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Chapter 23 - Clementine

I kept staring at her, confused. She was supposed to be around nine years old—so why did she look older? That was my first thought. She looked closer to Season 3 Clementine… except for one thing. 

Her eyes. 

They were still innocent. 

Still gentle. 

Still untouched by the cruelty that would eventually harden her in the original game. 

And now that I thought about it, even Duck—the boy Kenny had just lost—looked older than he should have been. The people were the same characters, but the details were off. The world itself wasn't matching the story I remembered. 

That realization made my stomach tighten. 

If the story wasn't following the same path, then my future knowledge might not help me at all. 

"Max? Something wrong?" Lee's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. 

Only then did I realize the entire group was staring at me—awkward, confused, almost concerned. I'd been standing there frozen, staring like an idiot. 

I quickly turned my eyes to Lee. He looked genuinely worried. 

"Sorry… I got lost in my thoughts," I said honestly. No point making him suspicious. 

"I understand," Lee said gently. "Don't worry. They're good people. I'll introduce you." 

He started walking again. 

"Who's the boy? Where'd you find him?" Kenny asked, wiping his eyes. His voice was still thick with grief, even if he tried to hide it. 

"In the forest. He's coming with us," Lee replied calmly. 

Kenny straightened himself and shouted, voice hoarse, "Everybody get in the train! We're leavin' this goddamn place!" 

No one argued. Grief hung over the group like a suffocating fog. 

We climbed into one of the train cars—five of us in total. Kenny was up front, driving. 

I set my sword beside me and leaned against the metal wall. 

"Uh… hi. I'm Ben. What about you?" 

I turned to see an eighteen-year-old boy sitting beside me. His posture screamed nervousness—maybe even fear. 

"Max Walker," I replied. 

He nodded quickly, eager to talk. "Where'd you get the sword? It looks really cool." 

He wanted conversation. I didn't. 

"Found it," I said flatly. 

"Indeed… a fine blade. Useful tool these days." 

A man with a long heavy coat and a beard white as snow stepped closer, guitar in hand. 

"I'm Charles," he said with a kind smile. "This place was my home for a few months, 'til these folks found me." 

I nodded slightly. I didn't want to talk to any of them. Attachment was dangerous. In this world, everyone could die—me included. Better to stay detached. 

They kept trying to talk, but I only nodded along. Eventually, realizing I wasn't interested, they stepped out of the container to get some air. 

That left me alone with Lee and Clementine. They sat together, whispering quietly. 

I sharpened my hearing without looking directly. 

"Lee… why is that boy so… scary?" Clementine whispered, glancing at me nervously. 

"Why do you think he's scary?" Lee asked softly. 

"I… I don't know. He was staring at me with those… scary eyes…" 

Her voice was so quiet that even I struggled to hear it. 

Lee glanced toward me. I pretended I hadn't heard anything, keeping my eyes on the floor. 

He turned back to her. 

"Don't be afraid of him," Lee said gently, though she didn't look convinced. "Maybe he just finds you interesting." 

"R-really? He… finds me interesting?" she whispered shyly. 

Lee nodded. "Yes. And it's good to talk to someone your age. Try to make a friend." 

"I… I'll try," she murmured. 

I blinked. 

Do I really look that scary? 

I looked down at myself—torn clothing, dirt everywhere, scratches from branches. I looked like a feral stray. Maybe that was why she was scared. Or maybe she was scared of everyone after what she'd just gone through. 

I sighed internally and dropped the thought. 

Suddenly Lee's voice snapped, loud enough to echo through the train car. 

"What the fuck did he do?!" 

"Swear," Clementine muttered automatically under her breath. 

"I'm gonna go talk some sense into Charles. Don't worry—nobody's ending up like Duck," Lee growled, standing abruptly. 

"Don't be mad…" Clementine whispered. 

He didn't answer. He just left. 

And then it was just me and Clementine. She kept glancing at me nervously, but I ignored her. Exhaustion pressed down on me. Days without proper sleep had worn me thin. 

For once, this place felt safe enough. 

So I closed my eyes… 

and drifted into sleep. 

 

Water hit my face. 

Cold drops splashed across my skin, shocking me awake. Instinct kicked in—I grabbed the gun behind me and aimed it in one smooth motion. 

Clementine froze. 

She stood there trembling, clutching a water bottle like it was a shield. Her eyes were wide with fear. 

"I… I'm sorry," she whispered. 

I looked around. No danger. No threat. Just a terrified little girl and a dripping face. I lowered the gun, letting out a frustrated breath. 

"Why the hell did you throw water on me?" I snapped. Being ripped out of sleep left me raw and irritated. 

"You were… crying," she whispered. "And mumbling about your mother…" 

I blinked. Touched my cheek. Felt the wetness that wasn't from the water. 

…Fuck. 

Another nightmare. 

I couldn't even sleep a few minutes without breaking down. 

I clenched my jaw, pulling myself together. 

Clementine watched me—small, scared, but trying to be brave. 

"Do you… miss your mother?" she asked carefully. 

I didn't want to answer. I didn't want to talk. So I stayed silent. 

She hesitated, then tried again, even softer. 

"Don't worry… you'll find her. Lee will help. He's a very good person." 

"She died a few weeks ago," I said flatly. I didn't explain further. 

Her face fell instantly. Tears welled in her eyes. She turned away, but before curling up in the far corner, she whispered. 

"I'm sorry…" 

Her voice cracked. 

She hugged her knees and lowered her head. Her small shoulders trembled. 

I stared, confused. 

Why was she crying? 

It's not like her parents died. 

…Maybe it was everything. 

Duck, Katjaa, the grief surrounding the group. 

And Clementine was still just a child. Maybe she'd been holding it in. 

I wiped my face and looked out through the open train door. 

The train sped across the tracks, the autumn wind hitting my face—cold, sharp, refreshing. The scenery was beautiful. 

But sleep wasn't coming back. 

Not after that. 

Not when nightmares waited behind my eyelids. 

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