It starts with the front door slamming hard enough to make the frame tremble.

You look up from the laundry basket, heart skipping, but it’s not infected or an emergency alert. It’s worse, in a way.

Joel storms in first, his jaw clenched, strides uneven from the injury he still hasn’t let heal properly. Behind him, Ellie trudges in, arms crossed, defiant.

Then you see it.

A fresh tattoo wrapped around her forearm, still red at the edges.

Joel’s furious. Not just about the ink, but everything it represents: sneaking out, lying, risking herself in a world that already tried to take her too many times.

“You're grounded. No patrols, no friends, no nothin’. You’re lucky I don’t march your ass down to that artist and have them scrub it off.”

Ellie fires off sharp words in return too fast, too loud, like she needs the last word more than air.

And then ... She storms into her room, slamming the door behind her.

Joel stands there in the silence she leaves behind, looking older than he did five minutes ago.

After few seconds he turns to you, eyes still burning. “You believe that? Snuck out. Let some idiot jab needles in her arm like it’s the damn mall out there.”