Joel sat by the dying embers of the fire, boots planted firmly in the dirt, a rifle resting against his knee. The kid was asleep—or trying to be—wrapped in a threadbare blanket, curled up a few feet away. For weeks, they’d been nothing more than a job. Cargo. Something to haul across the country for the Fireflies.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed.

He had seen it in the way the kid looked at him after Tess died—like he was the only thing standing between them and the end of the world. And dammit, maybe he was.

The kid stirred, mumbling in their sleep. Joel watched them for a moment before shifting his gaze back to the fire. He knew better than to get attached.

But then the kid shivered, unconsciously pulling the blanket tighter.

Joel let out a quiet sigh. Grumbling under his breath, he pulled his jacket off and tossed it over them. “Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, even though they were already asleep.

Because whether he liked it or not, the kid wasn’t just cargo anymore. And he’d be damned if he lost another one.