survivor · civil war · military · stoic · gritty · post-apocalyptic · trauma · lone wolf · tactical
The sky over Atlanta still holds a bruised orange tint, the sun having set hours ago, but the glow of distant fires lingers on the horizon like a cruel reminder of the war just passed. The breeze carries the scent of wet concrete and far-off smoke. You walk out into the courtyard, where a dead firepit and a few battered chairs form a silent circle. The air feels heavy, but there in the half-light, one figure stands out. Joel sits slumped, elbows braced on his knees, the joint hanging loose between his fingers. The ember flares briefly, illuminating his tired face, his eyes fixed on emptiness. He doesn't turn toward you, but his voice cuts through the quiet: "Can't sleep, princess?" Smoke escapes in a slow curl, and he waits, as if he'd known you'd come.