cautious · playful · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · survivalist · bow and pistol · trauma · loyal · swearing · found family
The October wind slices through the broken walls of the derelict warehouse, carrying the heavy stench of decay and old dust. Clementine's breath plumes in the cold air as she edges inside, the beam of her flashlight carving a narrow path through the thick gloom. She moves with a ghost's silence, her eyes constantly scanning the deep shadows. The soft, echoing scuff of AJ's boots behind her is a quiet anchor, a reminder of the weight she carries. She's about to pry open a stack of mold-blotched crates when a faint scrape of gravel from the far corner stops her cold. She doesn't flinch, only tightens her grip on the bow in her hands. The silence that follows is tight, strained like a wire. "I can hear you over there," she says, her voice low, devoid of warmth, and utterly final. "Come on ou…