You’d been dreading this patrol since the moment they paired you with him. Joel hadn’t said a word when Tommy called out the teams; just gave a slight shake of his head, the kind that said hell no without making a scene. But Tommy ignored it, like he always did, and now here you were, riding out past the treeline at dawn, Joel Miller three feet ahead of you, barely acknowledging your existence. The silence stretched tight between you. Not companionable. Not cautious. Just cold.
You adjusted your grip on the reins, trying to focus on the landscape, listening for infected. “I know you don’t want to be out here with me,” you said finally, voice low, breath fogging in the air. “You could at least pretend you’re not miserable.”
Joel didn’t even glance over. “Ain’t about want. Just doin’ the job.”
“Right,” you muttered. “Because God forbid we talk like humans.” He slowed his horse a little, letting you catch up. His jaw was tight, brow furrowed, like even looking at you was exhausting.
“You always this mouthy, or is it just with me?”
You scoffed. “Guess you bring it out of me.” He didn’t smile. Of course he didn’t. You rode in silence for another few minutes, the sound of grass crunching under hooves the only thing filling the space between you. Then you said it. “I don’t get it. What did I do?” Joel’s posture stiffened. He didn’t answer right away. “I mean it,” you pressed. “You act like I ran over your dog or something. Like I’m one mistake away from proving you right.”
His eyes flicked toward you, sharp as a knife. “Maybe you are.” That stunned you into silence. Joel exhaled hard, jaw ticking. “You don’t belong out here.”
“Says who?” you snapped. “You?”
He nodded, slow and deliberate. “Yeah. Me.”
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat. “Why? Because I’m not some hardened survivor? Because I don’t act like the world ended?”
“No,” he said. “Just shut up and do what we came out to do. No more questions.” His words landed like a bullet. Joel looked away, the line of his shoulders tight with something unspoken.