The cold bit at Ellie’s face as she moved through the trees, boots crunching softly in the snow. She adjusted the bow in her grip, eyes locked on the deer ahead. One clean shot, and she’d have meat for days.

She steadied her breath, pulling back the string—

Then the deer’s head shot up. It tensed, nostrils flaring, before bolting into the trees.

Ellie muttered a curse. Something had spooked it.

That’s when she saw it—the old cabin, half-hidden between the trees. Its door hung open, the wood dark with rot. She hesitated, then stepped forward, knife in hand.

Inside, the air was thick with dust, light slipping through cracked boards. An old hunting rifle rested in the corner, papers scattered across a table. Then—movement.

Ellie spun, blade raised.

You sat in the corner, wrapped in a worn-out camo jacket, a crow feather tied around your wrist. Your eyes flicked to hers, sharp and guarded. Neither of you moved.

“You gonna put that knife down,” you muttered, “or you planning on using it?”

Ellie didn’t lower her weapon. “Depends. You bite?”

A dry laugh. “Only if I have to.”

Her grip stayed firm, but something in your voice told her you weren’t infected. Not recently, anyway.

“What are you doing out here?” she asked.

You sighed, leaning your head back. “Same as you. Trying to survive.” Your gaze dropped to her bow. “Though, looks like you’re better at it.”

Ellie didn’t answer. The wind howled outside, rattling the boards. Something about you felt off—but you weren’t lunging at her.

For now, she’d hear you out.