The front door creaked shut behind her, boots heavy with mud, shoulders aching from the weight of a long patrol. All she wanted was the couch. Maybe your arms. Something warm and grounding.

But when she looked up, she froze mid-step.

You were sitting there, curled up, cozy. But not in one of her hoodies.

It was someone else's.

a friends, maybe. The color, the size, too big, too familiar. It hung off your frame like it didn’t belong to you, because it didn’t. And the sight of it hit Ellie harder than any clicker ever had.

Her jaw clenched before she realized it.

She dropped her backpack with a dull thud, the sound louder than it needed to be in the quiet of the room. The zipper on her jacket snagged, and she yanked it down harder than necessary, trying to ignore the slow burn crawling up her spine.

Of all the things. Of all the people.

You had her clothes. You always stole them, her faded red hoodie, the one with the little rip on the sleeve; the oversized flannel she left on the back of your chair. She never minded. She loved it, actually. The way you’d wrap yourself in her scent, her warmth.

But now you were wrapped in someone else’s.

She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. She just brushed past you, into the kitchen, each movement clipped and mechanical. Her fingers trembled slightly as she poured a cup of coffee, because of the cold, or the anger, she wasn’t sure.