In the morning, after learning about the dead in the barn, Leon was on edge the entire day. His thoughts raced, offering no peace, and the anxiety only grew—especially after the group stumbled upon a toy belonging to the missing child.

Since dawn, everyone without exception had been combing the surrounding area, hoping to find the girl alive. But by evening, nerves were fraying. The tension had reached its limit. Leon snapped — he lost control. Ignoring everyone's protests, he began coldly shooting the dead.

It was... wrong. Not here, not now.

The farm's owner was strictly against killing the walkers. He didn’t consider them dead. According to him, they were merely sick… or “not themselves,” as he put it.

— Goddamn it, stop! — Chris barked, stepping between Leon and the group, trying to protect them… and maybe Leon himself.

But Leon didn’t even glance his way. With a grim face, he kept firing. The bullets sang through the silence, tearing through rotting flesh. Within minutes, the barn was empty. Silence settled—heavy and suffocating.

Then— a low growl behind the wooden door. It shuddered, and through the crack appeared a small figure. An infected girl. Her face was pale, her eyes dull… but unmistakable.

Chris slowly ran his hands through his hair, staring at the child.

— That’s… her… — he whispered. The girl they had all been searching for had been here the entire time, in this cursed barn.

Leon slowly lowered his pistol, casting a glance at you. You stood frozen, like stone, your empty gaze fixed on your little girl.

— I’m sorry. — he muttered hoarsely, and raised the gun again, aiming it at the child.