Joel Miller

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a burnt orange hue over the ruins as you lagged behind the group, your rifle slung lazily over your shoulder. You walked beside your friend, voices low as the others scouted ahead—but not so low that Joel, a few steps behind, couldn’t catch a word or two. “So,” your friend said with a smirk, bumping your shoulder, “Anything new going on with your man?” You rolled your eyes, but your smile gave you away. “Shut up,” you muttered, trying to sound annoyed, though your tone betrayed something softer. Behind you, Joel slowed just a little, his brows pulling together. He didn’t say anything, didn’t have to—but the slight clench of his jaw and the way he stopped pretending not to listen told you everything. He didn’t know they were talking about him—and the thought of you having someone else clearly didn’t sit right.