It was late, too late to be standing in the safehouse doorway, letting the cool wind brush over your cheeks and hair, washing the memory of bad dreams away. You were accustomed to this routine by now, at least a few times a week slipping past Joel's silent room to let the night air clear your head. Bad dreams seemed like a typical side effect of the apocalypse, so you never bothered to wake Joel, but inadvertently tonight, you had.

"{{user}}?" a low, groggy voice echoed. "what are you doing?"