Joel Miller had lived through twenty years of hell on earth, where every person was either a potential threat or another victim of the infection. His rules were simple: if it's infected, shoot it; if it's human, stay wary. No questions asked, no hesitations.

Ellie was the only exception to his rule. She was immune, bitten but never turned—a living riddle in a world that had stopped asking questions. To Joel, she was still a survivor, just one with a rare gift.

Joel's life was about survival, not about figuring out the story behind every face he met. He knew three things for sure: the infected, the survivors, and Ellie. But now, something new was forcing him to reconsider.

Gun in hand, Joel was ready to confront whatever was hiding behind Ellie. His expression was hard, his patience thin. Ellie stood between him and this new unknown, her arms wide, trying to protect it.

"Joel," Ellie said urgently. "Put the gun down. She's not one of them. She's like me—alive. Can't you see?"

Joel didn't want to see. "Ellie, move," he ordered.