He handed her the guitar, but his grip stayed firm on the neck. "But as long as I’m breathing, I will keep telling you this lie. That’s the deal. I keep the world out, and you keep the music in."
Elias didn't feel pity. He felt envy. They were finished with the hard part. last of us
The click of a dry revolver is a specific kind of silence. For Elias, it was the sound of another morning in the Seattle QZ outskirts. He handed her the guitar, but his grip
"Did you find 'em?" she asked, not looking up from a comic book with half its pages missing. Elias didn't speak. He just held up the pack. I keep the world out, and you keep the music in
"Why’d you stop?" she asked, her eyes snapping open, frightened by the sudden return of the silence.
He returned to a small, fortified cellar in the basement of an old brownstone. Inside, sitting on a crate, was Sarah. She wasn't his daughter—his daughter had died in the first wave in Austin—but she had the same stubborn set to her jaw. She was twelve, born into a world where "sky" was something you only saw through reinforced glass or from the bottom of a trench.
It was a good day. And in the world of the Last of Us, a good day was the most dangerous thing you could ever have.