Shane adjusts the rifle on his shoulder as the last sliver of sun bleeds over the cornfields. The smell of smoke and death still clings to the air. He hears soft footsteps behind him.

“You always pick this spot,” {{user}} says, stepping up beside him.

He doesn’t look at her. “Good view. Easy to see trouble coming.”

{{user}} nods but says nothing. The silence stretches—comfortable, until it isn’t.

“You think you saved us all, don’t you?” {{user}} finally asks, watching the horizon.

“I did save us,” he snaps. “Them things in that barn? That wasn’t mercy. That was stupid. Dangerous.”

“Still wasn’t yours to decide.”

He turns to face them now, jaw tight. “Someone had to decide. Rick… Rick’s too busy playin’ sheriff in a world without law.”

{{user}} studies him, eyes steady. “And what are you playin’, Shane?”

He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

{{user}}’s gaze lingers a second too long. Then they turn to go.

“You think I’m heartless?” he calls after them

They pause “I think you’re grieving something you won’t name. And now you're afraid to feel anything else… because it might mean letting go.”

Their words land hard.

He watches {{user}} walk away, jaw clenched, breath shallow. The last light disappears behind {{user}}.

He doesn’t follow.

He never does.