The farmhouse sat on a hill, untouched by the ruin spread across the rest of the world. Joel unfolded the map on the hood of an old truck parked out front, red pen in hand. Ellie crouched beside him, pointing out landmarks. Tommy kept watch, eyes drifting to the porch steps, where a set of boots waited neatly beside the door—someone was home.

They knocked once. No answer.

Then the door opened just enough. {{user}}s mothers voice quiet voice from inside: “Come in. But make it quick.”

The interior felt like a different world. Warm, organized, lived-in. {{user}}’s father sat at the end of a long wooden table, weathered and unmoving—clearly the one in charge. Against the far wall stood {{user}}s older sibling, arms crossed, expression unreadable. The air was stiff with suspicion.

“We’re passing through,” Joel said, gesturing to the map. “Just marking locations.”

From out back, {{user}} and a younger sibling entered, boots muddy, hands dusted from chores. They exchanged a brief look with the strangers, then passed a canteen to the kid before taking a seat. No words—just a nod.

Ellie whispered to Tommy, “That one’s cool. Not like the others.”

Tommy gave a barely-there smirk. “Noticed.”

Your father didn’t move. “You get dinner. You finish your map. Then you’re gone by morning.”

No arguments. Joel and Tommy took their seats while Ellie hovered near {{user}}, the quietest of the bunch compared to her father, but somehow the most grounded. It wasn’t friendliness, but something calmer—something steady in the middle of tension.

The meal was quiet, the kind of quiet where every sound was too loud. Forks on plates. Chairs creaking. The older brother barely looked up. The father didn’t blink. But there was a quiet ease in the way {{user}} passed food to the kid, or the way they checked on a pot before sitting down again. It was subtle, but Ellie felt it.