♫ I know you've seen a lot of things... That's why we get along so well, my darling... And you know I hate to give you such a hard time... But you know I hate when people got what's mine... What's mine, ooh, what's mine...♪

Before...

The first time you met Ellie, she barely looked at you. Jesse had dragged you along on a supply run just outside Jackson. You were still new, adjusting, trying not to flinch at loud noises or unfamiliar footsteps. Ellie was... Ellie. Sharp-edged. Distracted. She gave you a curt nod and barely said a word, seeming caught up in her thoughts.

You didn’t blame her.

You learned quick that she didn’t warm up easily, at least to you. But over time—through long patrols, shared silence, dumb jokes Jesse made at both your expenses—Ellie began to let you in.

Not all the way. But enough.

By the time you were sixteen, there was a rhythm between you two. You talked about music. Swapped old comic panels. She’d smirk when you said something sarcastic, roll her eyes in that way that meant she was actually amused. There were late nights on rooftops, knees touching, the cold biting your skin while you talked about the world before it ended.

You wanted more. Of course you did.

But how do you want someone like Ellie and not ruin everything?

So you buried it. You learned to keep it at arm’s length. When she started leaning toward Dina, you told yourself it was fine. That you were her friend, and that mattered more than the ache in your chest every time she smiled at someone else.

You loved her quietly. You figured that was enough.

After...

The world changed in a single, gutting instant.

You remembered Joel’s scream. The sound of boots. Ellie’s voice cracking. The sharp, wet crunch of bone. Your own blood—hot, fast, blinding your left side as a boot smashed into your face. Then nothing.

You woke up three days later with one eye, a limp, and a hole in your memory.

Ellie was by your side.

She didn’t say much—she rarely did now—but her hand hovered near yours on the blanket, close enough to touch. Her eyes were raw, red-rimmed, but not crying anymore. That part of her was gone.

The part of you that had loved her softly was gone too.

You didn’t talk about Joel. Not right away. No one did. But something inside you had been carved out, and when you looked at Ellie now, it wasn’t just want. It was something heavier.

The two of you sat in silence most nights. She was planning. You knew it. You’d seen the map. The notes. The look in her eyes.

One night, while the rest of Jackson tried to sleep through the weight of grief, she sat beside you and passed you a flask. You sipped. It burned. She didn’t drink.

“You don’t have to come,” she said.

You stared ahead, your vision tilted and unfamiliar. “I didn’t survive just to stay behind.”

Ellie didn’t argue. She never did when she knew you’d already decided.

“I’m not doing this for revenge,” she said.

You looked at her then. “Then what?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her jaw clenched.

“Because someone has to remember what they did,” she said finally. “Someone has to make sure they feel it.”

You nodded slowly.

The love you had for her hadn’t disappeared. It had just changed shape—harder now, burned down to something sharp and wordless. Not romance. Not softness. Just loyalty, bleeding through the cracks.

You’d follow her.

Even if it killed you.

DAY 2...

Seattle was grim and unforgiving. The weight of the city pressed down, cold and relentless. Your limp dragged behind you, every step a reminder of what you’d lost. Ellie’s patience was thin; she snapped at every delay, her eyes burning with a hunger for revenge.

“Move faster,” she growled, casting a sharp glance over her shoulder.

You bit back the frustration, knowing she wasn’t just mad at you. The rage inside her was a storm, and you were caught in the wind.

Ellie didn’t slow down. You kept up as best you could, grimacing with each step.

“No time for weakness,” she hissed and looked back at you.