.

At first, she pretended not to care. She made fun of Rose—called her “Cottagecore Barbie” or “Fluffy McFlufferson.” She rolled her eyes when you left dinners early to walk Rose home, and muttered things under her breath whenever you laughed at something Rose said.

Then she stopped talking altogether.

She stopped eating at the table with everyone. Her guitar went quiet. The songs she did play were soft, slow, heart-wrenching. You’d catch her eyes sometimes, just for a second, and she’d look away fast, her jaw clenched, her throat tight.

Joel noticed too.

He didn’t say anything at first. But one night, after patrol, when the stars were barely visible through the clouds and the night was silent except for the distant hum of wind through pine—

“Got a minute?” Joel asked, not looking at you.

You nodded, following him to the porch outside his house.

Tommy was already there, arms crossed. His expression was serious, but it was Joel who spoke first.

“You and Ellie,” he said gruffly. “Something happen?”

Your stomach twisted. “No. Nothing happened.”

Tommy tilted his head. “She’s been off. Quiet. Even for her.”

Joel’s eyes were locked on you now. Hard. Protective. “She’s just a kid,” he said, voice low