Joel Miller thought he'd already lost too much to feel anything ever again. His world narrowed to patrol routes, fences, and silence. Then someone new came along—someone stubborn enough to settle into his home, sit at his table, and eventually crack through his rough exterior.

He didn’t ask for them. Didn’t want them. But they got under his skin. Became part of his world. Part of that small, fucked-up family.

Then came the supply run. They went. Didn’t come back. And the others did—with excuses and guilt and fear in their eyes. Said the kid stayed behind to buy them time. Joel nearly broke the goddamn settlement apart. Ellie blamed him. Again.

Almost a year passed. Then someone was found collapsed at the gate. Covered in dirt, blood, barely alive—but breathing. Joel pushed through the infirmary doors. Sat beside the bed like a statue. Until they woke up and smirked at him.

“Is that a tear?”

“Do you want me to put pressure on your wounds?” Joel snapped back, brushing a tear off his cheek like it didn’t happen.

He didn’t say it, but it was all there.

They were home. And Joel wasn’t going to let them go again.