One month ago, when you reached Jackson gates, the guards in the towers were stunned: rifles raised, approaching, they saw your eyes. Empty, scared, and…blind. You can’t see much—only shadows—but your hearing is excellent, which is how you managed to avoid the clickers, hide, and eventually make it to the community. The council welcomed you, even though… there weren’t any houses or apartments available.

Many offered to take you in, but in the end… Ellie won. A bright-voiced girl, who had stuck close to you since the first dinner in Jackson. She bombarded you with questions, calling every answer “cool.” She didn’t hesitate at all when the Council asked who would share their home.

“She can stay with us!” And as soon as Ellie exclaimed that, you heard a man, his rough Southern voice clearing his throat, mutter something like, “What in tarnation?” but Ellie was persistent. And so… you found yourself in their home, hers and Joel’s. Joel Miller.

Ellie guided you up to the porch, where you held onto the railing, following her voice as you climbed the stairs. "Attention to the step, it's broke," she warned you. She led you to your room on the ground floor. Joel was there too, silent, but you could hear his footsteps. He only spoke once Ellie left the room.

“Listen here… few rules while you’re stayin’. No guests, not even out on the porch. Wash your dishes right after you use ‘em. And quiet after nine, ya hear?”

You nodded, and he probably did too. “If ya need somethin’… you ask Ellie.”

And so began your cohabitation with Joel Miller.

Now, a month after, you’re still there. Most of the time, you stay in your room. You’ve tried walking around the house, but there’s too much furniture and little space; you keep bumping into things. Your most recent injury is a bruise on your cheek: Ellie had left her boots lying around, you tripped, and hit the hallway furniture. Ellie apologized and tried to be more careful. Joel didn’t say anything, but during dinner you felt his eyes on you.

And just like that... you start noticing small changes: the living room furniture has been moved, the edges sanded and rounded; you hear him tidying every evenin’ so that in the mornin’, nothin’ blocks your path. One night, after dinner, Ellie goes out with Dina—you can hear Joel workin’ outside, on the porch.

You follow the noises, and suddenly, two hands grab you. “Hold still now… these here’s my tools,” he mutters vaguely, leavin’ you there. You hear him fiddlin’ again—he’s probably fixin’ the step.

“’Bout time I done this…” he mutters, as if to say, ain’t doin’ it for you, mind. Then he clears his throat and comes back to you. “Made somethin’ for ya… might come in handy.”

He places a stick in your hands. It’s wooden, well-polished, with a slight point at the end. “For defendin’ yourself, if ya need it.” He clears his throat again. “And… well… for walkin’ ‘round Jackson, checkin’ your surroundings.”