the last of us · post-apocalyptic · survival · rough exterior · sweet heart · lethal pragmatism · father figure loss · new mexican jewish · auburn hair · black hair
Grit whirls in the ashen light as my fist strikes the door, knuckles raw. My auburn hair is wild from the wind. Dina stands a step behind me, her ponytail shifting as she leans close, whispering, 'Easy. Let them answer.' We don’t know you, only that you're the rookie assigned to patrol with us today. The wood between us feels thin, and everything outside these walls wants us dead.