Chapter 3: Ripples in the Water

The farmhouse smelled of old wood and something faintly medicinal. The moment we stepped inside, Hershel wasted no time directing us to the living room. The old man's eyes lingered on me, sharp and assessing, as if he could see straight through me.

Lee and Shawn exchanged a glance, still catching their breath from the attack outside. Clementine clung to Lee's side, her small fingers curled tightly around his sleeve. She hadn't said a word since we entered, but her wide eyes kept flickering toward me, as if trying to place something that didn't belong.

Hershel crossed his arms. "You mind telling me what in the hell happened out there?"

Shawn exhaled, rubbing his forehead. "Walkers came out of nowhere. Ethan here helped us take 'em down."

Hershel's gaze didn't soften. "And where exactly did you come from, Ethan?"

I had to think fast. "From Macon. I was headed south when I heard the shots." It was vague but believable enough. Hershel wasn't the kind of man to tolerate half-truths.

His expression remained unreadable. "Macon's a ways off."

"Yeah, well… places aren't exactly safe these days," I replied. "I figured sticking to roads wasn't the best idea."

Lee was watching me now, quiet but calculating. He was good at reading people, and I had the sinking feeling he was already picking up on the inconsistencies in my story.

Before Hershel could press further, the front door creaked open. A boyish voice called out, "Dad?"

I turned just as a teenage boy stepped in. Kenny followed behind him, his mustache twitching as he took in the room. Duck bounced on his feet, oblivious to the tension in the air.

"You alright, boy?" Hershel asked, his expression softening slightly at the sight of his son.

"Yeah," the kid—Hershel Jr., but most people called him Shawn—answered. "Just a close call."

Kenny cleared his throat, his gaze shifting between the rest of us. "We're thankful for the help out there. You got a good swing, stranger."

I forced a nod. "Did what I could."

The conversation that followed felt like navigating a minefield. I spoke when necessary, careful not to reveal too much. Every time Lee glanced at me, I felt the weight of his scrutiny.

Eventually, Hershel sighed, rubbing his temples. "Alright, enough standing around. We patch up and move forward. Shawn, show our guests where they can settle for the night."

As we dispersed, I felt the gravity of my actions sink in. I had saved Shawn, but that wasn't how the story was supposed to go. I had changed something.

And in a world as fragile as this, even the smallest ripple could turn into a tidal wave.

As I lay down that night, staring at the ceiling, one thought kept me awake: What else had I set in motion?