Spoiler warning: Major plot points from Season 2, Episode 3 are discussed below, including character developments and changes from the game. Proceed at your own risk.
So … what happens after the golf club?
That’s the question Into the West dares to answer.
After the gut-wrenching aftermath of Joel’s death last week, Episode 3 of Season 2 hits us with something quieter, but no less heavy. If the previous episode took us on an emotional rollercoaster, this one forces us to sit with our grief, our rage, and the choices that will shape the rest of this journey. It’s a bit of a breather before the storm, but trust me, it’s still brutal.
A Three-Month Time Jump – But the Pain is Still Fresh
Let’s not sugarcoat it – time hasn’t healed a damn thing.
It’s been three months since Joel’s death, but the pain in this episode feels just as sharp, just as ugly, just as real as it did when we watched it happen. The snow’s melted, sure, but don’t let the budding trees and soft light fool you – there’s no peace here. Just ghosts.
The standout scene early on? Tommy washing Joel’s arm and whispering, “Give Sarah my love.” It’s quiet. It’s devastating. Gabriel Luna’s performance here is restrained, but it guts you all the same.
Ellie’s alive, stitched-up, and technically “cleared” to leave the hospital, but she’s not okay. Not even close. And she knows it. But she plays the part in her session with Gail, the therapist who used to see Joel. Calm. Collected. Like she’s fine. You can see the gears turning behind her eyes as she gives Gail just enough to get the hell out of there.
It’s a performance. A quiet, calculated lie. Because admitting she’s not okay? That would mean letting someone in. And that’s not something Ellie’s ready for – not after losing the one person spending time in the hospital. But it slips. Just a little. When she mentions, almost offhandedly, that she never got to talk to Joel before he died. Because we know what she’s really saying – that the guilt is eating her alive, that what’s unsaid is sometimes louder than anything else. That no matter how hard she tries to fake it, the grief is still right there under the surface.
And then we get the house.
God, the house.
Ellie walks back into Joel’s place, and it’s like stepping into a memory you’re not ready to face. She rummages through his things – his old watch, his gun, all those little fragments of who he was – and it’s haunting. But it’s the carvings that destroyed me. These delicate, quiet pieces of wood he left behind. Artifacts of a man who rarely said what he felt, but carved it into something anyway. When she breaks down holding his jacket, it’s not a big, dramatic collapse. It’s soft. Private. Shattering.
The Spark of Justice – Or Maybe Just the Beginning of the End
Then suddenly Dina shows up with cookies. Cookies. Like a peace offering after a war neither of them wanted to fight. It’s a sweet, soft moment in a sea of pain – the kind of moment that feels like a tiny breath before the plunge. But those cookies come with a confession: Dina’s been holding something back for three months.
Ellie learns the truth. Joel’s killers weren’t just strangers passing through – they were WLF, the Washington Liberation Front – a militia group based in Seattle. And Dina knew. She knew, and she said nothing. Because she thought Ellie would do something stupid before letting her injuries heal.
The moment Ellie learns that, something shifts inside her. You can see it. This isn’t just grief anymore. It’s fuel. Its purpose. And the show doesn’t waste time hinting at what’s coming.
She takes her case to the Jackson Council, hoping reason, passion, something will make them see what she sees: that this isn’t about vengeance. It’s about justice. About the kind of world they’re trying to build in Jackson, one where people matter. Where lives mean something.
We hear from members of the community – some sympathetic, most cautious. One woman says what everyone’s thinking: sending sixteen people to Seattle for a manhunt would leave Jackson wide open to another attack. Someone else argues that mercy is what separates them from their enemies. That revenge makes monsters of everyone, eventually.
They’re not wrong. Not entirely. But that kind of clarity – that kind of restraint – is easy when you didn’t lose someone, when you’re not the one waking up with a hole in your chest that no amount of reason can fill.
Then, out of nowhere, Seth – yeah, that Seth – stands up. The same guy who humiliated Ellie and Dina at the dance. The one who caught Joel’s shove for running his mouth. He’s the only one who backs her. He calls out the council for being cowards. For letting an outsider walk into their home, murder one of their own, and just … let it go. He says what Ellie couldn’t quite say: that if they do nothing, it sends a message – you can come here and kill us, and we won’t fight back.
Ellie’s stunned. But she doesn’t have time to linger on it. It’s her turn to speak, and she doesn’t wing it. She’s written it all down – a small but important moment of growth because she knows her temper. Knows she’s prone to blurting and burning bridges. But this time, she wants to be heard.
She stands before them, voice trembling but steady, and says: This isn’t revenge. This is justice. For Joel. For her. For everyone. Because if they let this slide, then what’s the point of any of it? The walls, the farms, the rules – it’s all bullshit if they won’t protect their own.
And still – it’s not enough. The vote is 8–3. Denied. No one is going after Joel’s killers.
Into the Wild – With Nothing Left But Purpose
That night, Ellie starts packing. No fanfare. No dramatic goodbye. She’s leaving, and that’s that.
Dina finds her. Of course she does. There’s no lecture, no begging her to stay. Just this quiet, knowing look between them. Dina’s coming too. Because she gets it, she always has. And whatever this path is – vengeance, justice, both – Ellie won’t walk it alone.
But Dina’s not the only surprise. At the gate, in the soft glow of early morning, Seth shows up. Again. He’s not there to apologize. Not really. But actions speak louder, and he’s got everything they need: a sturdy horse, a clean rifle, weeks of food, and a secret exit route.
Ellie’s conflicted. She’s still pissed, still remembers that night at the dance. But people are messy. Complicated. And this? This is Seth’s way of saying I was wrong – the only way he knows how.
So they take it. And they ride.
And then there’s the grave. Ellie kneels before Joel’s final resting place as the sun burns orange over the hills. She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t have to. Everything she’s feeling – the guilt, the love, the fury – is written in the silence. The camera lingers, just long enough for it to hurt. Because this is goodbye, and it’s the last peaceful moment she’ll know for a while.
Then, they’re off into the unknown. The forests outside Jackson stretch out like something from a dream – lush, green, untouched by rot. It’s almost beautiful. Almost peaceful. The kind of beauty that feels wrong, given where they’re headed. Because every mile brings them closer to Seattle. Closer to the WLF. Closer to whatever’s waiting.
And then … the Scars.
Their first appearance is almost serene, not what you’d expect from a group whispered about like boogeymen. A man and his daughter walk ahead of a small group, wrapped in earth-toned cloaks, quiet as ghosts. He speaks gently about their prophet – how she died ten years ago, but how her words still guide them. They talk of leaving Seattle. Of abandoning war. But then, survival fails them.
By the time Ellie and Dina reach the scene, it’s already over. The same group. Slaughtered. Torn to pieces. The father. The daughter. All of them. Strewn across the grass like broken dolls. It’s brutal – not just because of the violence, but because of how personal it feels. There’s no enemy left to hate, no fight to interrupt. Just aftermath. Just silence.
Dina stumbles out from the trees and throws up. Ellie doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. The camera doesn’t look away, and neither can we. No music. No dialogue. Just flies buzzing and wind in the leaves. It’s not just horror. It’s grief.
This is where the illusion dies – the illusion that there’s a right side and a wrong one. The Wolves did this, but tomorrow it could be someone else. And maybe Ellie’s not just a spectator in the cycle. Perhaps she’s already part of it.
Because whatever this story is about now, it’s no longer just survival.
It’s about what you become to keep surviving.
Final Thoughts
If you’ve played the game, you’ll notice the shifts right away – and they’re not just for pacing. The three-month gap between Joel’s death and Ellie’s decision to leave Jackson isn’t in the game. There, the revenge arc kicks off fast. But here, the show makes a bold choice: it lingers. It forces Ellie and us to sit with the grief. To feel the silence. And honestly? It works. It gives the story more emotional weight and realism. Because not everyone goes full vigilante overnight. Sometimes you break slowly. Sometimes the decision to leave festers.
The other big change? The factions. In the game, the WLF and the Seraphites felt like two extremes – militant vs. cult. Enemies you fought through, not thought about. But in the show, we already see the cracks in that simplicity. The Seraphites aren’t just creepy antagonists with whistles and scars – they’re believers. Survivors. Human. And that murkiness? That’s where The Last of Us thrives. In the discomfort. In the grey.
And even with all the blood and grief this episode delivers, there’s still beauty. The scene at Joel’s grave. The quiet moments between Ellie and Dina. The hush of a forest that hasn’t yet turned hostile. These flickers of light don’t last long, but they’re enough. Enough to remind us what’s at stake.
By the time the credits roll, the path is set. Ellie’s going into Seattle. She’s chasing justice. Or maybe just a reason to keep going. And we’re right there with her.
Will she find peace? Doubt it.
But she’ll find something.
Final Verdict: 8/10
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