"It's not that," Wichita blurts out, feeling the need to clarify even as another part of her brain starts to scream at her. She shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't allow herself to even be concerned over whether or not she needs to offer him the truth. There was a time when it wouldn't have mattered. Either she and her sister would be focused on moving on, sticking together (no outsiders) or he would've been dead before she'd ever met him, killed long before by zombies or whatever else went hand-in-hand with the end of the world. It says something that even the thought of it happening is enough to tie her stomach in knots, unsettling to the point that it almost starts to make her feel dizzy, and she looks over at him only after she thinks she's calmed. Key word: thinks.

"I miss her, obviously," she adds, because it isn't a question of that, not really. There are times when she misses her sister enough that it feels like she can't breathe. "It's everyone else, people that never used to matter, never should've. It was easier then, simple. Safer, probably, for everyone involved."