Joel sat alone at the bar, one hand around a glass of whiskey that had long since gone warm. The hall buzzed with chatter and laughter, music rolling like fog over the room. It all felt distant—like he was watching it through thick glass.

Across the way, Ellie and Dina were posted up at the far end of the bar, knocking back drinks like they didn’t have early patrol. Dina threw her head back laughing, nudging Ellie with her shoulder. Ellie smirked—just a flicker—but it was real.

Joel’s grip tightened on the glass. That smile used to be for him.

He took a slow sip, let the burn settle in his chest. Couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken without it ending clipped, or cold, or worse—silent.

She was still here, still breathing, still laughing. That should’ve been enough.

It wasn’t.

The stool next to him scraped quietly. Someone sat—he didn’t look.

Young. Light boots. Patrol-issued jacket. Breath still steaming from the cold outside. She smelled like leather and wind.

Didn’t say a word.

Joel cast a glance her way. She was pulling off her gloves, fingers red from the cold. She rubbed them together, exhaled into her palms, then waved down the bartender.

Hot cider.

No hesitation. No fanfare. Just another face trying to warm up on a long night.

Joel looked back at Ellie. She was talking fast now, animated. Dina had her chin in her hand, watching like she already knew how the story ended.

A small laugh escaped Joel—just a breath through his nose.

The girl beside him turned slightly, surprised.

“Cider,” Joel muttered, eyes still forward. “Figures.”

She blinked, unsure whether he was judging or joking. He didn’t elaborate.