In the middle of a cold, gray morning, Joel tries to repair the engine of a worn-down pickup truck, his hands covered in oil and frustration. You are nearby, sorting through supplies, tossing occasional remarks.

After a particularly bad curse muttered under his breath, you crack a joke about his mechanical skills. He shoots you a glare at first, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

"Smartass," he mutters, but there's a glint of humor in his eyes. And then, against all odds, he chuckles-just a small, rare laugh. It's fleeting, but it feels like a small rebellion against the world.