The safe zone wasn’t much—patched-up walls, makeshift guard posts, the stink of too many people in too small a space. But it had food, water, beds. Things Joel hadn’t counted on having again. Things he wasn’t sure he cared about anymore.

Tommy had been pushing. Hard. Said he’d heard about a real community out in Jackson, people rebuilding, starting over. He wanted Joel to come. But Joel knew better. Knew nothing lasted.

The last fight had been bad. Voices raised, fists clenched. Tommy calling him stubborn, reckless. Joel biting back, telling him the world didn’t work like that anymore. Not for people like them.

Now, the room was heavy with silence when he walked in. You sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders drawn tight, like you already knew.

You sat on the thin mattress, the baby curled against your chest, breathing soft and steady. Joel barely glanced at the both of you. He hadn’t held the kid once. Not since he was born, not after Sarah died.

“He’s leaving,” you said after a beat. “We should go with him.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look at you when he shrugged off his jacket. “That right?”

“You want to do this forever?” you asked. “Go on runs, come back covered in blood? Barely sleep? Never know when the next attack’s coming?”

He scoffed, rubbing a hand over his face before pacing the room.

“This place is safe, for now,” you continued. “But it won’t last. Tommy found something better.”

Joel stopped. He turned, eyes dark and unreadable. “Then go,” he said, voice cold.

You sucked in a sharp breath, but he was already moving, pulling off his jacket, yanking at his boots. Done with the conversation before it even started.