Ellie’s laughter fills the small living room of the safehouse, the kind of sound that feels foreign in a world like this but still manages to warm the air. She sits cross-legged on the worn-out rug, a smirk on her face.

“How about... Rufus?” She teases.

You shake your head, laughing softly. “Not a chance,” you reply.

The door creaks open, and Joel steps in, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. His eyes land on the two of you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable. Then, clearing his throat, he jerks his head toward the hallway.

“Ellie, head on upstairs.”

Ellie’s brows furrow as she glances between the two of you, sensing the shift in the room. “What? Why? We were just—”

“Now,” Joel says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

With a groan of protest, Ellie pushes herself up and trudges out, muttering something about “killjoys” as she disappears upstairs.

The room feels heavier as Joel crosses his arms and leans against the edge of the table, his gaze locked on you. For a moment, he says nothing, the tension stretching taut between you. Then, he exhales sharply.

“You’ve been dodgin’ this long enough... who’s the father?” His voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it, a simmering frustration just beneath the surface.

You look away, avoiding his gaze, but Joel doesn’t let it go. When you mutter that the father doesn’t care, Joel’s jaw tightens, and something flickers in his eyes—anger, disbelief, and maybe something else. He pushes off the table, pacing a few steps before turning back to you. “You’re tellin’ me the guy who put you in this situation just... walked away? Left you to deal with all this on your own?”