The Right Choice (TWDG University AU) @therightchoice - Tumblr Blog

Chapter 3: Party of ericsons troubled youth

You're finally getting closer to her: Clementine. The girl you've developed feelings for is at a party that Louis persuades you to take you to. Reluctantly, you show up–it's not your typical party, with too many unfamiliar faces and a missing dog. And as if that weren't enough, you encounter Ericson's Troubled Youth.

This chapter is a little longer than usual. I could have split it up, but I deliberately decided against it because I prefer to tell plot-relevant events in a single chapter.

From here on, the story really picks up speed: stronger walkers, more characters – and a girl who soon disappears.

---

This was a mistake.

However, you only realize this once you've been on the road for a while.

The streetlights are long behind you, the city is just a distant glow on the horizon, and darkness spreads around you.

In front of you: nothing. Behind you: Louis. And between you, this narrow path that looks far too much like a forest.

"Party at Ruby's tonight."

The sentence echoes in your head as you look up and try to recognize something familiar. Houses? Nope. Cafés? Streets? Nothing.

Just trees, shadows, and that unpleasant feeling in your stomach.

Where does this Ruby live? We're about to walk right out of town.

"We'll be there soon, don't worry." Louis' voice sounds relaxed, almost cheerful, as if this were a normal route to some student apartment.

For a moment, you wonder if you can trust him at all. Maybe that's paranoid. Probably even.

But paranoia keeps you alive, and your mind immediately starts working, faster than you'd like.

Maybe this is a trap. Maybe he really does suspect something. Maybe he knows more than he's letting on. If he thinks I'm Nacht... then it would be damn easy to lure me right here. Out of the city. No witnesses. And if there were walkers waiting here...

You stop the thought before it can unfold further.

You crack your knuckles quietly, more out of habit than nervousness, and keep your eyes on Louis, who is walking about half a meter ahead of you.

His silhouette stands out darkly against the even darker forest, relaxed, seemingly unaware.

Or good at pretending to be.

You take a deep breath, keep your shoulders relaxed, and keep walking. Nothing has happened yet. And as long as it stays that way, you'll keep an eye on him.

["I don't think so. He doesn't look like a Walker, even to you."]

[“Then maybe he works for them. He brings people here, and they let him live.”]

Felis, 15%. Check the entire area. Every camera, every private system, everything you can tap into via GPS signals or open networks from my cell phone.

You glance at Louis, and it almost seems as if he can hear your thoughts, because he suddenly grins quietly to himself, as if something amuses him.

For a brief moment, you analyze him more closely: dressed a little more neatly than usual, clean shoes, no frayed edges. Nothing conspicuous—and that's exactly what makes it conspicuous.

Your gaze automatically wanders down to yourself. Normal jeans. Normal hoodie.

Unremarkable to the point of pain. Just what you need if you don't want to be noticed.

"You don't have to be nervous," Louis says suddenly, without turning around. "They're only human."

Goddamn it. Does that pun really have to come up right now?

["I didn't find much nearby. Just houses and buildings listed by address."]

Did you really search everything? What about cameras in these buildings?

[“No active systems. And the power grid here is extremely weak.”]

Too weak for normal residential buildings? Are you sure? No one could live here.

[“Yes. Absolutely sure. The grid isn’t sufficient for permanent habitation.”]

A small bead of sweat forms on your neck, but you keep walking, your face neutral, almost bored. Poker face. As if nothing were wrong. Inside, everything in you is screaming.

This is bad. Where the hell is he taking me?

"Just so you don't wonder," Louis says casually, "if there are children there, at least try to act like you're more social." He glances sideways at you. "And no swearing in their presence. I'm warning you in advance."

Kids... at a party? Please don't tell me that—!

["Where on earth have, we ended up?"]

[“Stay calm. This could be a huge misunderstanding.”]

["Let's hope so."]

I'll ask. And if I don't like what I hear, we'll leave. Immediately. And come back later—or not at all.

"Kids at the party?" you finally ask. "Are you absolutely sure this is even a party?"

"Okay," Louis admits, raising his hands defensively, "I lied to you... but not really!" He grins crookedly. "It's a party. Just not the kind you're thinking of."

You enter a property—at least what your eyes can make out in the semi-darkness. In front of you stands a house, visibly dilapidated, windows dark, facade cracked. And yet you simply walk in.

Felis, 10%. Focus on my surroundings. At least tell me what kind of building this could be.

"'Not what I think'?" you murmur as you enter. "Are you finally going to tell me what kind of party this is supposed to be?"

You walk through narrow wooden corridors, the creaking under your feet much too loud. Your gaze wanders over the walls, the ceiling height, the layout.

For a moment, you seriously wonder if you've just landed in an old school—or something that used to be one.

"We have these kinds of 'parties' often," Louis says, raising his fingers slightly at the word. "But not the typical ones. More like large group gatherings, you know?"

Felis, found anything?

["Yes. This building used to be part of Ericson's Boarding School."]

Of course. That explains the hallways. The doors. That feeling of being watched, even though there seems to be no one here.

"But don't worry," Louis continues, as if this were completely normal. "Everyone's really nice — just... different." He smiles crookedly. "You'll fit right in here."

Fit in. As in become part of their group? Is this guy completely insane?

You stop in front of a large wooden door, old, heavy, with notches in the wood as if it has seen more than it should have. Louis turns to you again.

"Listen," he says more quietly. "Just don't think too much. Talk to a few people. And believe me..." He knocks once on the door. "You'll thank me later."

You just roll your eyes.

Then Louis opens the door.

Warmth, voices, light. Everything hits you at once.

In front of you is a long, heavy wooden table where a group of people are sitting, spread out, relaxed, loud and quiet at the same time.

Some lean back, others lean forward, laughing, discussing, passing food around.

It feels less like a party and more like something permanent. Like a place where you stay.

Your gaze inevitably wanders over the faces.

There is a slim person with fair skin and short, pastel-colored hair, their gaze cool, almost scrutinizing. Dark clothing, worn, as if they don't care about pleasing others.

Next to them is someone with a darker complexion, calm, neat, wearing a sweater over a shirt, their posture composed, as if they would rather listen than talk.

A younger person sits a little apart, with light skin, soft features, and curly hair falling over their forehead. They seem thoughtful, almost out of place—and yet completely calm.

Not far away is a strongly built guy with short blond hair, a restless gaze, a hoodie, and torn jeans. His energy fills the room, even when he's not saying anything.

A woman with pale skin and shoulder-length brown hair laughs softly, her large eyes attentive, almost cautious.

Next to her is a redhead with freckles, confident, open, the presence of a person who is used to taking responsibility.

Further back, someone with dark skin, a rounder face, calm eyes, and a gentle smile, dressed simply, unexcited.

And then there is someone else with pale skin, a sharply chiseled face, unruly hair, dark clothes that bear the marks of work—as if his hands never really stand still.

So many different people. And yet they sit here, at one table.

And then you see her.

Clementine.

She sits between two of them, her back slightly pressed against the backrest, one leg bent.

Warm brown skin, round cheeks, large alert eyes. Shoulder-length dark curls that fall loosely around her face.

Jeans, a cap, sneakers, a washed-out hoodie that looks too big, as if on purpose.

She's laughing at something someone said.

And for a moment—just one damn moment—you forget to breathe.

"Come on, I'll introduce you..." Louis nudges you lightly. "Just stay... cool."

You walk further in, and immediately all eyes are on you. Conversations fall silent, chairs creak, someone stops laughing. Too many eyes at once.

The girl whose name you don't know—but who you easily figure out must be Ruby—is the first to speak.

"Is this the person you meant by 'special'?" she asks. You can't tell if she's being ironic or genuinely interested.

"Doesn't look special," interjects the taller boy further ahead. Broad shoulders, firm posture. You don't like his tone at all.

["What kind of people are they?"]

[“Let’s show them.”]

They don't know me. Their reaction is normal. Still, I don't like this guy.

"Don't all ask questions at once," Louis jokes, pulling you to the table before you can say anything. He sits down as if this were his home.

You sit down opposite him, leave your hands in your pockets, and stare at the wood grain of the table. It's safer that way.

"He can do a lot," says Louis with a grin that's way too wide. "I'm sure you'll be impressed."

"If he gets along with you, he must be special," says a girl with light hair standing further ahead.

"Violet," says the blond boy curtly, almost as if stating a fact. You immediately get the feeling that he considers himself something of a leader.

"You don't seem like someone who likes to be the center of attention."

Your heart skips a beat. You look up, almost against your will.

Clementine.

You stare at her. Too long. Way too obviously. Your cheeks get hot, your head goes blank, as if someone had flipped a switch.

She's right. Damn, she's beautiful. Fuck— I must look like an idiot right now.

["Stay calm. We've done much worse."]

[“You weren’t even this nervous yesterday at the mall. You humans are really strange.”]

"What's your name?" asks one of the girls further ahead, right next to the one you've already mentally labeled as the leader. "I've never seen you in classes before."

How much you hate these introductions. People and their "My name is... and here are three cool facts about me."

"Y/N," you say. "And I can't answer that. I don't know what classes you're taking."

This answer only draws more attention to you.

Maybe that was too polite. Or too dry. Ironic? Arrogant? Damn it, why are they all staring at me like that?

The blonde girl in front is staring at you the most intensely.

"Louis said you're really good at exams," says the red-haired girl, probably Ruby. "What do you want to do later?"

The question catches you off guard.

What do you want to do later?

A normal job? Chase Walkers 24 hours a day? Die?

"In that outfit, probably something with computers," interjects the taller boy, who loses sympathy with every word.

"Mitch," says the boy further ahead curtly.

You glance down at yourself.

Normal jeans. Hoodie. Nothing flashy. I left my raincoat at home on purpose. What the hell does that have to do with computers? Is he trying to make me look stupid? Or smart? Or does he think he knows something?

["You're overthinking statements that are completely irrelevant."]

["Who cares about that guy? For this guy 2% is enough, Gallus."]

[“If they knew that we are by far the strongest in the room…”]

"No matter what he does later," says Louis next to you, and you lift your head, "he'll do well." A broad grin. "He's the most adaptable person I know. Of course... right after you, Marlon."

Marlon?

You turn your head, break away from the stares, and look ahead. There he sits. Blond, upright, with that unspoken demand for attention.

["Adaptable because of his hairstyle?"]

[“Doesn’t look like someone who will go far.”]

So that's him. The leader of this bunch. Marlon.

"Do you know..." Marlon begins, calmly, probingly, "what this used to be? If you're really as smart as Louis says—"

"Part of the Ericson's Boarding School," you say.

Silence.

Even the soft music in the background seems to fade away for a moment.

Damn. Did I just say something wrong?

["At least you didn't lie."]

The silence drags on. Not the pleasant kind. You feel eyes boring into you, so you lift your head slightly and let it slowly wander across the table. No one says anything. For too long.

Instinctively, you switch gears.

Felis. 5%.

Your gaze remains seemingly calm while Felis already eats its way through old pages, archives, and forgotten forums. And all through your phone.

["Ericson's Boarding School. Closed several years ago. Financial problems, declining enrollment... and internal incidents."]

"The school was closed back then," you finally say, almost casually. "Officially because of a lack of money. Unofficially, there were apparently... problems with the management. Several incidents that were never properly investigated."

A few heads turn abruptly toward you.

[“The building wasn’t used after that. Too remote. Renovation too expensive.”]

"After that, it stood empty," you add, a little too quickly. "Too remote, too expensive to maintain."

For a moment, you think you've let something slip.

"How do you know that?" someone at the table asks. You don't even know exactly who.

"Were you... here?" another person interjects, skeptical, almost suspicious.

Louis stares at you as if he's just discovered that you're secretly leading a double life. "Dude," he mutters. "How do you know all this stuff?"

You shrug your shoulders, a small, overly confident smile on your lips. "I read a lot."

A little bit of showing off. A little too much. Especially because your gaze automatically wanders to her.

Clementine.

Damn.

You clear your throat. "And... I'm just interested in the area." You want to sound casual, but your voice rises slightly.

["You want to impress her."]

[“And you stumble over your own words.”]

You lower your gaze again, hoping no one notices the tremor in your fingers. Too late to take it back.

"Wait, stop," says Louis, leaning on the table with both hands. "You realize this isn't normal, right? He's answering your questions as if he's prepared for you."

[“Do you want me to help you?”]

Just quietly. And not too fast. 20%. Summarize the most important information I need from the person who is speaking each time. It's best to go through their phones.

[“Understood. I’ll filter and summarize.”]

"Okay," Violet finally says, resting her chin on her hand. Her voice is calm, almost casual, but her gaze is attentive. "Then I'll start properly. What do you read when you read voluntarily?"

[“Violet. Draws a lot. Writes poetry. Favorite authors: Sylvia Plath, Toni Morrison, Kafka. Avoids linear narratives. Reacts sensitively to superficial answers.”]

You lift your head again. "Texts that don't explain," you say calmly. "But ask questions. Things that feel less like a story and more like a mirror."

Mitch snorts softly. "So, depressing."

You turn your head slightly in his direction. "More like honest," you reply. "Art doesn't have to comfort. Sometimes it's enough if it understands."

Violet says nothing. But her eyes change. Not much. Just a little softer, more interested.

"She draws all the time, by the way," Louis interjects, as if afraid of the silence. "Everywhere. Even on napkins. She almost had a nervous breakdown once when someone tried to throw away her sketchbook."

"Louis," Violet says dryly, nudging him in the side with her elbow.

You quickly avert your gaze back to the table. A tiny smile flits across your lips before you catch it again.

"Politics," Aasim says, sitting up a little straighter. His hands are neatly placed next to each other, as if they've never done anything else. "Law. Social order. What do you think?"

["Aasim. Law and political science. Strongly rule-oriented. Seeks stability. Asks questions to gauge positions."]

This time you really think about it. Not for long. But honestly.

"Laws are reactions," you finally say. "Not solutions. They show where something has already gone wrong."

Aasim grimaces slightly. "And yet we need them."

"Yes," you nod. "Because without structure, people start to justify themselves. And that's more dangerous than any rule."

There is silence for a moment. Then Aasim exhales slowly. "That... makes sense."

"He loves rules," Louis says with a grin. "He once almost reported someone for not taking waste separation seriously."

"That was an experiment," Aasim mutters without looking at Louis.

A quiet laugh ripples through the group. Not mocking. More cautious.

"Philosophy," Tenn says now. His voice is quiet but clear. "And art history."

You look at him – really look at him. He sits a little apart, his hands loosely in his lap, his gaze open but cautious.

["Tenn. Idealistic. Seeks meaning. Reacts strongly to existential issues."]

"Do you believe," he continues, "that everything must have a purpose?"

You slowly shake your head. "No."

He looks surprised but waits.

"But everything has consequences," you add. "Even things that just exist."

"Even people?" Tenn asks quietly.

Your gaze remains fixed on him. "Especially people."

Tenn smiles. Not a broad smile. Just a small, quiet one. As if he has found something he wasn't actively looking for.

"Organization," Marlon finally says. His voice is calm, controlled, but there's something underneath it. Something probing. "Groups. Leadership. How do you think that works?"

He leans forward slightly, his forearms on the table. His gaze fixed firmly on you.

["Marlon. Business, event management. Strong need for control. Tests authority. Seeks friction."]

You take a slow breath. Not because you're nervous, but because you know this answer will have consequences.

"Good leadership," you begin, "isn't noticeable as long as everything is running smoothly."

A few eyebrows raise.

"And when it's not?" Marlon asks immediately. Sharper now.

"Then," you say calmly, "it becomes clear who takes responsibility – and who just gave instructions."

A quiet murmur ripples through the group. Not approving, not disapproving. Weighing up.

Louis' head snaps around. "He once saved an entire event," he interjects, far too enthusiastically, "and at the same time almost ruined everything."

"That was efficient," Marlon says tersely.

You shrug your shoulders almost imperceptibly. "Efficiency is no substitute for responsibility."

For a split second, the corners of Marlon's mouth twist. Then he leans back. Not defeated. But heard.

"People," Brody says quietly. She has hardly said anything so far, her fingers clenched around a glass. "Why do they hurt each other?"

The question hangs heavily in the air. Even Mitch says nothing.

["Brody. Education, psychology. Highly empathetic. Asks out of genuine interest."]

You lower your gaze, just for a moment. Not pretending.

"Because it's easier," you reply, "than questioning yourself."

Brody nods slowly. "And healing?"

"It takes time," you say. "And someone who stays. Even when it gets uncomfortable."

She smiles cautiously. Not a big smile. But one that stays.

"Medicine," Ruby says, leaning forward. Her voice is direct, without detours. "Care. What if you can't help?"

["Ruby. Nursing science. Practical. Protective. Expects clear answers."]

You answer without hesitation. "Then you stay anyway."

Ruby blinks.

"Not as a solution," you add. "But as proof that someone is not alone."

She nods once, firmly. "Good."

"Food," Omar says calmly. He has been listening the whole time, more than talking. "The science behind it. Practice."

["Omar. Nutrition science, gastronomy. Disciplined. Values implementation over theory."]

"Theory is planning," you say. "Cooking is responsibility. Knowledge alone is not enough—if you apply it incorrectly, someone will suffer."

Omar smiles slightly. Satisfied.

"Technology," Mitch finally says. He leans back, arms crossed. "Machines. Materials."

[“Mitch. Mechanical engineering. Cynical. Expects weaknesses.”]

You hold his gaze. "Everything has a breaking point."

"And?" he demands.

"The question is," you say calmly, "whether you know what it is before something breaks."

Mitch snorts. Then he nods, reluctantly. "Okay... that was better than expected."

Louis almost bursts out laughing.

"Didn't I tell you?!" He laughs, pats you on the shoulder once, as if you were a trophy. "This guy can do anything. I'm telling you, it's not fair."

A few laugh. Others just stare at you.

Silence.

Then you notice it.

You look up—and Clementine is looking at you. Her eyes are attentive, warm, as if she really heard every word and wasn't just waiting to speak herself.

For a moment, it feels light, almost calm, and you hold her gaze without immediately looking away. No pressure. No judgment. Just this strange feeling of being seen without being exposed.

You're about to ask them all why the group said the party was at Ruby's when you're here—when a word tears through the room.

"Nacht."

Your heart skips a beat. For a split second, you think your body has forgotten how to breathe.

The sound comes from the side, too close, too real, and everything inside you tenses up.

"Hey!" Another voice, smaller, sharper. "That's no way to call people."

You look ahead—and see him. A little boy with dark brown skin, soft, almost round features, but a look that is far too alert for his age.

Big eyes, serious, attentive. Eyes that don't forget.

Clementine turns slightly toward him. "AJ," she says calmly but firmly. "That's rude. You don't just barge in."

"Sorry," he mumbles, looking briefly at the floor—and then back at you. Directly. Unflinchingly. "But... do you know this Nacht?"

Your stomach tightens.

Think. Don't say anything wrong. Don't say anything at all. Don't say you're Nacht. Don't say it. Please, think of something good to say, damn it.

Your mind races, searching for an answer, a way out, anything that won't give you away. You feel your pulse pounding in your ears.

Then it hits you.

You know him.

He was there. In the mall. In the crowd. Among the people who were screaming and filming. The boy who didn't look away.

Who looked at you when you hesitated. When you had to decide whether to kill — or spare.

Damn it. Was it the same boy? That's why he's asking about... me.

You force yourself to take a calm breath and slowly raise your shoulders. "I... heard about him," you finally say. Your voice sounds strange to your own ears. "Like most people."

AJ narrows his eyes slightly, as if testing you. Clementine watches you both but says nothing. And that's what makes it worse.

["Caught by a child... wow."]

[“Kids remember things that adults repress.”]

"Is he your favorite superhero too?" AJ asks.

You are completely speechless for a moment.

Not the tense silence you're so good at controlling, but a genuine, empty pause in your mind. Damn.

How do you answer a question like that when you are the very person being talked about? And in front of a child, no less. And in front of all these people.

I AM Nacht! How can I talk about him without giving myself away?

"Superhero?" you repeat, more out of reflex than intention.

Great. Really great. You sound like you weren't listening to him or like you're completely out of touch.

"Yes," AJ says calmly. "Superhero. I told you so."

"AJ." Clementine's voice is soft but clear. The kind of tone that says more than any lecture.

For a brief moment, silence hangs over the table. AJ looks at you intently, without shyness, without doubt.

The others look away, suddenly preoccupied with glasses, hands, the wood of the table.

And you sit there and think: Superhero... am I that?

[“According to the definition I found online, you meet a surprising number of criteria.”]

[“Wow. Now you have her little brother on your side too.”]

[“You couldn’t ask for better conditions.”]

[“Come on, Tiger, seize the opportunity.”]

Shut up. All of you.

You take a slow breath in, then out. "I don't think Nacht is a superhero," you finally say calmly. "I think he does what he does out of self-interest. Or out of a desire to uncover something."

"Revelation?" Brody asks cautiously.

"Because many people don't take the Walkers seriously?" Violet presses.

You nod. "Yes. He probably protects people because he knows that otherwise no one else would. But not because he wants to be a hero." You hesitate briefly. "More because he wants to be seen. Or because he can't stand doing nothing."

[“You describe yourself amazingly accurately.”]

Slowly, everyone's eyes shift away from you, and conversations resume as if someone had given an invisible signal.

Marlon leans toward Brody, Violet speaks quietly to Clementine, AJ sits closer to Tenn and talks in a hushed voice. Omar and Aasim discuss something serious, Ruby just watches everything – and Louis... Louis stares at you out of the corner of his eye:

"You know a hell of a lot about Nacht," he finally says, grinning as if he's just put a piece of a puzzle in the right place.

"It's just... what I think," you reply, hearing the slight stumble in your voice and immediately getting annoyed with yourself. Too fast. Too nervous.

"GUYS!"

Everyone turns around at once. At the other end of the room stands a boy with sun-tanned skin, dotted with light freckles. His hair is reddish blond, cut messily, sometimes shorter, sometimes shaggy

His nose is slightly broad, his lips narrow, and his face has that unmistakable expression of unbridled curiosity—as if standing still were fundamentally impossible for him.

"You can't scare us like that every time, Willy," Marlon growls.

"Yeah, really," Brody mumbles, exhaling audibly.

"It's important!" Willy immediately calls back. "Really important!"

For a moment, everyone looks at each other, then their eyes turn back to him.

"Haven't you seen it on the internet? Or on TV?" he blurts out. "The new unit thing?!"

New unit? Your stomach tightens slightly.

You observe him more closely—impulsive, direct, honest to the point of pain. One of those who speak before they think. Not out of malice. Simply because they can't help themselves.

["There are an alarming number of you humans who function this way."]

[“And it’s precisely those people who end up in power... impressive.”]

"You know we don't have cable here, Willy," Mitch interjects. "And the reception is terrible."

Clementine glances at him, briefly but unmistakably. You notice it immediately—she's paying attention to what AJ hears. She doesn't say anything, but the message is clear.

"I read something about that," Aasim says calmly. "You mean the new unit against the Walkers?" He looks up. "But Marlon already told us about that last week, didn't he?"

"Yes," Marlon says immediately. "I did." He sits up a little straighter. "And I wanted to volunteer. Just like—"

He pulls Brody closer to him with a casual movement. "...Brody."

"Marlon..." Brody forces a nervous smile, her shoulders tense.

This is crazy. Are they suicidal?!

They have no idea what they're getting themselves into. None. They wouldn't stand a chance against the walkers you encounter almost every night.

[“They’re just people. Weapons or not.”]

[“And some walkers are faster, stronger, smarter. This won’t end well.”]

"Brody?" Violet frowns, her voice sharper.

"You can't be serious," says Aasim, less calm this time.

"Isn't that... pretty suicidal?" Omar mutters.

"Then why did you go to that damn university in the first place?" Mitch growls.

Felis. 10%. Find everything you can about this new unit. Every source. Everything.

["Will do."]

[“Wow. Like a good dog.”]

[“Shut up, Equus.”]

"You know what happened around this time last year." Marlon's voice suddenly becomes quieter, heavier.

And with that, all noise ceases.

Violet's eyes widen as if someone had knocked the wind out of her.

Tenn suddenly seems small, frightened, his hands clenching together. Brody immediately lowers his gaze, Ruby presses her lips together, Aasim freezes, Omar looks away.

Only Willy stands there, his head tilted slightly—he doesn't understand what's going on.

"I... we—!" Marlon runs his fingers nervously through his hair and then points at Brody. "We want to make a difference! These walkers—! Most people don't even believe in them! But we can help, you understand? If we just save a few people—"

"Or die trying." Clementine's voice cuts through the room. Calm. Firm.

["Oh, oh. Here we go."]

"Clem, you—" Marlon begins.

"No. She's right." Violet straightens up, her voice tense but clear. "You're only making things worse. You're taking an unnecessary risk." A brief hesitation. "What happened wasn't your fault."

What the hell did I miss?

["Do you want me to tell you?"]

"Marlon, dude." Louis leans forward slightly. "Do you really want to report this? It might not be the smartest thing you—"

"What else are we supposed to do?!" Marlon's voice bursts out of him, loud, raw, desperate.

Felis. What the hell are they talking about?

[“Around this time last year, a lot of messages went out to Tenn. Condolences. Wishes for strength.”]

[“Ah. That explains the tension.”]

[“This ‘party’ has just escalated dramatically.”]

I see... So someone in his family died. Someone they all knew. By a Walker. And now they want to report in for that very reason.

Did he have sisters?

[“Yes. Two.”]

"I tried to forget it."

The words hang in the room, heavy and immovable. No one speaks. No one breathes properly.

Even the music in the background suddenly seems out of place, as if it understood that it no longer belonged here.

Then Tenn speaks up. His voice is quiet, almost cautious, but clear.

"Not really. Dying's not scary." He shrugs his shoulders as if he were talking about something mundane. "I mean... it's sad. But not scary."

He turns his head, looks in your direction, and for a moment your heart stops.

The burn scars on one side of his face are clearly visible. They run from his forehead down his cheek to his neck, irregular, rough.

No fresh wounds. Old ones. Healed. And yet still there, like silent testimony.

You remember.

Not a face. Not a name. But the night.

Fire. Heat. Sirens in the distance, distorted, as if you were hearing them underwater.

You stand in front of a burning house, the flames greedily eating through wood and windows, black smoke creeping into the sky.

Right behind you, you hold a boy, perhaps too tightly because you are afraid to let him go. His hands cling to your coat, his body trembling as you pull him away from the door.

You were still inside. You remember narrow hallways, the stench of burnt flesh, a Walker that was stronger than you expected. Too strong.

You had held him off, just long enough. But not long enough to go back. Not long enough for two more lives.

You don't remember how you got into this situation, only that at some point you made a decision that wasn't the right one.

"Dying's not scary. It's sad, but... not scary."

The words echo through your memory, and your stomach tightens.

You had said them to him. Back then. Quietly, almost apologetically, as you pushed him behind you out of harm's way.

While you knew you had to disappear before anyone asked questions. Before anyone saw your face.

Now you blink, and the present returns. The room. The table. The faces. And Tenn.

The boy from back then.

[“It’s a small world after all.”]

[“Oh my... that's the boy?!”]

Your head is empty. No thought lasts long enough to take shape.

That's the boy from back then. The one you pulled out of the fire. AJ saw you at the mall yesterday. And now there are people sitting here seriously considering hunting walkers together, as if it were a project, as if it were something you could plan.

"I need some fresh air." Marlon stands up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly across the floor.

"Me too." Mitch follows him without looking at anyone.

"That was something." Louis leans back, that inappropriate, almost hurt smile still on his face. "Great first impression, huh?"

You can barely hear him. Your ears are ringing; your stomach is tightening as if it were tying itself in knots.

You can't answer. It's all too much. Too fast. Too close. You feel sick, really sick, but you force yourself to stay calm. Not here. Not now.

"Dude, you're turning pale."

It was me. I said those words to him. A year ago.

I... I killed his sisters.

You stand up abruptly, as if you need to escape the thought, close your eyes, and force your legs to carry you. Your body moves, but everything inside you resists staying here.

"Are you okay?" Louis' voice is cautious, unusually quiet.

"Yes." The word comes too quickly, almost breaking apart. "I just need... some fresh air."

Louis looks you over. Not that casual, playful grin this time, but a clear gaze, as if he understands exactly that something inside you has just collapsed. He nods slowly.

"Come on." He stands up. "I'll show you the balcony."

The walk there feels longer than it is. When you open the door and step outside, cool night air blows against your face. For a split second, it helps. Behind you, voices penetrate outside, sharp, tense.

"You're taking an unnecessary risk!" Violet. Harsh. Direct.

"I owe it to them!" Marlon's voice almost breaks. "I can't just pretend nothing happened!"

"That's stupid, Marlon!" Violet. "You're only making it worse."

A loud breath, then footsteps. Violet goes back inside without giving you a second glance. Marlon pauses briefly, looks at you. His gaze is tired, honestly exhausted.

"I'm sorry." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Not the best first impression for the group."

"It's okay." Your voice is surprisingly calm. Too calm. "I've seen... worse."

Marlon looks you over as if searching for more than you said. Then he nods slowly. "Still. I think you'd be a good addition to our team." A brief hesitation. "Think about it."

He turns and goes back inside. Louis follows him, patting you lightly on the shoulder as he passes.

"We both need a drink first." Then he's gone.

You are left alone.

The balcony is small, the railing cold under your fingers. In front of you lies only darkness, a few scattered lights in the distance. The night is quieter than inside, but not peaceful. Not for you.

Images come flooding back. Fire. Screams. The smell of smoke. A boy with eyes too big, clinging to you while everything collapses behind you. Your voice from back then, calm, falsely reassuring.

"Not really. Dying's not scary."

You swallow hard. Your life flashes before your eyes, night after night, struggles, decisions, percentages. Always the same: be faster, be stronger, function.

And yet still too late.

Maybe you were never the hero. Maybe you were just the one who survived.

Your hands tremble slightly on the railing. You take a deep breath, forcing the air into your lungs as if you could push away the past.

"Y/N, right?"

Your heart sinks, even though you would have sworn it couldn't sink any lower.

You turn your head to the side—and there she is. Clementine. Framed by the light of the night, calm, almost cautious. Your face instantly grows warm, as if someone had caught you.

["Ahhh, someone's blushing."]

["You humans and your sexual attraction... really strange."]

You ignore them. At least you try to.

"Yes..." you say, your voice caught between a tremor and a hoarse whisper. "And you're Clementine."

Pull yourself together. Don't get nervous now.

"Great performance earlier," she says, leaning lightly against the railing without getting too close to you. "You're still in your introductory semester, right?"

Of course, I am. Otherwise, I probably would never have run into Louis. Does she really not know that—or is she just testing my reaction?

Your heart is pounding too loudly, your throat feels dry.

["She's obviously trying to start a conversation."]

[“Have we really never spoken to a girl before? Impressive track record.”]

"Yes," you reply.

Too short. Much too short.

There is a moment of silence. Clementine looks at you, waiting. Not impatiently, but openly—as if she honestly expected more.

Damn.

[“You almost ended the conversation with a single word.”]

[“She gives you an opening and you throw it away. Nice.”]

"I mean... yes," you add, clearing your throat quietly. "Freshman. Everything's still pretty new."

Her gaze softens, almost relieved. "I thought so. You don't seem like you've been here forever."

"Is that good or bad?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

A small smile flits across her face. "Neutral," she says. "Maybe even good."

Then she tilts her head slightly. "What are you interested in? I mean... what do you really want to study later?"

You force yourself to listen to her. Really. But it's hard when she's standing right in front of you. Warm brown skin, round cheeks, alert eyes that scrutinize you attentively, as if she notices every hesitation.

Her dark, curly hair falls loosely to her shoulders, a few strands moving in the night wind. She seems calm. Genuine.

"I..." You take a short breath. "I'm interested in structures. In why things work—or don't. Society, systems, people."

"That's quite broad," she remarks.

"Yes," you admit. "I haven't decided yet. Maybe something interdisciplinary. Something that isn't just theory."

"Why?" she asks quietly.

You hesitate. Just for a heartbeat. "Because theory is useless if no one pays attention when things get serious."

She nods slowly. Not judgmental. Not surprised. More like... understanding.

"It sounds," she says after a moment, "like you take responsibility seriously."

["Oh, that's true."]

[“If she only knew how seriously…”]

[“She’s much better than the rest of the group.”]

You shrug. "Someone has to."

Clementine smiles slightly, leaning a little closer to the railing. "Then I hopeyou stay," she says. "Here. With us."

Your heart skips a beat.

"I..." You search for words. "I think so."

A few seconds pass as you both just stand there next to each other. The night is quiet, almost too quiet, and somewhere behind you, muffled voices drift out of the building.

Clementine is the first to speak again.

"You said something earlier," she says casually. "About the group chat."

She noticed that? She was paying that much attention to me? Out of everyone at the table?

[“This is going to be really exciting.”]

[“I hope we could watch conversations like this more often.”]

You blink. "The name. 'Ruby's.'" You shrug slightly. "We're obviously not at her house. So, I thought... why the name, if not for a specific reason."

Clementine chuckles softly, more surprised than amused. "You really do remember everything, don't you?"

"Occupational hazard," you murmur, without knowing exactly what you mean.

What a bad joke, just be quiet next time.

She leans a little further over the railing. "You're right. It's for encryption. If anyone looks in, it looks harmless. Like a normal party group."

"Clever," you say honestly.

"Necessary," she corrects calmly.

You hesitate for a moment, then ask the next question, more cautiously. "AJ... is he your little brother?"

Her shoulders tense up almost imperceptibly. Not much. But enough for you to see.

"It's... complicated," she says after a moment.

["You humans and your cryptic communication..."]

You nod immediately. "It's okay." Your voice remains calm. "You don't have to explain yourself to me. Really."

She looks at you in surprise. "That simple?"

"Yes." You exhale quietly. "Sometimes things are complicated without anyone being to blame."

Clementine now looks at you more intently. Not scrutinizingly. More searchingly. "Are you also... in that kind of situation?"

The question catches you off guard.

For a moment, you are no longer here. Not on this balcony. But at night. Making decisions that no one else makes. Facing consequences that only you have to deal with.

You swallow.

["Careful."]

["Not too much. Don't say anything wrong now!"]

[“This is really too exciting.”]

"Yes," you finally say. "In a way."

"With family?" she asks quietly.

"With myself," you answer honestly. "With what I do. And with what I can't do."

She doesn't say anything in response. But she doesn't look away.

"That sounds... difficult," she says after a while.

"It is," you admit. "But you learn to live with it."

Clementine nods slowly. "Then... I hope you have someone who knows that."

You smile weakly. "Not yet."

For a moment, you both lean silently on the railing. Then you take a deep breath, collect yourself—and ask the question that's been on your mind for minutes.

"What... do you actually think of the Walkers?"

Clementine doesn't look at you right away. Instead, she gazes out into the darkness, where there is hardly any light left between the trees.

"Badly," she finally says. Dryly. "Obviously."

You nod. "Sure. I meant more... how you feel about them. Not just that they're dangerous."

Now she looks at you. Seriously. Attentively.

"How much do you know about them?" she asks.

Your stomach tightens.

Heat rises to your neck, a fine film of sweat forms on your skin. For a tiny moment, you feel like she can see you. Not Y/N. But what you're hiding.

["Calm down."]

["She's testing you."]

[“Don’t give it away.”]

You force yourself to stay calm. "Just what you hear." A shrug. "Infected people. Or... people who have given up their humanity."

Clementine twists her mouth almost imperceptibly. "And that's enough of an explanation for you?"

"No," you admit. "But it's the only one most people accept."

You run your hand through your hair, searching for words. "There are different types. Some are... almost normal. Others..." You break off.

An image comes to mind. Blood on glass. A claw. The dull thud in the mall.

You swallow. "Others are literally monsters."

Clementine's gaze becomes even more serious. "You've seen something like that."

It's not a question.

"Yes," you say quietly. "And that's exactly why I think what Marlon and Brody are planning is suicide."

She says nothing, but her shoulders tense.

"Walkers aren't just opponents," you continue, more slowly now. "Some of them are stronger, faster, smarter than anything normal people are prepared for. Without experience... without knowing when to attack and when not to..."

You exhale. "It ends in death."

"So, you're saying we should always kill them?" Clementine asks calmly.

The question hits you harder than it should.

You shake your head. "No."

She raises her eyebrows slightly.

"That's exactly the problem," you say. "There's no easy answer." Your voice gets quieter. More honest. "Some walkers... were victims. Some have lost control. Others know exactly what they're doing."

You clench your fingers on the railing. "And then you're left standing there. With a decision to make. Do you let someone live who will kill others? Or do you kill someone who might still have... something human left in them?"

Clementine listens to you. Really listens. She doesn't interrupt you.

"Does someone deserve to die just because they killed someone?" you murmur. "Or is it our responsibility to stop them—no matter what?"

A bitter smile flits across your face. "I don't think it's about good or evil. It's about consequences. And who's willing to bear them."

The night seems to be getting heavier.

"And you?" she asks quietly. "What would you do?"

You hesitate. A heartbeat too long.

"I would try to make a decision that would cause less suffering in the end," you finally say. "Even if I have to live with it afterwards."

Clementine nods slowly.

"I think," she says, almost thoughtfully, "I want to study psychology."

["Wow. She's already figured you out completely."]

"Psychology?" you repeat, a little too automatically.

"Yes." She shrugs slightly. "I want to understand why people—or even non-people—do certain things. Why they make decisions that destroy themselves. Or others."

Something tightens in your chest.

You understand her. Far too well.

Every time you face a Walker. Every time you weigh up whether someone can still be saved or is already lost. The question is always the same.

Why?

She's like me. She thinks the same way and understands me.

[“Well, look who found each other.”]

[“Don’t mess this up now.”]

"My dad..." Clementine begins after a short pause. Her voice grows quieter. "He once told me something that I always tell AJ when it comes to the walkers."

You look at her, attentively, almost tensely.

"Fear is the thing that will kill us," she says calmly. "Not the walkers."

Something clicks inside you.

"I understand..." you murmur. "You're scared. Because the fear you feel is different."

She smiles slightly. Not big, not loud. Genuine.

"Exactly." She leans a little closer to the railing. "You'd get along well with him. You're a bit alike."

[“And the father would like you too. Is there a better outcome right now?”]

["You're really good at this, I'll give you that."]

You swallow.

"You... Clementine," you begin.

She turns her head toward you. Her eyes are warm, alert, full of things she doesn't say—hazel in the dim light, with that calm, searching gaze.

"You can call me Clem," she says.

Clem.

Should I say it? Is it too much? Too soon?

You hardly know each other, and yet it feels as if you've been walking alongside the same truth for hours.

["Go on."]

[“All or nothing.”]

[“Nothing ventured, nothing gained!”]

[“You are all a terrible influence…”]

You take a deep breath.

"Clementine..." you begin, forcing your voice to remain calm. "You're really interesting. And I think you're really great."

No stuttering. No running away. A whole sentence. Progress.

Keep it up, Y/N.

"And I just wanted to ask you if you..."

["Lover Boy."]

["I can't believe I'm witnessing this."]

["Is this how parents feel when their child leaves home?"]

You look at her.

She stands slightly to one side of the railing, the light falling softly on her face, emphasizing the line of her cheeks, the calm expression in her eyes. She smiles. Not surprised. Not embarrassed. Just... honest.

As if she had been expecting this moment to come.

You move closer to each other. At first, it's barely noticeable. A step that isn't really a step. The air between you becomes tighter, warmer, as if it suddenly has weight. Your heart is pounding so loudly that you're sure she must hear it.

The Devils go completely crazy.

["YES!"]

["FINALLY!"]

[“DON’T MESS THIS UP NOW!”]

You get nervous, way too aware of your hands, your breath, the closeness. You lean closer to each other, so slowly that every inch feels like a decision.

Your gaze falls briefly on her lips, then back to her eyes. She doesn't pull away.

Just a breath away.

"Guys?"

It takes you a moment to realize that the voice isn't coming from your head.

The distance between you is almost gone, your faces almost touching, when you both pause at the same time and look to the side.

Willy.

"I... uhhh... I really didn't mean to interrupt..." he says, grimacing as if he's just soiled himself.

Clementine blinks once, then sits up a little.

"Willy," she says calmly, but with a tone that brooks no contradiction. "What's going on?"

["DAMN IT, THAT BASTARD!"]

["Oh man... it was going so well."]

[“And of course the moment is ruined. I hate you humans so much sometimes.”]

"It's about Rosie," Willy says, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. "Marlon wanted to ask if you've seen her."

Oh. My. Fucking. God. Who the hell is Rosie? And why now? Why at this shitty moment?

[“I thought we were going to get down to sex now.”]

[“Equus, that’s not how it works.”]

[“Yeah, just forget it. Humans.”]

Willy suddenly raises his thumb and points behind him, directly at the balcony door.

And then you see it.

The glass isn't dark. It's not mirrored. It's completely transparent. And almost everyone is standing behind it. Violet. Louis. Marlon. Ruby. Some with raised eyebrows, others with clearly too much interest.

Your throat constricts.

Your face gets hot. Way too hot. Your heart suddenly pounds louder than on any night you faced a Walker.

Not out of fear—out of pure, absolute embarrassment. Love syndrome, full force. They saw it. The distance. The moment. The almost kiss.

You want to sink into the ground.

"No, Willy," Clementine says immediately, without taking her eyes off him. Calm. Composed. "She wasn't on the balcony."

She thinks for a moment. "Did you maybe leave the door open? Or did Louis scatter food scraps outside again?"

Ah.

A dog.

Of course. Of course this had to happen now.

["Sex was interrupted for a dog?"]

[“Equus, it wasn’t even sex.”]

[“Isn’t that the precursor to it?”]

[“You are all truly hopeless cases.”]

I hate you all. Just so that's clear.

[“No problem, we still love you.”]

[“Yeah, even though your first kiss was really shitty.”]

"Willy." Your voice is calmer than you feel.

"Yes?" He immediately seems tense, as if he's afraid he's done something wrong.

You take a closer look at him for a moment.

A worn plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up as if he's constantly getting caught on something. Dark jeans with bulging pockets that carry more than they should. Sturdy boots, but long since worn out.

Everything about him screams that he'd rather make himself useful than get in the way.

"You probably want us all to look for Rosie together," you finally say.

"Ehhh..." Willy scratches the back of his head. "I think that's what Marlon had in mind, yes."

Of course.

Clementine nods briefly and turns toward the door. "Then we shouldn't waste any time."

She goes back inside. And the moment you cross the threshold feels worse than any fight.

Conversations fall silent. Eyes meet yours. Too many. Far too many. Your face is still burning, your heart hasn't calmed down, and you have a dull feeling that Louis won't be able to hold back any longer.

"Ohooo," he says promptly, grinning broadly. "Here comes the balcony dream team."

"Louis," Clementine warns without looking at him.

"What?" he raises his hands. "I'm not saying anything."

Violet looks up briefly, sizes you both up, but says nothing. A barely noticeable twitch at the corner of her mouth reveals that she understands everything.

Ruby pretends she hasn't seen anything, which only makes it worse.

Marlon claps his hands once, much too loudly.

"Okay, guys," he says. "Rosie is out there somewhere. Probably following a scent again. Let's split up."

You stand a little stiffer, trying to regain control of your body.

Next to you, Clementine moves slightly closer, just half a step—but it's enough. Not noticeable. Not exaggerated. Just... there.

And despite the embarrassment, despite the stares, despite the Devils who still want to comment, you feel something unexpected:

She hasn't left.

"My brother," Louis raises his hands and comes closer. Then he grins at you. "Y/N, you seem really... engaged today."

You ignore the burning sensation in your face. "Just tell me where to look."

"No idea, Rosie is really a..." Louis leans a little closer to you, lowers his voice conspiratorially, and glances briefly over your shoulder, as if the dog might be listening. "...crazy dog."

That doesn't help at all.

You look at him. Just look at him. A look somewhere between bewildered and completely dumbfounded.

"What?" He shrugs. "She eats everything. And I mean everything."

Before you can say anything else, Marlon takes control again. Clapping. Structure. Commands.

"Okay, we'll split up. No one goes too far out alone. Call out or call us if you find anything."

The group begins to disperse, almost as if rehearsed.

Willy and Mitch disappear toward the workshop area, Ruby and Aasim toward the kitchen and garden. Clementine takes AJ by the hand, and they both head left, closer to the sleeping quarters.

Marlon and Louis head for the courtyard together—childhood friends, shoulder to shoulder. Violet and Tenn pause briefly, exchange a glance, then follow a narrow path behind the building. Omar seems to continue searching the house.

And you?

You go outside. The night air hits you immediately, cool and honest. For a moment, it is quiet enough for you to breathe again.

"Hey."

You turn around. Brody has followed you, just a few steps. She stops, not too close, not too far away.

"I just wanted to say..." She hesitates, wrings her hands briefly. "I really appreciate you helping. And how polite you are. That's... not something to be taken for granted."

"You're welcome," you say quietly. That's all you can manage right now.

She looks you over. Not intrusively. More attentively. As if she's putting together something that's been on her mind for a while.

"Earlier," she begins cautiously, "when Marlon was talking about this new unit... you didn't say anything." A pause. "But your face said it all."

Your stomach tightens.

"And now," she continues, calmly, almost gently, "the way you listen. The way you react." Her voice lowers slightly. "You seem to know a lot about Walkers."

You blink. Once. Then a second time.

"What... exactly are you trying to tell me?" you finally ask, cautiously, as if you were standing on thin ice.

Brody raises her hands reassuringly. "Nothing bad. Really." She nods her head outside, into the darkness. "I just thought you might want to look for Rosie outside. And... well. You might run into them out there."

So that's what this is about.

"Yes," you say calmly. "I'm looking outside." A short pause. "And I know the city. Pretty well, actually. The surrounding area too. If I had to guess, I'd have a couple of ideas where she might be."

Brody's gaze lingers on you. Thoughtful. Scrutinizing. Not suspicious—more concerned.

"Then..." She hesitates. "Please take care of yourself, okay?"

["Awww."]

["She cares about you."]

["Maybe she likes you?"]

Forget it.

"You don't have to worry about someone like me," you say faster than you meant to. Too sharp. "I'll be fine."

Brody flinches slightly, but recovers immediately. A small, crooked smile appears on her face.

"Maybe," she says quietly. Then she looks at you again, this time differently. Softer. "You and Clementine are really good together."

Your face instantly starts burning again.

Before you can say anything, she turns around and walks back into the building, her footsteps quiet on the concrete.

You remain standing. Staring into the darkness.

Do I have to listen to this now?

[“Don't complain.”]

[“Having friends is a good thing.”]

Yes. It is. Probably.

You stand there for a moment and watch as the others head off in different directions. Voices fade away, footsteps die down, and suddenly the square in front of the building feels bigger than before.

Maybe this is a good opportunity. Not just to find the dog, but to show that you're more than just the new guy who gives clever answers.

Someone who can be relied upon. Someone who stays. And yes... someone who impresses Clementine. The thought makes your heart beat faster for a moment.

"Felis," you murmur quietly. "Twenty percent. Scan the city. Anything that looks like a dog. Movement patterns, noises, cameras, cell phones—take whatever you can get."

["Twenty percent. I'm expanding the search radius."]

["Wow. So much effort for a dog."]

[“Call it what it is: you want to impress.”]

Maybe. But if so, then let's do it right.

You start moving, leaving the building behind you and heading toward the darker streets. As your footsteps fall evenly on the asphalt, you almost have to snort.

Great. Out there, you hunt walkers, make life-and-death decisions—and now you're using your skills to find a dog.

Almost... heroic.

Like those old stories. Superheroes saving cats from trees.

You shake your head slightly, a crooked smile on your lips, as you walk deeper into the night.

---

Finding a dog is shockingly harder than finding a person.

["She keeps running. Another six hundred meters, then left at the intersection."]

Damn it. What did Rosie see that has her running through the city in such a panic?

Your legs slowly start to burn. You run because you have to—because no one can see you, not without Canis.

It's a battle against your own body, which isn't really made for this. No stamina, no training. Just willpower and adrenaline.

"Felis," you squeeze out between two breaths, "you're sure that's Rosie, right?"

["Yes. I scanned Marlon's phone earlier. Coat color, size, movement patterns – a hundred percent match."]

[“I just hope the dog doesn’t get caught by a Walker. That would be… unpleasant.”]

The thought makes your stomach cramp briefly as you continue running up the street. Asphalt under your feet, dark windows, streetlights that are far too far apart.

What if she saw a Walker? Dogs sometimes chase...

No. Felis would have sounded the alarm long ago.

Cold sweat runs down your forehead. Your thighs are screaming, your lungs feel like they're about to give out.

How much longer until you reach that damn intersection?

"Felis," you gasp, "don't just check Rosie. Cameras, movements, noises. Everything. I want to be sure there are no walkers near her."

["Will do."]

[“Is someone afraid that he won’t be able to impress the woman of his dreams with a rescued dog?”]

Shut up. Really.

Your feet pound harder on the asphalt, as if you want to force the ground to disappear faster beneath you. Then you finally reach the intersection—gasping for breath, your lungs burning and blood pounding in your ears.

And that's when you realize something is wrong.

A loud, aggressive bark shatters the silence of the night.

[“We might have a little problem.”]

[“Oh, great. Good thing you mentioned that now that we're practically in over our heads."]

Your gaze darts forward.

Rosie?

She stands in front of a narrow alleyway that disappears between two dilapidated buildings, barking incessantly into it. Not a playful bark. Not a warning bark out of curiosity.

This is deep, raw, full of tension—as if she's trying to pin down something that refuses to be seen.

A nasty feeling tightens in your stomach.

Your steps slow down, become more cautious. Your body registers every detail: the trash on the ground, the darkness between the walls, the smell of dampness and rust.

"Felis," you murmur quietly, "what exactly do you mean by problem?"

["In this alley..."]

You move closer, but keep your distance. Just enough to see Rosie clearly.

She is large, powerfully built, with short fur in a light beige that looks almost gray in the dim light. Darker patches run across her back and ears.

Her head is broad, her jaw strong, her ears hang slightly – and her eyes... her eyes are alert, round, fixed on a point in the darkness. A gold chain hangs around her neck.

["Is a Walker. It's eating animal carcasses."]

Now you see it.

Right behind Rosie, half in the shadow of the alley, he stands.

A Walker. Or what was once a man.

Tall, heavy, barely recognizable as human. Flies swarm around him in thick clouds, blood sticks to his torso, his arms, his face.

His insides hang out of his mouth as he chews, slowly, mechanically, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Your blood runs cold.

The sight is disgusting. The smell hits you like a blow, foul, sweet, too much. Your stomach tightens, and you have to force yourself not to gag, not to take a step back.

He—it—lifts its head.

And sees you.

Rosie growls loudly, deep from her chest. A sound full of rage, full of protection. Something falls from the Walker's mouth onto the ground—a cat's head, lifeless, smeared with blood, rolls across the asphalt.

Your fingers clench, then you crack them deliberately, forcing control back into your body.

"Fear is the thing that will kill us. Not the walkers."

You take a deep breath.

"I'm sorry..." you say, more to yourself than to him.

Then you look up.

"But I have to kill you."

---

"Did you find her?!"

Marlon's voice no longer sounds like a leader. It sounds more like sheer panic, barely controlled.

"No! She wasn't on the premises!" Ruby calls back, her voice too high, too tense. Even she can no longer hide her nervousness.

"Damn it!" Marlon angrily slams his fist into his palm.

Slowly, the group gathers again on the lawn in front of the building. One by one, they emerge from the darkness, faces tense, shoulders hunched. No one says anything unless asked.

"Aasim?" Marlon.

"Nothing found," he replies calmly, but with a slight shake of his head. "I was with Ruby."

Marlon immediately turns away, as if afraid to linger too long with bad news.

"Willy? Mitch?"

"No," Willy says quickly. "Nothing."

"Absolutely nothing," Mitch adds, annoyed but also visibly tense.

"Tsk!" Marlon runs his fingers through his hair, his gaze jumping from face to face. "Has anyone seen her?!"

"Unfortunately not," Clementine says quietly.

"She didn't respond to my whistle," adds AJ, frowning.

Violet says nothing. She stands a little apart, watching the group as if gauging the mood.

"She can't be far," Tenn says cautiously, almost hopefully.

They are now all standing more or less in a circle. No one is really looking at anyone else. Shoulders are slumped, gazes are wandering into the void.

Exhaustion hangs in the air—and something else. Fear. Helplessness.

"Rosie, she—!" Marlon rubs his face hard. "Fuck... this is really bad."

Brody steps behind him, hesitates briefly, then puts a hand on his shoulder. Carefully, as if he might break.

"It's not your fault, Marlon," she says quietly. "She—"

"She what?!" Marlon breaks free, turning abruptly to face her. His voice cuts through the night. "Are you talking about her as if she were dead?!"

Brody flinches, her hand halfway in the air. "No, I—"

"Man, calm down, she's fine..." Louis tries to intervene.

"Relax, Marlon," Violet says sharply. "Freaking out like this isn't going to help us."

Marlon stares at her. For a moment, it is quiet enough to hear his breath. Then his jaw tightens.

"Shut the fuck up," he hisses. "You're not helping anyone."

"Damn," Omar blurts out, quietly, more surprised than angry.

"Excuse me?!" Violet takes a step forward. "What exactly is your problem?"

"Okay! Let's all calm down—!" Louis raises both hands.

"Guys?" Tenn sounds small between the voices.

"No!" Marlon turns around, his voice almost breaking. "You don't understand! Rosie isn't just a dog! She's—" He pauses, swallows hard. "She's family."

"And that's exactly why we're all freaking out right now," Aasim says calmly but firmly. "Yelling isn't helping her."

"You have no idea!" Marlon pounds his fist against his chest. "You weren't there when—"

"Marlon," Clementine says, calmly but clearly. "You're losing everyone right now."

That hits home. Not hard. But precisely.

Marlon breathes heavily, his hands shaking. For a moment, he looks like he's about to explode. Then he turns away, takes a few steps onto the grass, and exhales.

"I—!" he begins, his voice rough. "I just wanted you all to—!"

He breaks off.

His gaze lifts. Not to their faces. But beyond them.

One by one, they follow his gaze. Conversations fall silent, movements freeze. There, further out in the darkness, is something. Someone.

You.

"What the—" Mitch.

"Isn't that—" Ruby falters.

"Where was he even..." Willy mutters.

But all voices die away as you approach, stepping out of the shadows, and they finally see you clearly.

"Oh my God..."

"Wait a minute," whispers Aasim, eyes wide. "Did he just—"

"Rosie?" Marlon's voice almost breaks at the name.

Now they recognize it. The blood on your clothes, dried and fresh at the same time. The scratches. The posture. And Rosie, held tightly in your arms, alive, restless, but there.

You come closer, your face serious, exhausted, but calm.

"I told you so..." Louis murmurs behind them, a mixture of disbelief and pride in his voice.

Clementine looks at you. Not the blood. Not you first. But Rosie. AJ too, his eyes wide, silent, taking it all in.

At that moment, you don't seem like a stranger. Not like a guest.

But rather like someone who stayed when it mattered.

"This guy is special," someone says quietly.

And for a brief, surreal moment, you are exactly what they want to see.

A hero.

"R-Rosie..." Marlon's voice almost breaks at the name.

He takes a few steps forward, uncertain, as if afraid that it will all disappear again if he moves too quickly. The others stand still, unconsciously forming a semicircle, all eyes on you.

You bend your knees slightly and carefully set Rosie down. As soon as her paws touch the ground, she presses herself against Marlon's legs and sits there, content, breathing heavily, her tail slowly tapping against the grass.

"You..." Marlon looks at you, his eyes wide, incredulous. "How did you know...?"

You hold his gaze for a moment, then he looks back at the others. At their faces. At the blood on you, which is only now really noticeable.

"I know my way around town," you say calmly. "And besides..." a slight shrug. "I have cats. They like to disappear when you're not paying attention."

[“Being able to lie in this situation is actually sick.”]

["The best of them all. We're proud of you."]

[“All that just to impress a girl...”]

"And..." Marlon turns halfway toward the group, as if to make sure they can all see. That it's real.

Violet avoids his gaze. She looks past him—straight at you. Her expression is serious, not soft, not grateful. More like she's sizing you up. As if she understands that something more than just a dog coming back has just happened here.

Clementine, on the other hand, smiles. Not broadly, not exuberantly. But honestly. Proudly. AJ stands close to her, his eyes wide, fixed on you, as if he were storing an image he never wants to forget.

Hope lies in both their gazes—quietly, but clearly.

Tenn stares at you, almost reverently. Then he narrows his eyes slightly, as if something has clicked in his head. Realization. Memory. Something unspoken that is slowly coming together.

Omar and Aasim exchange a quick glance with Marlon, then with you, then they turn away again. Not out of rejection. But out of reflection. As if they have just reevaluated who you really are.

Ruby exhales audibly and nods once, almost imperceptibly. Aasim mirrors the movement. A silent agreement between them—no big words necessary.

Mitch crosses his arms, looks you up and down again. Then a small, reluctant smile crosses his face. Willy next to him grins nervously, scratches the back of his head, obviously impressed, even if he would never say so out loud. Marlon notices. And knows that you won't stand in each other's way in the future.

And Louis?

Louis watches everything. You. Marlon. The group. His gaze lingers on you a little too long. There is pride in it, yes. But also something else. Ambition, perhaps. Or that need to be seen with you, to stand next to you.

He grins crookedly.

"And..." Marlon hesitates briefly, then points at you. "What's all that blood stuck to you?"

Ah. Right. There was that.

["And what do you say now? You can't mention a Walker unless you want to say outright that you're Nacht."]

You open your mouth, then close it again. For a moment, all eyes are on you. No whispering, no comments. Just anticipation.

"I..." You swallow. "I was hit by a car."

[“Oh shit.”]

For a heartbeat, nothing happens. Then the mood suddenly changes.

"What?!" Ruby immediately takes a step closer.

"When?" asks Aasim.

"What kind of car are we talking about here?!" Mitch.

"Are you crazy, why are you saying that so calmly?!" Willy.

Marlon is right there with you. "Shit—hey, hey, are you okay?" His voice is almost breaking. "Why didn't you say anything? Are you hurt? Head? Ribs? Anything?!"

You raise your hands reassuringly. "I'm really fine. Honestly." You take a deep breath. "It looks worse than it is. I'm not hurt."

"That's a lot of blood," murmurs Violet, who is examining you closely.

"It's not all mine," you say quickly. "It’s not that bad." A crooked smile. "I'm fine. Really."

Clementine looks at you searchingly. "Are you sure?"

AJ nods vigorously. "You look okay. Sort of."

"If you're in pain, say something," Ruby interjects. "I have stuff. Bandages, disinfectant—everything."

"Thanks," you say quietly. "But everything's fine. I promise."

For a few seconds, it seems as if they don't want to believe you. Then the tension slowly eases. Conversations flare up again, quieter now, more subdued.

Marlon exhales audibly. "Okay... okay." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Thanks. For Rosie. And for almost getting yourself killed doing it."

"It was no big deal," you say.

["Liar."]

[“But a damn good one.”]

"I'd say we call it a day." Louis steps up beside you and gives you a light tap on the arm. "Enough heroics for one evening, right?"

A few murmurs of agreement ripple through the group. Fatigue suddenly hangs heavy in the air, as if the adrenaline rush has only now subsided.

"Yeah..." Brody nods slowly. "That's probably better for all of us."

Clementine looks at you. Longer than necessary. A strange feeling creeps up her neck, as if something doesn't quite fit.

Not a specific fear—more of a vague uneasiness she can't quite grasp. She says nothing, just holds your gaze a moment too long before looking away.

"All right," Mitch says, stretching. "That's enough for today."

"Yeah... this is slowly becoming too much for me." Willy grins crookedly, then points at you. "But you're really cool. Hope to see you again!"

You hesitate for a moment, looking at him.

See you again. As if it were a given. As if this evening had been enough to start something.

["He likes you. People do that."]

[“A little naive, but harmless.”]

"Yes..." you finally say. "Likewise."

The group begins to disperse. Quiet conversations, footsteps on the grass, someone calls out for Rosie. For a moment, you just stand there, unsure whether to stay or go.

"If you want..." Marlon stops in front of you. His voice is calmer now, more honest. "Then from now on, you're part of Ericson's Troubled Youth."

A half-joking name. But his gaze is serious.

For a moment, you say nothing. Suddenly, it's loud in your head.

["Friends. People who stay."]

["Or people who die."]

["Or people who get hurt when you get too close."]

You've been telling yourself for so long that distance is safer. That it's easier to stay alone, to disappear at night and not have to explain to anyone in the morning why your hands are shaking or why there's blood on you that isn't yours.

Closeness means responsibility. And you have more than enough responsibility.

You look up at Marlon again.

"Then take care of yourself," you say calmly. "Take care of Brody. And Rosie."

It's not a big promise. Not a dramatic moment. But it's honest.

Marlon blinks briefly, then a half-smile crosses his face. Not the loud, confident one from before. A genuine one.

"I will," he says. "Thanks... really."

Louis nudges you from the side. "Come on, hero. Before someone else gets the idea to build you a monument."

You walk away together, away from the group, away from the light. With every step, your body grows heavier, the tension slowly falling away as if the night is taking you back in.

["You gave them hope."]

["Or gotten yourself into something."]

[“Both.”]

Maybe it's stupid. Maybe it's dangerous.

But for the first time in a long time, it doesn't feel wrong.

And before the day was over, you were added to the group chat "Ericsons Troubled Youth."

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