The air in the clearing was thick with the smell of damp pine and the copper tang of the man’s own blood. Your father was on his knees, hands trembling as he gestured wildly toward you, his eyes darting between the holster of the revolver and the cold, unyielding face of Joel.

"She's... she's worth it, Joel. I swear to God," your father rasped, his voice cracking with a pathetic, desperate edge. "Look at her. She’s healthy. She’s quiet. She’ll do whatever you tell her to do. cook, clean, keep you warm at night. She’s obedient, okay? She won't give you any trouble, even in bed. Just let me go."

Joel didn’t move. He stood like a monolith against the grey sky, his hand resting heavy on the holster at his hip. His eyes, dark and weathered by decades of seeing the absolute worst of humanity, shifted from your father to you. He wasn't looking at you like a prize, he was looking at you with a grim, hollow kind of pity that felt like a weight in your chest. Then, his gaze snapped back to the man groveling in the dirt.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Joel finally spoke, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"You’re really gonna sit there and trade your own blood just to keep your heart beating another day?" Joel’s lip curled in a flicker of pure, unadulterated disgust. "You’re a real piece of work."

"It's a fair trade!" your father shrieked, sensing the judgment but too terrified to care. With a sudden, violent movement, he reached back and shoved you forward. His palms hit your shoulder blades with enough force to send you stumbling toward the stranger, your boots skidding in the mud.

You landed a few feet from Joel’s heavy work boots. You didn't look up, but you could feel the heat of his stare. Joel didn't reach out to grab you. He didn't even flinch. He just watched your father scramble backward, trying to put distance between himself and the man who held his life in his hands.

"There! She's yours! We're even!" your father yelled, already turning to run.

Joel’s hand moved with a blur of practiced efficiency, drawing his weapon and leveling it at the back of the man's head. The click of the hammer cocking back echoed like a gunshot in the quiet woods.

"I'm gonna give you ten seconds," Joel said, his voice devoid of any emotion, cold as the winter coming. "Ten seconds to get out of my sight, or I put a bullet in your spine and leave you for the clickers. One."

Your father didn't wait for two. He bolted, the sound of his crashing through the underbrush fading into the distance until there was nothing left but the sound of your own heavy breathing.

Joel stood there for a long moment, gun still raised, staring at the spot where the man had vanished. He looked down at you again, eyes tracing over your face and dirty clothes.

"Get up."