The two walked quietly into to the living room. Like the rest of the house, it was dark, and lit only by candles on the coffee table in the center of the room. Amelia noticed a chess board; its pieces were scattered about the table, with only a few left on the board. Black had won with a checkmate – a rook, a bishop, and a pawn, of all things, were prepared to take the white king from all directions.

"That was Carlos." Luke said, having noticed her looking at it. "He's pretty good. Beats me every time, anyway."

Amelia didn't answer as they passed the table, and Luke stopped to open a cabinet full of folded tablecloths and unidentifiable boxes.

Luke broke the silence again. He looked over the shelves and said casually, "Not talking, huh?" When she didn't answer, he went on. "Well, I'll tell you what I told your sister: I'm an expert at talking to girls who don't want to talk to me."

Amelia used to appreciate jokes like that, especially from boys like Luke. But here and now, after what he'd done, she didn't have the patience for his good-natured humor. Not tonight. Not ever.

"Anyway, shower's right upstairs." He turned around and handed her an eggshell blue towel. It was clean, folded neatly, and, Amelia found when she reached out to take it, soft to the touch.

She blinked, confused and unsure of how she felt. She ran her hand over it and suddenly remembered the way she used to press her face into the clean towels her mother had just washed, stealing them from the dryer and running away with them while they were still warm. Back then, she'd thought she was getting away with it. But in hindsight, she realized her mother had always known. It was clear in the way she'd smiled at her when she asked where the towels had gone.

"So it's uh…been a while, huh?" Luke guessed. "I know how you feel." Amelia doubted that. "I had the same reaction to the pillows here, when we found this place. There was a while when I didn't think I'd see one again."

Amelia looked from the towel to him. He was trying to find some common ground between them, and she didn't want to have anything in common with the people in this house. She shook her head and and tried to pass him to get the the stairs. She still didn't know which door it was, but it wouldn't take long to find the bathroom on her own.

"Wait," Luke stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Amelia's heart jumped; habit told her that her immediate response should be preemptive and violent. She'd learned that when a stranger put hands on her, they had plans to hurt her. When that happened, the only way to stay safe was to punch first and punch hard. She calmed down only once she remembered where she was and who she was with.

She settled for a glare, trying to convey as much of a threat as she could without words. Luke let her go almost immediately, taking on a reasonable, calming voice she'd heard from him before. "I'm sorry. Really, I am." His face was sympathetic and gentle, and Amelia was getting tired of seeing it. She didn't like the way it made her feel to have someone look at her like that.

He crossed his arms, his way of promising to keep his hands to himself from now on.

"Are you alright?"

Amelia only stared, hoping he'd pick up on her disdain for him, and for his group. Still, something reminded her that he was the only person, besides Clementine, to ask her that in a very long time. Luke went on, carefully.

"Clementine told me how you two were separated. She said you ran into bandits in the woods…they, uh…did that-" He gestured to her head. "-to you?" The way he held eye contact was more intimate than she was comfortable with, and she looked away. Where was he going with this? "Look…just tell me if you're alright."

Amelia didn't feel the need to tell him anything. He could ask all the questions he wanted, but that didn't mean he deserved answers. Not after what his group had done to Clementine. She turned away from him and started up the stairs.

"Okay, wait," Luke called after her. "Enough with the small talk, I get it." Amelia stopped, but didn't turn back. "Listen, I understand why you're upset with us. Okay? I know how you feel."

There it was again. That phrase, thrown around so carelessly when it meant so much. Amelia came back down the stairs, and stopped in front of Luke's crossed arms.

Her words were quiet. Not angry and cathartic, as she would have expected, but calm and sad and disappointed.

"My sister asked for your help and you locked her in a shed. She almost died because of it. So unless you've had someone kill your sibling out of paranoia and carelessness, no. You have no idea how I feel."

Shame crossed Luke's face, and was quickly replaced with something else. He looked hurt.

"I tried to help her. I didn't want all that to happen."

"Then why did you let it?"

"I was outvoted by-"

"Well, then."

Luke looked away from her, and his brow creased in a way she hadn't seen before. It took her a moment to recognize anger on his face; it seemed so out of place there.

"You think that would'a happened if it was just up to me?" he said defensively. "The group made the decision and I couldn't go against them. I didn't have a choice."

"That's bullshit." Amelia spat the words out before she thought to censor herself. But if she was to blame for every one of her own mistakes, and the unintended consequences they had, then she was damn well going to hold Luke accountable for his. "No one held a gun to your head. There's always a choice."

Luke looked like he was about to argue with that, until he stopped and seemed to have nothing more to say.

Finally: "I don't know how the group is going to feel about you two staying, or even if you'll want to." He turned away slightly and said, "Frankly, I'm hoping you do." She believed him.

"We don't plan on it."

This seemed to surprise him. "Oh. Clementine said otherwise."

Now it was her turn to be surprised. "She did?"

Luke nodded. "But I guess that's for you two to work out. Look, all I'm saying is, I realize we didn't have a great start. And I don't know exactly how to fix things from here, but…I'm trying."

Amelia considered her answer carefully, knowing it might set a precedent that she wouldn't be able to take back.

"Don't."

She climbed the stairs alone.

The bathroom was the second door she tried. The first was a bedroom. Thankfully no one had been inside.

She dropped her clothes in a muddy pile on the floor. Before turning the water on, she stopped to look at her face in the mirror. It was the first mirror she'd seen in a while. It hadn't been as long as the last time she'd seen a clean towel, but still. The small reminders of what her life used to be were now broken and scattered, and very hard to come by.

The gash in her forehead was swollen, red, and pinched around the center, where it had been stitched. It was ugly no matter how she looked at it. It was going to leave a scar, and she shrugged at the thought. Years ago, a scar like this was something she'd have agonized over. She'd been vain, back when vanity was a luxury she could afford. Now it only meant she would get to live.

Against her better judgment, she turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder.

An imprint of human teeth, gnarled and black, marred her ribcage on the left side, just above her waist. She'd hoped that if she ignored it for years, she'd look again to find it faded, or gone. But it was very much there, a small part of her body that died and would always stay dead.

She was distracted by Clem's hat, thinking that she must've been taken because she would never leave it behind by choice. She didn't think. She bent down to pick it up and the walker surprised her, coming out from behind a piece of plywood that looked too small to conceal a human body and taking her down before she knew what was happening. She was on her stomach, the weight of an adult's corpse crushing her into the pavement, the smell of death swarming into her lungs and the next thing she felt was teeth in her back, tearing through her shirt and taking something out of her, literally and metaphorically.

She screamed and Kenny came running. Staring into the ground, she heard him grunt, heard the familiar sound of a skull getting crushed by a blunt object, and felt the weight fall off of her.

And just like that, she was on borrowed time. Terminal, with less than a day left.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, Clementine's hat in her hand and a steady drip of blood trailing down onto the pavement. She tried to speak, to tell Kenny what was going on, it was important and he had to know but she started sobbing. Her voice hitched and she couldn't get the words out.

"Kenny, it's-"

"Oh, God…" he said, a shovel in his hands. "Amelia, what…oh, no…"

"It's fine," Amelia said, starting to cry harder, her voice rising in desperation. Maybe if she got louder Kenny would believe her, and she could believe herself. "It's okay, I can fix it,"

"Amelia, darlin'," he said, shaking his head, equally at a loss for words and ideas. Behind him, she could see Christa and Omid running to catch up with him. She saw the looks of abject horror on their faces, saw the moment they realized they wouldn't be able to help her.

She sat back on her heels and pressed a hand to her ribs. Blood poured out between her fingers and her entire hand turned scarlet red. "She's gone. Clementine's gone." She choked out. From the ground, she looked to Kenny, and their tendency to disagree with each other couldn't have seemed farther away. "Someone took her and I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do, Kenny, please,"

Amelia closed her eyes, and silently scolded herself. She knew better than to think about the past like this. She didn't need to remind herself there was no need to go back to it; it would follow her all on its own.

She showered in freezing water – she hadn't expected anything else – and watched the blood and dirt rinse slowly down her legs and crawl into the drain. She shut the water off and stepped out well within her five-minute time limit.

Before drying off, she held the folded towel against her chest, pressed her nose into it, and breathed in slowly. It didn't smell like much. But it was soft, dry, and clean. More than she would have asked for.

She put her clothes on, purposefully avoiding the mirror until she was dressed. Look away, cover it up, pretend it didn't happen.

She left the bathroom, swinging the door open and right into someone who'd been standing just outside.

"Ow." Nick turned sharply, cursing under his breath and rubbing his lower ribcage, where she'd hit him with the doorknob.

Amelia didn't consider apologizing. Not to him. She draped her hair over her shoulder, using the towel to dry the ends. "What are you doing out here?"

"Don't flatter yourself." He said dismissively. He turned away and rubbed his eyes, though his voice sounded tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour. "Carlos didn't want you left alone upstairs."

Amelia started back downstairs, pausing at the top of the staircase to look back at him. She knew better than to ask questions when the answer would make her angry. That didn't mean she wouldn't do it.

"What?" Nick asked, sounding exhausted and irritated.

"Would you really have shot her?"

Nick crossed his arms defensively, back against the bathroom door.

Amelia wouldn't accept his silence, and came back down the hallway, watching him carefully. She asked again. "If your group had decided to kill her, would you really have gone along with it?"

"If she was bit." Nick answered without making eye contact. "Yeah."

"She wasn't."

"She was bit by something. It looked pretty fucking real."

"But she wasn't."

"I fucking hear you." Nick snapped.

Amelia's temper had been quietly seething the entire night. She'd been trying to play her cards right. These people were giving her and Clementine much-needed help and she wouldn't get anywhere by starting fights, verbal or physical. Carlos had made it clear that he wouldn't tolerate any trouble from her. Luke would be the target of her anger without ever retaliating with his own.

Nick, on the other hand...Amelia knew how to recognize a temper that could match her own. He seemed like the type to take her disdain and send it back to her. The dirty look he gave her challenged her to keep pushing him, telling her that if she wanted a fight, he'd be happy to be a part of it. Maybe he needed an outlet as much as she did.

"It already happened," he said. "What does it matter?"

Sizing him up, Amelia noticed he was a head taller than she was. The difference in height didn't daunt her so much as their obvious difference in strength. But decisions fueled by anger were never good ones.

Turn around. Walk away. Walk away.

"It matters because you almost killed her."

"Don't give me that." Nick responded exactly the way she'd expected: with sharp, biting words. "We were in a tough spot. We made the best decision we could."

Her response was quick. "You couldn't have made a worse call."

His was even quicker. "Fuck you."

"You're pretty defensive for someone who didn't do anything wrong."

He scowled, a look that didn't mean much when he seemed to do it all the time. "I don't need to take this shit from you. Don't act like you've never done anything to anyone." He had her there. She hadn't expected him to make a valid point like that. It must have shown on her face, because he scoffed at her. "That's what I thought. You're not better than us. You've probably done worse."

There was a difference between what this group had done and the things she'd done in the city. She'd made choices that she didn't think she was capable of, but they'd been under circumstances that made it understandable. There was a difference.

There was.

That's convenient. There are excuses for your actions and no one else's.

She remembered that people always saw themselves as the heroes of their own stories, or at the very least, innocent bystanders. She thought she was right when she shot that girl who'd been bitten while she and Kenny were on a supply run in Macon, despite what he'd told her to do. No part of her regretted killing the stranger who abducted Clementine. If she had the chance, she'd do it again; herself, this time, to spare Clementine the guilt.

The St. Johns thought they were right. Vernon and his group thought they'd done the right thing when they stole the only working boat in Savannah and left her group to die. Those bandits probably felt justified in attacking her in the woods; appropriate, since she didn't have any problem killing them. Until now, she hadn't given it a second thought.

She killed two people, less than 12 hours ago. And until now, she hadn't thought anything of it.

No matter how she thought about it, the word "right" seemed to have lost its meaning. Trying to find it only reminded her that the list of people she'd killed was getting longer, and it was only getting easier to do with each name she added.

It was something she didn't want to think about, and like all her unsafe thoughts, she ran from it, down the stairs and into the next room.

Clementine wasn't in the living room, where it had been decided that they'd spend the night. The next place Amelia decided to look for her was the kitchen. She heard voices, and immediately recognized the familiar contempt of the pregnant woman's voice.

"Don't pull that shit on me. I'm not my husband."

"What?" Clementine said. "I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"Yes you do."

Amelia opened the kitchen door and the woman turned to look at her, clearly irritated. Clementine, still seated at the table, looked up, worried and relieved.

"Am I interrupting?" Amelia asked dryly, walking around the table to put herself between Clementine and the woman. The woman stepped back, apparently too close to Amelia for comfort, and crossed her arms.

"Oh, good. You're here too."

"If you have a problem with her, you can share it with me." Amelia said. "I don't want to feel left out."

Clementine spoke up from behind her sister.

"We just needed some help."

"Well, you got it." the woman answered with venom in her voice. "Now go."

"You think she's a threat?" Amelia asked, nodding toward Clementine. "She doesn't want anything bad for you. Not even after you wanted to have her shot. She's more forgiving than I am."

She scoffed, almost cracking a smile. "Oh, I know you're not trying to threaten me."

"Threats are for people who have nothing to back up what they say. People like you." Amelia took satisfaction in the look that briefly flashed across the woman's face. "I'm giving you a warning. She and I are leaving tomorrow. If you start anything with her before then, I'll end it." The woman could take that to mean what she would.

To her credit, she didn't seem deterred. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm afraid of a college girl who's not even old enough to buy her own drinks."

"Feel free to test me if you don't think I mean it." Amelia glanced down at the woman's stomach. She was eight months along, at least. Amelia surprised even herself by dropping all pretenses of curt abrasiveness to say, "I'd have thought you, of all people, would have compassion for her."

The woman seemed as shocked to hear it as Amelia had been to say it. But she recovered quickly.

"You manipulative little…" she seemed to stop herself, from using words that could escalate their confrontation. "I knew from the moment she showed up she'd be a problem. Now I see where she gets it."

"What are you talking about?"

"She manipulated my husband. Convinced him to steal for her just like she did Carlos' daughter."

"She asked for his help because the rest of you refused."

"Tell yourself whatever helps you sleep at night. You and her are going to be trouble. She's dangerous, and I can already tell you're no better."

Amelia nodded. "You've got us figured out," she agreed.

"Go ahead. Act like a smart ass. It won't help you when people come to their senses and kick your sorry ass out of here."

Amelia shook her head, frustrated and exhausted. "You really think we want to hurt you?"

"You expect me to believe you just stumbled onto this place? We're in the middle of nowhere. Your timing is pretty damn convenient." Amelia frowned, trying to understand what the woman was implying. "Maybe you are just two stupid girls who got lost in the woods. But if you're working for him, I suggest you leave now and hope I don't ever see you again."

That raised a question – an unpleasant one. Amelia had thought the group reacted to Clementine the way they did for same reason she herself didn't trust strangers: because anyone could be dangerous. If these people were in hiding, if there was someone who would send people out looking for them…that changed things.

"Who are you talking about?"

The woman only turned away. "You're a terrible liar, honey." She paused in the doorway, looked back at Clem and Amelia, and issued them both a warning of her own. "Stay the hell away from my husband."

Amelia called after her. "Who do you think we're working for-?"

The woman was already gone.

In the now-silent room, Amelia turned around to face Clementine.

"Come on," Amelia said quietly, tapping Clem on the shoulder. "Let's go to bed."

Clementine was on the couch because Amelia refused to take it; this left her on the floor. Clementine used the couch throw as a blanket, and in exchange demanded that Amelia take the couch pillows. She'd agreed. It was fair enough.

Candles burned on the coffee table, making the room smell like artificial pine. The others had long since gone upstairs. They'd heard Carlos talking to a young girl who must have been his daughter, answering her questions repeatedly by telling her no, she couldn't go downstairs. To Amelia's surprise, Luke had stopped on his way up and said goodnight to the both of them. Only Clementine said it back.

And here they were. Sitting in silence, with nothing left to do but something Amelia was not good at.

She cleared her throat. "Nice throw." She hoped Clem would laugh. She didn't. "So…thank you, for what you did. I would've wanted you to run…"

"I know." Clementine cut a sharp look to her sister, hugging her knees to her chest. "And you know I would never do that."

"I do. It worries me."

"It shouldn't. You would do the same for me. You have."

More silence. Amelia wondered what Clementine was thinking, and tried to come up with a way to convince her not to put herself in danger like that anymore, though she already knew there wasn't one. Children learned from the adults in their lives. They copied what they saw, and Clementine had spent the last three years of her childhood watching Amelia, and all the self-destructive, fear-induced damage she caused, to her enemies and to her friends. Some of it wasn't her fault. Some of it was. And Clementine had seen all of it. This, Amelia could never change. She could never again tell Clementine not to put herself in danger; not when Clem had seen her do the opposite a hundred times.

Clementine seemed to misunderstand what her silence meant. "Don't be angry at me."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I almost told Luke. Just don't be mad at me, okay? I really need you on my side, and not mad at me."

Amelia sat up, surprised to hear her say this. "When am I ever-" She stopped when she realized her voice was too loud, and could easily be heard upstairs. She quieted back down to a whisper. "When am I ever not on your side? Even when I'm mad at you. Which I'm not, by the way."

"You seem mad."

Amelia knew this. She knew she seemed angry more often than not. She didn't even have to try anymore.

"Not at you."

"At Luke, then?"

"At all of them. For what they did."

Clementine smoothed the couch throw over her lap, toying with a frayed string. She seemed to be hesitating, which Amelia didn't like. Clementine knew she could tell her anything…didn't she?

"They saved me, Amelia."

"...we don't have any way of knowing what would have happened-"

"Amelia. We know what would have happened. They saved me."

"That's what I was doing."

"They got there first."

They were quiet after that. Amelia held on to her next response. She didn't want to fight with Clementine. Not today.

Clementine went on, and though she didn't sound apologetic, she was sincere. "That's why I wanted to tell him. They saved me, and I feel like we at least owe them the truth."

"You don't owe them anything. That's a dangerous way to think."

"Not with Luke."

"What does that mean?"

"He wouldn't hurt us. And he wouldn't hold it against us if we told him."

"Clementine!" Amelia couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Do you hear yourself? You've known him for a day. Half of which you spent locked in a shed."

"When was the last time we met someone and knew them for more than a day?"

Amelia had nothing to say to that, because her sister was right. She slumped back down into her makeshift bed, staring at the ceiling. Clementine was right.

Still. There was only one safe thing to do. One way to make sure these people would never get the chance to turn on them. In a way, it wasn't even really up to her. "We're leaving tomorrow, Clementine."

"We're not dead." Clem said, the frustration rising in her voice. "They gave us food, and stitches, and a place to sleep, and we're not dead. Isn't that enough to give them a chance?"

"They don't want us here."

"Maybe because they can tell you don't want to be here."

"It's not a secret." she said, trying to keep her voice below a whisper. "Do you want to be here?" Again, she didn't answer right away.

"Not really. But if we give it some time we'll both change our minds."

"We don't have 'some time,' Clem."

"All we have is time. What else were we doing?"

Getting attacked. Looking through garbage for food. Running out of things to burn at night. Hiding from strangers and wondering where to go next. Clementine seemed to judge Amelia's silence to mean that she'd made her point. Amelia confirmed it when she resorted to her least favorite fallback: the one that meant Clementine had a point and she was out of ways to argue with it.

"We're not done talking about this."

"I didn't think we were."

Clementine rolled into the couch and went to sleep.