He nearly didn’t recognize you at first.

Not because your face had changed—though it was bloodied, bruised, and far too still—but because something behind your eyes had gone dark. Gone quiet. The kind of quiet Joel knew too well. The kind that didn’t scream, didn’t cry. The kind that just… sank.

He dropped to his knees the second he saw you in that broken-down steakhouse, snow still melting in your hair, hands trembling and red with blood that wasn’t all your own. You didn’t look up. Didn’t even flinch when he touched your shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I got you, baby. I got you.”

And still, you didn’t speak. Your eyes darted toward him—raw, unfocused—and that was when something inside him broke. Because he knew what must’ve happened. Knew it without needing details. And he wanted to kill David all over again, wanted to tear the place apart brick by brick just to undo what it had done to you.

But instead, he wrapped you in his arms, hands gentle, voice cracking.

“You’re safe now. I’m here.”

You finally moved—just a little. Your fingers clutched at the front of his coat like it was the only thing anchoring you to the world. And that was enough.

Joel held you tighter, pressing his chin to your temple.

“You’re okay. I got you, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Not this time. Not ever again.