Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"You'll never catch me, Mama!"

A child's voice echoed through the farmhouse as she ran outside onto the grass, past the chicken coops, and behind the barn.

A woman watched from the porch, smiling at the child's soft, playful giggles.

As the child's laughter faded into the distance, the woman's smile slowly vanished, replaced by a subtle frown and a hint of concern in her eyes. Her lips turned downward, her bright expression growing somber. A shadow seemed to fall over her face, casting a veil of worry and uncertainty.

The undead, their flesh decaying, their eyes hollow, shuffled aimlessly through the desolate fields.Their movements were slow and jerky, their bodies barely held together. Their skin, a sickly gray, stretched taut over protruding bones, giving them a gaunt, skeletal appearance.

The stench of death hung heavy in the air—a putrid combination of rotting flesh and decay. It permeated everything, assaulting the senses.

The shuffling of their feet echoed. Their eyes, once filled with life, were now vacant and lifeless, staring into a void devoid of recognition or emotion. The spark of humanity had been extinguished, leaving only hollow shells.

Their insatiable hunger drove them forward, seeking life to satisfy their relentless craving.

As the woman stepped onto the grass, she felt a gentle brush against her feet. She ran through the field, towards the barn, desperately searching for her missing child.

Her eyes widened as she heard her daughter's bloodcurdling scream. An undead had latched onto the child's throat, biting through the skin.

The woman tried to reach her daughter but found herself rooted to the spot. The ground beneath her transformed into a pool of blood, and she felt herself drowning.

The child's scream pierced the air. "Mama!"

- November 11th 2010 -

The woman sat up, her vision filled with black spots, her hair damp with sweat. Her throat and lips were dry. She took a moment to calm herself, looking around for security. Four walls surrounded her. She was safe.

The lack of weight should have been her first guess.

She looked down at her chest, expecting to see her child, but there was nothing. She stared into the emptiness in silence. The windows were boarded up with wood and newspaper, but she could see slivers of light. It was morning.

She sat, watching the window, unsure what she was waiting for—perhaps some movement? Her racing heart finally settled into an uncomfortable calmness. Her legs touched the cold, hard floor. She sat for a while, wiggling her toes to regain the feeling. After a long moment, she stood and walked towards the windows, peeking through the cracks between the boarded wood.

The sun was setting, orange and yellow blending beautifully between the mountains. She stared at the sunset in silence. There was no need for beauty anymore. There was no one else to share it with.

Her heart ached. She would probably never see another human again. It was the end. God had taken back his creations.

Her mind raced back to Avery, but she quickly shook her head. Avery was dead, like the rest of them. Everyone was dead. It was just her.

She walked towards the wooden desk in the tiny kitchen, picking up the rope, tugging it to check its firmness before placing it back on the table. She climbed onto the table, getting into a crawling position. She picked up the screw gun and stood on unsteady feet.

She picked up the last bolt and screwed it into the eyeslip hook on the ceiling. Once done, she placed the screw gun on the table. She picked up the rope again and stood, tying it to the hook with a cat's paw knot, tugging for good measure.

Using the remaining rope, she tied a firm bowline knot—a knot she'd learned at family camp with her daughter before the world ended. Her eyes hardened at the thought.

She got off the table, pushing it away from the rope and placing a wooden chair in its stead. She stood on the chair, took hold of the rope, tugging it again. She placed the rope around her neck, tightening the knot.

Her eyes stared into the emptiness. It wouldn't be quick, and it would be painful. But it was fine; she deserved to suffer.

Taking a deep breath, she prepared to step off the chair, when she heard a sound: a child's scream.

Her eyes widened as she listened. Her heart tightened, and before she knew it, she was untying the knot and lowering herself to the ground.

She ran to the front door, unlocking it. She swung the doors open and stepped onto the porch. She hadn't left the house in weeks.

Her eyes adjusted to the light as she scanned the field. She ran onto the grass, towards the tree line where the screams were coming from. Her legs moved fast, faster than ever before. It wasn't adrenaline moving her but pure instinct and emotions. Her head spun as she searched, until she finally stopped.

Her feet stumbled. Her eyes fixed on the back of a small body. It was a little girl. But it wasn't her girl. She didn't know why she was even expecting her, she had seen Avery being torn into bits and like a coward she had fled, this time she would not, never again.

Two walkers stumbled toward the screaming child, but the woman reacted swiftly. She lunged at the closer walker, startling the child, who began to cry. Realizing she had no weapons, she punched the walker repeatedly in the skull until its brains spilled out.

The girl screamed, tears streaming her pale cheeks as she dropped her doll on the ground.

The second walker lunged at the woman's back, but she spun around just in time to kick it. She tried to fend off the pinned walker, but the other lunged again. She couldn't fight so she stood to run, but the first walker grabbed her hair in a shockingly tight grip. She groaned in pain before kicking at its knees and then its face.

She grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her away, running back to the farm.

-

The girl didn't look like Avery. This girl was older, her hair short and straight, unlike her daughter's long dark curls. Their differences helped maintain a semblance of sanity.

The inside of her house felt more depressing with another child inside—it reminded her too much of when Avery had friends over. She wondered if Avery and this girl would have been friends, if things had been different, if she hadn't been so weak.

"Why were you out there?" Her throat was dry, her voice strained and raspy. She hadn't spoken loudly in a long time and didn't feel like repeating herself; too tired. She hoped the girl had heard her.

Once the door was locked, the light shut out from the small living room. She sat on the floor, ignoring the rope swinging from the ceiling. She hoped this girl wasn't old enough to understand. The girl pursed her lips, looking around. "I—I got lost. I ran away from my group, and Mr. Grimes tried to help, but there was a walker and—I ran," she squeaked, her words quiet but fast, reminding her of Avery, though the younger girl had been much louder.

She leveled the girl's gaze, but the girl avoided her eyes. She knew why; she looked and probably smelled terrible. She hadn't showered since—since everything. She sighed, a long, slow sigh, closing her eyes, a memory of hot water and a less empty house filling her head. She opened them slowly.

This girl belonged to someone, a family.

Mentally she made a promise to herself, Raylay would end it all once this girl was safely tucked into someone else's arms.

But right now, it seemed God had handed her another responsibility, she would not fail him this time around.

Chapter Text

- November 13th 2010 -

A church bell tolled in the distance, a familiar sound she had gotten used to hating. She used to go to that church every Sunday with Avery; she knew exactly where it was, though she doubted the building still remained. Those four walls might still stand, yet their purpose was long forgotten, and she doubted it would ever be regained.

Sophia perked up from her seat on the sofa. It had been two days since they had first met, two days since they had left the farmhouse. "My group would go there," she spoke softly. To Raylay, it had been two days since she had spoken, her last words being a question about the child's name. Sophia had tried to fill the silence afterward, but Raylay never reciprocated.

Raylay's eyes were closed as she lay on the mattress sprawled across the floor. She had brought it downstairs hoping Sophia wouldn't have to go upstairs—it was strictly off-limits for both her and the girl. She wasn't asleep; she hadn't slept since the girl first arrived, watching over her sleep in a non-creepy way. "No," was all that came out of her dry lips. Sophia seemed to physically deflate at that.

She had been a good girl about not leaving the house, and she didn't seem to mind the horrid smell of the tightly packed building. Raylay had given her some canned food she had in her cabinets, and Sophia did not complain, merely offering the food to Raylay as well, while the older woman refused. She hadn't eaten in a while; she didn't deserve to eat. She assumed Sophia wasn't one for confrontations, so having the little girl talk back to her actually caused her to open her eyes in slight surprise, though she did not show it in her carefully blank expression. "I know they'll be there, I promise they will," she mumbled, and Raylay could only frown in response. She wasn't an optimistic person; she had learned to accept things for what they really were. Sooner or later, Sophia would have to accept that too, and she'd rather it be sooner than later.

"Do you really think they'd be looking for you still? That they'd still be here when you told me yourself that the highway was packed with the undead?" she practically hissed. She didn't mean to, but it just came out. She was angry, at what? She wasn't sure; she just seemed to always be angry these days. Sophia physically flinched back at Raylay's harsh words; it only caused Raylay to be angrier.

"You want to go out there when you're already so weak and unprepared? Have you ever killed any of those things, girlie? Have you ever held a knife with the purpose of harming something and not just cut the fucking crust off your sandwich? You can go ahead and get out, but I won't be following you, and you'd be lucky to make it even a mile out there."

She hadn't spoken this much in what felt like ages; her throat burned and begged for water that they didn't have. Sophia's eyes prickled with tears, and the child curled into herself. Raylay couldn't do anything but watch in silence as the girl sobbed.

- November 14th 2010 -

"Sophia?" Her voice was light as she sat up from her spot on the mattress; the child was nowhere in sight. Had she left? Had she taken what Raylay said seriously? The woman stood up in alarm, her eyebrows pinching in confusion as she looked towards the front door, which remained untouched. Her eyes then glanced towards the stairs, and her breath hitched—she couldn't be there; Raylay had specifically told her she wasn't allowed.

Racing upstairs, she found her eyes already set on a familiar pink door. She slammed it open, not once thinking about anything other than the child who was not supposed to be in this room—the wrong child.

Dust danced in sunbeams slanting through blinds, painting the room in soft hues. Memories hummed like moths, whispers of shared laughter and bedtime stories, a phantom warmth of a tiny hand in mine.

Then, silence.

Stepping inside, the floorboards creaked softly. Her gaze fell on the simple cot, adorned with faded sunflowers and a menagerie of stuffed animals. Her eyes snapped towards Sophia's small form as the girl sat up alert on the bed, which was once neat and tidy but now creased by movement. In her hands was Avery's abandoned teddy bear; its button eyes stared blankly. She wanted to puke. The back of her eyes burned with unshed tears; this was wrong, it was all wrong—it should be Avery's chubby fingers wrapped around the bear and not Sophia's slender ones; it should be her daughter on the bed and not this unknown girl.

She stomped forward, pulling the bear out of the girl's hands as she shrieked. Raylay's grip was tight as she grasped at the girl's forearm, pulling her out of the bed roughly as she stumbled on the wooden floorboards. "I told you to stay out!" She couldn't stop herself from yelling; all she wanted was to slap this girl who had rudely barged into her life in need of constant protection and attention. She had asked the gods why her? Why always her? And like always, her prayers remained unanswered.

Sophia sobbed, her shoulders shaking as she squeezed her eyes shut. Raylay's eyes widened as she stepped back, letting go of the sobbing girl, who quickly ran out of the room and made her way downstairs. Raylay stood in the tense silence, staring down at the bear in her hands. She smoothed out the soft flowered sheets of her daughter's bed, placing Mr. Pooh in the middle; he sat there, and the room was once again frozen in time.

A half-finished drawing peeked from beneath a book on the wooden desk, crayons depicting a lopsided sun and a stick-figure family, forever incomplete. Each object, a fragment of a life cut short. She stepped out of the bedroom, softly shutting the door behind her, never to be opened again.

- November 23rd 2010 -

Gunshots echoed from afar; Sophia lay soundly asleep. Raylay watched through the cracks as the undead stumbled away from her backyard, attracted towards the noise coming from one of her neighbor's farms; the Greene's, she assumed. In the confides of her mind she wished them the best of luck, but nowadays, that wasn't enough.

Looking back towards the sleeping girl, she walked over, pulling the blanket higher onto her shoulders quietly before taking a seat next to her on the mattress. There was no point in waking her up; if the commotion had been her group or the Greene's, they were already dead.

- November 28th 2010 -

"There's no more food," Sophia mumbled.

It had been a week, maybe two weeks tops, since she had arrived. The girl was silent towards Raylay, but the older woman didn't expect hugs and kisses, so she was fine with it. Sophia had grown in the past one or two weeks—well, as much as a child could grow in that time period. The girl had been training with a kitchen knife, throwing it onto the wall with an aim; her aim was still shitty, but from what Raylay had watched, with nothing else to do, she had seen improvements. Sophia was also reasonably more sharp-witted than she had first been; Raylay assumed that was her doing.

Raylay pursed her lips, though, eyebrows furrowing. She knew there would be a day where her food supply would finish, but it seemed like she had miscalculated, not adding the fact that this was now a two-person household. She sighed, slow and long. "We need to find supplies then." Sophia's eyes lit up comically. "We get to leave the house?" She beamed as if Raylay was Mother Gothel and helping her hostage escape from the outside world; Sophia was free to leave any time she wanted. Raylay stood up; it was time they left this house anyway; it smelled like shit, and there was nothing left here except memories and a flushing toilet.

"Pack everything that's left; we're leaving," she hummed absentmindedly as she looked around. There wasn't much to pack, but still some things which were now considered a necessity: knives, toilet paper, empty bottles, rope, etc. Sophia seemed to perk up at the thought of leaving, quickly grabbing everything she could and placing it inside an empty red backpack sprawled on the ground.

Raylay looked around in silence, slowly moving towards the stairs. She walked past the pink door and towards her bedroom; her eyes landed on the creature that began to snarl at the sight of her; it was no longer her daughter. She walked forward, glancing at the doll placed next to her as she moved forward towards Raylay; the ropes restraining the little girl back. Raylay chose to ignore her and the tears as she walked towards the safe in her closet; the passcode was her daughter's birthday, something easy to remember, yet it was irrelevant now. Inside the safe was a gun, a Walther PPK her father had given her for her 18th birthday. She smiled softly at the thought of the man, but as quick as the smile came, it left; the man was probably dead.

She found another backpack in her closet, stuffing some of her clothes and tighter ones that didn't fit her anymore, which she assumed Sophia could use. She looked towards the child growling in the corner, curly matted locks covering the glazy eyes; with one motion, she lifted her gun, turning off the safety.

Her hands were shaky as her fingers hesitantly landed on the trigger; she couldn't press it; she couldn't. "Raylay?" Sophia's voice echoed throughout the room as the girl stepped in, eyes wide as she looked towards the smaller child in the corner. Sophia's whole body shook as she stared; her face contorted into one of disgust, but Raylay chose to ignore her; she pressed the trigger.

Her ears rang as she focused on her daughter's limp body sprawled across the floor; no blood stained the wooden floorboards, reminding her that that was not her daughter, that was not Avery. She clicked the safety back on as her mind buzzed, tucking the gun into her pant pocket and swinging the bag across her shoulder; she looked towards the doll beside the body, moving over to pick it up. It was a blonde thing with blue eyes that reminded her of the other living thing in the room; she looked towards Sophia, whose hands were covering her ears as she sobbed; Raylay could not hear her through the ringing.

She stood in front of the preteen, lifting the doll slightly to catch the girl's eyes. Sophia sniffed, looking at it in confusion before hesitantly taking it from Raylay's tight grasp. She felt a sense of calmness like she had never before; she could not even notice the tears streaming down her face. "For the one you lost," she whispered, something soft. It was sudden when warm arms wrapped around her in an instinct, and she felt ill; her hands hesitantly moved to hold the child that sobbed into her stomach. Raylay's face burned, and she couldn't stop the tears already flowing; burying her face into the child's brown-blonde locks, something unfamiliar yet inviting all the same.

-

It was silent as they left, the door shutting behind them. She did not look back, and she did not feel the need to; warm fingers wrapped around her own, and she looked down at puffy eyes staring back at her in waiting. She sniffed, looking towards the empty overgrown field and clearing her throat.

"Let's go."

Chapter Text

- February 7th 2011 -

The meat was stringy, tough, and burned in places, but it was the best thing Sophia had eaten in weeks. She tore off another bite, chewing slowly to make it last. Across the small fire, Raylay did the same, her face unreadable in the flickering light. The two sat in silence; the only sounds were the gentle crackle of the fire and the distant hoot of an owl. It had been like this for month, just them, surviving in the woods. Sophia didn't know what to think of Raylay.

She was the opposite of her mother—a tough, stern woman. At first, she had reminded Sophia of her father, but now it was different. Sophia liked to think they were friends, though Raylay rarely responded when she talked. But, unlike her father, Raylay let her talk.

Raylay didn’t know exactly how long it had been since she’d eaten something other than roots and scraps. Maybe a week. Maybe longer. Her stomach had shrunk so much that even this tiny squirrel felt like a feast. Her fingers were sticky with grease, and she licked them one by one, unwilling to waste anything.

The firelight cast shadows on Raylay’s face, making her sharp features look even more severe. She wasn’t unkind, in Sophia’s opinion, but she wasn’t soft either. Sophia didn’t mind; she’d had enough of soft people. Raylay had told her soft people didn’t last.

Sophia glanced at the roasted carcass in her hands, her first real catch. She’d set the snare and actually caught something for the first time. Raylay hadn’t said anything in Sophia’s excitement, simply nodding in approval before skinning the squirrel and cooking it over the campfire Sophia had built. Raylay had been teaching Sophia how to do these things. The older woman seemed to know a lot—a bit about everything. She didn’t talk much, but when she did, it was always interesting.

“This is good,” she murmured. She didn’t mind starting conversations, even when she knew they wouldn’t be reciprocated.

Raylay grunted in response, nodding slightly as she gnawed on a bony leg.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was just the way things were now. Words took energy; they weren’t necessary most of the time.

Sophia stared into the flames. “There was this guy in my group,” she said finally, her voice quiet. She didn’t talk much about the group; it hurt. They had gone to the highway where she swore the group had left her. There was a sign on a car telling her to wait, and they did—for a week, until Raylay had to drag a screaming, crying Sophia away from a herd of walkers. She didn’t want to leave, but they never came for her, so she did. “A hunter. His name was Daryl, but I called him Mr. Dixon. He and his brother were a bit scary, they used to catch stuff like this all the time—rabbits, squirrels, even a deer once.”

Raylay glanced up slowly, chewing. “Yeah?”

Sophia nodded excitedly at the quiet response; usually, Raylay would ignore her. She hated them for leaving her, for not coming back. Something told her there was a reason they didn’t come back, but she refused to believe it. She knew her mother was a weak woman, but she wouldn’t die, not with Daryl and Mr. Grimes to look after her. Sophia was so so sure of it.

She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight. “I miss my mom,” she said before she could stop herself.

Raylay’s chewing slowed, and for the first time, she looked at Sophia fully. There was something in her gaze Sophia couldn’t quite name- sympathy? Sadness? She didn’t know. She felt stupid for mentioning it. She hadn’t said those words out loud in months. What was the point? It wouldn’t bring her back; it wouldn’t change anything. She knew Raylay got angry when Sophia sounded even a bit hopeful.

But tonight, with a full belly and a fire keeping the dark at bay, it felt safe enough to say it.

Raylay didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, finally, she nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “I miss people too.” That was it- no platitudes, no empty reassurances. Just the truth. Raylay was as truthful as they come. Sophia slowly nodded, looking back at the fire.

The dead had taken everything from them- their homes, their families, their safety. But tonight, they had food. They had fire. And they had each other. For now, that was enough.

-

The fire had died down to embers, casting only a dull orange glow over the small clearing. Sophia lay curled in a sleeping bag they had found a while ago. It still lingered with the smell of the body she had found in it. Raylay said it was a stupid reason not to use it, so she endured it. The taste of roasted squirrel still lingered on her tongue. Her stomach was full for the first time in weeks, and it made her feel slow, heavy. Safe.

But she should have known better; Raylay always said luck never lasts.

A sharp sound snapped her awake—a footstep, twigs breaking under heavy boots. Not Raylay’s. Raylay’s steps barely made a sound. It startled Sophia at first, but she had gotten used to it.

Sophia tensed, her breath catching in her throat. The air was different now—wrong. Then she heard a voice.

“Daniel! Come look at this.” She recognized it as a man’s voice—low, amused. Her heart started hammering.

She forced herself to sit up slowly, blinking in the darkness. They didn’t have tents, but Sophia never worried since Raylay always seemed alert about their surroundings. Raylay was already on her feet, standing between Sophia and the two men who had stepped into the clearing.

No, not two. Three.

Her stomach turned to ice.

They were filthy, their clothes tattered and caked with dried mud. One had a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Another had a machete resting against his thigh. The third, the one who had spoken, had a knife in his hand, twirling it between his fingers.

“I smell food,” the man with the knife said, grinning. “Been a long time since we had a nice hot meal, eh boys?”

Raylay didn’t move, didn’t speak. She just stood there, shoulders squared, hands loose at her sides. Sophia could feel the tension in the air, thick as smoke.

“You got anything to share?” the man asked. His tone was light, playful. He reminded her of her dad, which would never be a good thing.

She shrank back, fingers curling around the handle of her knife under the blanket. It was small, barely more than a pocket knife, but it was all she had.

Raylay still didn’t speak.

The man with the machete took a step forward, eyes flicking toward Sophia. “Kid looks scared.” His voice was rough. “I'm thinking we keep her, have some fun. Been a long time since we had a girl around.” He smirked, the others laughing in agreement.

Sophia’s stomach twisted, her grip on the knife tightened.

Raylay moved so fast Sophia barely saw it. One second she was standing still. The next, she lunged.

The blade of Raylay’s hunting knife flashed as she buried it in the throat of the man with the machete. Blood sprayed across the dirt as he made a horrible gurgling sound, his hands flying to his neck. He staggered back, choking on his own blood.

The other two men reacted fast. The one with the knife swung at Raylay, but she dodged. The third man, the one with the rifle, yanked it from his shoulder.

Sophia didn’t think. She lunged forward, grabbing a burning log from the fire, and swung it at the man with the rifle. It smashed against his face, embers scattering. He screamed, dropping the gun as he clawed at his burned skin.

Raylay didn’t hesitate. She plunged her knife into his chest, twisting hard. The man fell, his scream dying in his throat.

The last man—the one with the knife—stumbled back, breathing hard. His eyes flicked between Raylay and Sophia. He suddenly didn’t look so sure of himself anymore. He hesitated. Raylay didn’t give him another chance. She lunged, tackling him to the ground. They struggled, rolling through the dirt, but Raylay was faster, stronger. She straddled him, forcing his own knife against his throat.

Sophia watched with wide eyes. The man gasped, eyes wide with panic. “Wait! We- we can trade, we-”

Raylay slit his throat in a quick motion.

The clearing went silent except for Raylay’s ragged breathing. Sophia felt frozen, her whole body shaking. Raylay slowly pushed herself to her feet, wiping her bloody hands on her jeans. She turned to Sophia. “You okay?”

Sophia swallowed, her mouth dry. Then, finally, she nodded.

Raylay looked at her for a long moment, then reached down and picked up the fallen rifle. She checked it, nodding slightly when she saw it was loaded.

“We need to go,” she said. “Now.”

Sophia didn’t argue. She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder as Raylay kicked dirt over the dying fire. Then they slipped into the trees, leaving the bodies behind. Sophia’s hands were still shaking as she packed her sleeping bag. Her mind was still reeling. But she was alive. And in this world, that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

- February 8th 2011 -

It was quiet as they walked. Raylay refused to stop until they found a place with four walls; Sophia refused to object and followed quietly. She wasn't sure what to think. Was it okay to kill people? She understood why they had to kill the dead—Dr. Jenner had explained it all at the CDC. They were dead; they weren't people anymore. But the people Raylay had killed were very much alive. The older woman had taken most of their belongings, and then they left.

The bodies were long behind them, but Sophia still felt them—the weight of what had happened pressing down on her chest. She hadn’t killed anyone, but she had swung that burning log; she had helped. Did that make her an accomplice? What would her mother say? That thought sat uneasily in her stomach as she followed Raylay through the familiar trees.

They moved fast, neither speaking. Raylay led the way, rifle slung over her shoulder, her knife still stained with drying blood. Sophia tried not to look at it.

The forest stretched endlessly around them, trees rising like skeletal fingers into the cold sky. The wind had picked up, whispering through the branches, making the world feel even emptier.

Eventually, Raylay slowed. They reached a small clearing, and without a word, she knelt and began rubbing dirt over her hands, scrubbing at the blood. Sophia hesitated before doing the same, pressing her palms into the frozen earth. It didn’t get rid of the blood completely, but it helped.

Raylay sat back on her heels, exhaling through her nose. “You did good back there,” she said after a long moment. Sophia didn’t know how to respond. Was it good that she had helped kill people? Sure, she knew they were bad men, but in the old world, they would have been locked up. She was hesitant to answer. “I didn’t kill anyone.”

“No.” Raylay’s gaze was steady. “But you fought. You didn’t freeze. That’s what keeps you alive.”

Sophia didn’t respond, and Raylay didn’t push her; she just stood, brushing the dirt from her hands. “Come on. We need to find shelter before nightfall.”

They walked for hours.

The cold gnawed at Sophia’s fingers, ears, and nose. Her stomach grumbled loudly; the earlier meal was already burned away by the endless walking. Sophia paused at the sight before them. Nestled between the trees was a cabin.

It wasn’t much—a small, weathered cabin, leaning slightly to one side. But it had four walls and a roof, and that was more than they had now. Raylay held up a hand, signaling Sophia to stay back as she crept toward the door. She moved carefully, listening. Then she nodded, reaching for the handle. It was locked. Raylay took a step back and kicked the door just above the knob. The wood splintered, but it didn’t break. She kicked again. This time, the door swung open with a loud crack. Sophia tensed, slowly waiting.

Nothing.

Raylay stepped inside first, knife in hand. Sophia followed. She had killed many of the undead since leaving Raylay’s farmhouse—a part of being forced upon her by Raylay, though Sophia was never one to hold a grudge. She knew Raylay just wanted Sophia safe, or so she guessed. The air inside was stale, thick with dust and the faint scent of old wood. It reminded her of the farmhouse. A single window let in weak light, casting long shadows. It looked abandoned.

A small table sat in the corner, covered in old, yellowed newspapers. A fireplace took up most of one wall, and against the other was a narrow bed with a thin, musty blanket.

Raylay checked the cabinets while Sophia scanned the shelves. Most were empty, but when she opened a drawer near the bed, she paused.

“Ray,” she whispered.

Raylay looked up, knife still in her hand. Sophia slowly reached into the drawer and pulled out a small, unopened box of tampons. Her face burned. She didn’t know why. She’d never thought much about periods before. They were just… something that happened. Something she knew she’d have to deal with eventually. But holding the box, she suddenly felt awkward.

Raylay exhaled a short, amused breath. “Well, that’s lucky.” Sophia pursed her lips, looking down at the box. “I haven’t gotten it yet.” Raylay nodded. “You will, soon probably.”

Sophia’s ears burned. She shoved the box into her bag. Raylay sighed, leaning against the counter. “Look, it’s normal. You get your period; it means your body’s doing what it’s supposed to. Pain in the ass, but it’s part of life.”

Sophia frowned. “What if I get it and we don’t have any of these?” She nudged her bag.

Raylay shrugged. “Then we figure it out. People managed before all this stuff existed.” Sophia didn’t find that very reassuring.

Raylay must have noticed because she sighed again. “It’s not the end of the world.” Then she smirked. “Well. Not any more than it already is.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “Not funny.”

Raylay chuckled, pushing away from the counter. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get a fire going.”

Sophia nodded, shaking her head and following Raylay to the fireplace, trying not to think about the blood on her hands. She had enough to worry about already.

-

After the fire was going and they had searched the cabin, Sophia found a map. It was folded and stuffed into a drawer—old receipts, expired canned food labels, and a rusted tin of chewing tobacco. She almost didn’t see it.

“Ray,” she called out, holding it up.

Raylay took it, unfolding it carefully. The paper was yellowed, but the details were still clear. A faded red circle had been drawn around a town not far from where they were. Raylay tapped the spot. “Could be picked clean. But it’s worth checking.”

Sophia nodded. She didn’t like going into towns; they were always more crowded than the woods. But she knew a town meant shelter. She looked at her mostly empty backpack; her stomach was churning, and she hadn’t eaten since the squirrel two days ago. A town meant maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to starve.

They left the next morning.

- February 9th 2011 -

It took them half a day to reach the outskirts.

The town was small—a main street and a handful of side roads. The buildings were faded, signs rusted and broken, windows shattered. Cars were abandoned in the streets.

Sophia stuck close to Raylay as they moved through the quiet streets. There were too many blind spots. At times like this, she wished her mom were here.

Raylay led them toward the storefronts, eyes scanning the buildings. “We check fast, grab what we can, and move on,” she murmured. Sophia nodded.

Most of the shops had already been raided. But when they passed a narrow building with an old wooden sign reading ‘McCarthy’s Antiques,’ something made Sophia pause. “I want to check this one,” she mumbled.

Raylay hesitated, then nodded. “Stay close.”

They stepped inside.

The shop smelled like dust and old wood. Shelves lined the walls, filled with strange objects. Sophia wandered deeper, her fingers brushing over the dusty surfaces. She paused when she saw something familiar—comic books.

They were stacked in a wooden crate, their covers faded but still colorful. Sophia knelt, running her fingers over them. X-Men. Batman. Spider-Man. She picked one up; it showed a kid holding a slingshot, standing in front of a horde of monsters. She smiled softly. Carl would have loved this.

Her fingers tightened around the comic. She wondered if he was still alive. She doubted it. Her chest ached as she carefully tucked the comic into her backpack.

Raylay had found an old radio behind the shop counter. It was battery-powered, bulky, and dented, but she was fiddling with it, turning knobs, adjusting dials. Static crackled softly. Sophia sat on the counter, watching her curiously. “Think it’ll work?”

Raylay didn’t answer. She just kept twisting the dials. Then—

A voice. Faint, barely there beneath the static, but real. “—sanctuary… heading toward D.C.… supplies… survivors welcome—” The message cut in and out, but Sophia’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening. A sanctuary. Raylay exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. She turned to Riley. “Looks like we have a new destination.”

Washington, D.C. Sophia had never been before. Her lips twitched into a grin.

Chapter Text

- February 12th 2011 -

The woods stretched endlessly ahead, the trees skeletal in the early morning light. The cold had settled into Raylay’s bones days ago, and it hadn’t left since. She barely felt it anymore. Sophia walked a few steps ahead, humming softly to herself. It wasn’t a real tune, just something to fill the silence.

Raylay barely listened. Her mind was a slow-moving fog, thick and heavy, pressing down on her like wet earth over a coffin.

She was tired. So fucking tired.

Every day was the same. Walking. Scavenging. Fighting. Surviving. For what?

D.C. wasn’t a promise. It was a guess. A gamble. And even if they made it there, what then? Would there really be a sanctuary? A safe place? Or would it just be more of the same? More starving. More killing. More pretending like she gave a damn about any of it.

She wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Then Sophia gasped. Raylay snapped back to the present, hand instinctively going to the rifle on her back. “What?”

Sophia pointed excitedly, “Look!”

Raylay's sharp eyes followed her gaze, a dog stood a few feet away, watching them through the trees.

It was a Doberman, sleek and muscular, its black-and-tan coat matted with dirt. A thick, spiked collar was fastened around its neck. It didn’t growl. It didn’t bark. It just stood there, ears pricked, head slightly tilted.

Sophia’s whole face lit up. “Oh my God.” Raylay’s stomach twisted.

Not because of the dog. But because of how Sophia was looking at it, like it was the first good thing she’d seen in months.

No.

Raylay knew what she was about to say, and she knew Sophia wasn’t going to like it.

“No.”

Sophia’s head snapped toward her. “What? Why not?”

Raylay sighed, already exhausted by the argument that hadn’t even started yet, “Because we don’t have enough food for us, let alone a damn dog.”

Sophia turned back to the Doberman. It hadn’t moved. If anything, it looked… patient. Like it was waiting to see what they would do.

“Maybe it can hunt,” Sophia said, it was a stupid thought. “Maybe it can help us.”

Raylay shook her head. “More likely, it’ll slow us down.”

Sophia crossed her arms, frowning. “Or maybe it’ll protect us. You ever think of that?”

Since when had she become this snarky?

Raylay exhaled through her nose, biting back her frustration. “Sophia. We’re barely surviving as it is. If we take that thing with us, we’ll just have to feed it—”

Sophia’s jaw tightened. “Maybe it’ll find its own food.”

Raylay’s stomach growled, as if to remind her how little food they had. And then, before she could stop herself, she said it.

“We should eat it.”

Sophia’s face went blank. The silence was immediate. Heavy.

Raylay hadn’t meant to say it like that. She hadn’t meant to say it at all. But now the words were out, hanging in the air like a noose. It wasn't a bad idea but she knew what it'd sound like to a kid like Sophia.

The light in Sophia’s eyes vanished. Her expression hardened in a way Raylay had only seen a handful of times before. She looked at Raylay like she was a stranger.

“You’re joking,” Sophia said, voice flat.

Raylay wasn’t, but she could have lied. She could have said, 'Yeah, just messing with you. Of course we’re not eating the dog.'She didn’t. Instead, she said, “We need to eat.”

Sophia’s hands clenched into fists.

“You can’t just-” Her voice cracked. “You can’t just kill everything that might slow us down.”

Raylay didn’t respond. Because yes. Yes, she could. That’s what surviving was. Kill or be killed. Eat or starve.

The sooner Sophia learnt that the better.

This was what survival looked like.

But Sophia- Sophia still had something inside her. Something Raylay had lost a long time ago. Raylay didn’t know what the hell it was. Hope, maybe. Stubbornness, probably. A refusal to let the world turn her into something cold and hollow. Sophia still clung to it, even though she didn't say it aloud Raylay knew that Sophia still thought her mother and that group of hers were alive, they weren't, Raylay knew it.

Whatever it was, it made her step between Raylay and the dog, shoulders squared.

“He’s coming with us,” Sophia said.

Her voice didn’t waver, Raylay could only stare at her. What happened to the flinching girl she had first met almost a year ago?

Then she looked at the dog. It met her gaze, steady, unblinking.

She could kill it. She should kill it.

But the way Sophia was looking at her, like she was someone else, someone Raylay didn’t want to be, it made something deep in her heart clench uncomfortably. She wasn't a bad person but in this world she couldn't be good either.

She sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face. “Fine.”

Sophia blinked, like she hadn’t expected to win that fight. Turning back to the dog, the girl grinned, “Come on, boy,” she said, crouching and patting her leg. “Let’s go.”

The Doberman hesitated for half a second before stepping forward, its tail giving a slow, cautious wag. Sophia scratched behind its ears, whispering something Raylay couldn’t hear.

Raylay just shook her head and started walking. Another mouth to feed. Another thing to protect.

But when she glanced back and saw Sophia smiling, really smiling like she hadn't in a while, she thought that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

They found the lake just before sunset.

It stretched out in front of them, the surface smooth and still. The trees around it swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves falling lightly onto the grass, some darker then others, older. They didn't get lucky often but it was a good feeling, too bad it was nothing they could count on. Raylay dropped her pack near a fallen log, stretching her sore shoulders. “We’ll camp here for the night.”

Sophia grinned. “Can we swim first?”, Raylay hesitated, glancing at the water. It looked clean enough, and they hadn’t had a proper wash in weeks, they both smelled awful, she didnt doubt that the dead confused them as one of theirs at first.

She sighed. “Fine. But don’t go too deep.” she frowned as those words left her mouth, it all sounded too familiar for her liking. Sophia was already pulling off her jacket, kicking off her boots they had found on a dead walker girl. Raylay barely had time to set her rifle aside before the girl bolted toward the lake, splashing into the shallows with an excited yelp. Sophia shook the water that splashed on her face.

Lula barked and trotted after her, stopping just at the edge, sniffing suspiciously at the water. Sophia laughed which wasnt something common in the new world, the child splashed toward her, grinning brightly. “Come on, Raylay! It’s not that cold.”

Raylay pulled off the piece of clothing she didnt want wet before climbing into the water. It was cool against her skin, sending a shiver up her spine. She waded in slowly, letting the dirt and sweat of the past few days wash away. For a few minutes, they just swam. It was weird, it felt too normal for Raylay yet she didn't.. dislike it necessarily.

Sophia laughed as she floated on her back, arms spread wide. Raylay smiled softly, staring up at the sky. The stars were starting to appear, tiny pinpricks of light in the growing darkness.

Avery would have liked it here.

Later, after they had dried off and changed into what little clean clothing they had left, Raylay sat by the fire, watching as Sophia tried to work through the knots in her hair. It was a losing battle.

Raylay sighed. “Come here.” Sophia hesitated before scooting over, sitting cross-legged in front of Raylay. Raylay took the comb from her hands and gently started working through the tangles.

She had done this before. For Avery.

The thought came suddenly, unbidden, tightening like a fist in her chest.

She used to sit on the floor of their bathroom, brushing Avery’s hair before bed, listening to her daughter ramble about her day- about school, about her friends, about the little things that seemed so big to a nine-year-old.

Raylay swallowed hard hard at the memory, her eyes stinging lightly. She wasn’t sure what hurt more, that those memories felt so distant now, or that Avery would never sit in front of her again, never complain about Raylay pulling too hard, never groan when Raylay braided her hair too tight.

But Sophia was here. And for just a moment, Raylay let herself pretend- pretend that things were different, that the world hadn’t ended, that she still had a daughter to take care of.

She ran the comb through Sophia’s damp hair, slow and careful. Sophia yawned. “That actually feels nice.” Raylay huffed a soft laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

Sophia smiled, eyes drooping slightly. Raylay kept brushing.

The crack of snapping bones pulled Raylay from her thoughts.

Lula stood a few feet away, something limp and furry clamped between her teeth. Raylay narrowed her eyes. “Is that—”

Sophia’s eyes widened. “No way.”

Lula trotted over and dropped the squirrel at Sophia’s feet, tail wagging. Sophia grinning, clapping her hand excitedly like an absolute child, which she was. “I told you she’d be useful!”

Raylay stared at the dead squirrel, then at the dog, who was now looking at her expectantly, like she wanted approval.

Raylay exhaled. “I’ll be damned.” Sophia crossed her arms, grinning. “Go on. Say it.”

Raylay sighed. “Say what?”

“I told you so.”

Raylay aighed, rolling her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips.

“Fine, you told me so.”

Sophia beamed, and Lula let out a happy bark, nudging the squirrel toward Raylay. Raylay shook her head, grabbing her knife.

“Well,” she muttered, “at least we won’t go hungry tonight.”

-

Raylay sat cross-legged by the dying fire, the radio in her lap. She turned the knobs slowly, listening to the familiar crackle of static. Nothing. Just empty air. She sighed, adjusting the antenna. The last time she had heard anything, it had been that broken transmission- something about a sanctuary near D.C. But now, there was nothing.

Maybe it was gone. Maybe it had never been real. But no, Sophia had heard it too.

She exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. Her fingers were raw from scavenging, her nails cracked and dirty. She was exhausted, but sleep didn’t come easy these days. Sophia, at least, was sleeping soundly.

Raylay glanced over at her. She was curled up in her sleeping bag, one arm slung over Lula, who was stretched out beside her. The dog’s ears twitched, but she didn’t wake. A strand of hair had fallen across Sophia’s face. Raylay reached out without thinking, tucking it gently behind her ear. Sophia stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Her face was soft in sleep, her brow unfurrowed for once. The older woman turned back to the radio, twisting the dial one last time. The static shifted, deepened, then faded to silence.

Still nothing.

She set it aside and reached for the map instead.

The map was old, the edges soft and worn. Raylay traced their route with her fingertip, following the winding roads and rivers, searching for anything useful. She paused at the sight of a small symbol, barely noticeable—a tiny cross etched in ink.

A church.

It wasn’t far from where they were. Maybe half a day’s walk, if they pushed it. Raylay leaned back, staring at it. Churches meant shelter. Maybe supplies. Or maybe nothing at all. She folded the map, tucking it into her pack.

Tomorrow, they’d find out.

Chapter Text

- February 13th 2011 -

The building loomed ahead, its steeple casting a long shadow in the afternoon light.

The church had seen better days. Its wooden doors were slightly ajar; the stained-glass windows were cracked and weathered. The overgrown grass around it whispered as they walked closer.

Raylay gripped her rifle tightly, churches didn't mean safety anymore. Nothing meant shit anymore. She pushed open the door with the barrel of her gun, Sophia following close behind.

Inside, dust hung thick in the air, swirling in the beams of light filtering through the broken windows. Wooden pews lined the room; some were overturned, others broken. At the far end, beneath a faded cross, a figure flinched.

A man.

Dark-skinned, dressed in tattered black robes. His hands trembled as he lifted them in surrender. “P-please,” he stammered. “I—I don’t want any trouble.”

Raylay’s stomach twisted. She had seen men like this before: weak, cowardly survivors who let others die so they wouldn’t have to. She took a step forward, raising the rifle. “Got anything worth taking?” The priest shook his head rapidly. “No, I promise—there’s nothing of value.”

Raylay didn’t believe him.

She didn’t believe anyone anymore.

Her finger tightened on the trigger. “Raylay,” Sophia’s voice was confused, scared- not of the man, but of Raylay. Raylay ignored her; she was just a child, she didn’t understand, not yet.

She was done with people. She knew that letting someone live would come back to bite them. She didn't only have herself to think about anymore; she had Sophia. If she let this man live, maybe he’d sell them out. Maybe he’d lead someone else here. Maybe he’d wait until they were sleeping and slit their throats for whatever scraps they had left.

Her finger was on the trigger, the feeling familiar to when she had shot Ave—the thing—but before she could fire, a small hand shoved against her arm, jerking the gun off-target. The shot cracked through the air, splintering wood.

Raylay spun, rage flaring in her chest. “Sophia—”

“He’s scared!” Sophia snapped, stepping between Raylay and the priest. “You were just going to kill him?” Raylay’s jaw clenched. “He’s a liability.” Couldn’t she understand that? That this was all for her safety?

“He’s human.” Sophia’s voice wavered, but her eyes stayed locked on Raylay’s. Raylay breathed heavily, trying to fight the fire in her veins. Sophia’s voice dropped, softer now. “We’re not murderers.”

Raylay’s stomach twisted. Sophia was looking at her like she was someone else, someone Raylay wasn’t sure she wanted to be. She remembered killing those three men that night; it hadn’t sat on her conscience as she thought it would, but she could see it stuck to Sophia; Sophia thought she was dangerous.

Raylay exhaled sharply, lowering the rifle. The priest collapsed to his knees, gasping for breath.

Raylay turned on her heel, stepping outside the church. “We’re leaving.” Sophia was on her heels, frowning.

“We can’t just leave.”

Raylay whipped around, her eyes narrowing in anger. “The hell we can’t.”

Sophia’s hands curled into fists. “He’s just one guy, Raylay. He’s not a threat.” Raylay scoffed. “You don’t know that.” She pointed back at the church. “That man could have people coming back. Or he could turn on us the second we let our guard down. I’m not risking our lives for some sniveling coward.”

Sophia’s jaw tightened. “Not everyone is like that.” Raylay ran a hand through her hair, pacing. She couldn’t believe they were even having this conversation. How could Sophia be so stupid? Why was she acting so childish? “Sophia, we don’t have time for this.”

“We have nowhere else to go,” Sophia shot back. “You saw the map. We have a long way to D.C., and we don’t even know if we’ll find anything when we get there. This place has walls, a roof. We could rest here, just for a little while.”

Raylay shook her head. “And then what? We get comfortable? Stay too long? We can’t stay, Sophia.”

Sophia’s voice cracked. “I’m tired, Raylay. Aren’t you?” Sophia’s face was flushed, her eyes wet. “I know you think everyone’s bad, and yeah, most people are, but… I don’t want to become one of them.” Her voice wavered.

“I don’t want you to.”

Raylay exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples. Sophia wasn’t wrong. Raylay was tired. And staying here, even for a little while, wouldn’t be the worst thing. She clenched her jaw, then sighed. “Fine.”

Sophia blinked, surprised. “Really?”

Raylay scowled. “Don’t make me change my mind.” Sophia grinned, and for the first time in a long time, she actually looked relieved. Raylay didn’t know if staying was the right choice, but what had praying ever done for her?

-

Raylay pushed the benches behind the church doors so nobody could enter or leave; Father Gabriel seemed to dislike the desecration of his church, but the man was too cowardly to say a thing. The fire crackled softly in the center of the church, casting flickering shadows along the old wooden walls.

Father Gabriel sat stiffly on a pew, his hands clasped together, his fingers twitching occasionally. Across from him, Sophia sat cross-legged on the floor, her eyes scanning an old comic book.

She was talking, asking questions.

“How long have you been here?”

Gabriel swallowed, “Since the beginning.”

“Alone?”

He nodded. Sophia frowned. “How’d you survive?” Gabriel’s hands tightened around each other.

“God provides.”

Raylay scoffed from the other side of the fire, Gabriel flinched at the sound. He hadn’t looked at her once since they sat down; not directly. He could feel her eyes burning into him, heavy with judgment and suspicion.

Sophia glanced between them. “Raylay…” Raylay didn’t say a word; she just kept glaring. One wrong move, and she’d slit this fool’s throat.

Gabriel cleared his throat, his voice thin. “I—I understand your mistrust.” He glanced at Sophia, his eyes darting away from Raylay’s gaze. “You have both clearly been through… a great deal.”

Raylay leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “And you haven’t?”

Gabriel’s mouth opened, then closed. Sophia sighed. “She’s just—”

“I know what she is,” Gabriel cut in quickly, then seemed to regret speaking.

Raylay raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

He swallowed hard. “A survivor. God has blessed—”

She stood up. The fire crackled between them; the silence stretched. Gabriel shifted, his shoulders tight. She stared at him silently; if he were smart, he’d keep his mouth shut. Luckily for him, he seemed to have half a brain cell and shut up.

Sophia frowned, looking back down at her comic book, “Buzzkill,” she mumbled; Lula laid her head on her lap, glaring at Father Gabriel as well.

-

The church was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood settling. Sophia was curled up in her sleeping bag near the fire, her breathing slow and even. Raylay sat on the edge of a pew, her rifle resting across her lap, her eyes scanning the darkness beyond the cracked stained-glass windows.

She didn’t sleep anymore, not really, unless exhaustion finally forced her to.

Father Gabriel sat a few feet away, his hands still clasped together, though he wasn’t praying. After a long silence, he spoke. “You don’t trust me.”

Raylay didn’t bother looking at him. “No.”

Gabriel let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I suppose I can’t blame you.”

Raylay tilted her head slightly, watching his nervous fidgeting. “How have you survived out here, all alone?”

Gabriel hesitated. “I kept the doors locked.”

Raylay frowned, “That’s it?”

“I never let anyone in.” His voice was barely above a whisper. Raylay stared at him, waiting for him to continue, Gabriel swallowed hard. “People came, begging for shelter, for food.” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “I didn’t open the doors.”

Raylay felt something cold settle in her stomach. She should just shoot him right now.

“How many?”

Gabriel squeezed his hands together, then closed his eyes. “I lost count.” Raylay exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “So you just sat in here while they begged?”

Gabriel didn’t answer.

Raylay smiled, looking away. “And you think God saved you?”

It was quiet; the only reason he wasn’t bleeding out was because of the girl sleeping across from them.

Gabriel’s eyes flickered toward Sophia. “And yet, here I am. Alive. Just like you.”

Raylay tensed. Because he wasn’t wrong. She had done terrible things to survive. She had killed. She wasn’t any better than him. And yet, she was still breathing.

Gabriel sighed, exhausted. “What’s it like out there?”

Raylay’s jaw clenched. “Worse than you could imagine.”

“I can imagine a lot.”

Raylay shook her head. “No, you can’t.”

Gabriel fell silent. The fire crackled between them.

Raylay adjusted her grip on the rifle. “The real monsters aren’t the ones that came first. It’s the ones still walking around. The ones who chose to become something worse.”

Gabriel rubbed his arms as if suddenly cold. “And you?”

Raylay’s grip tightened. She didn’t answer.

Because she wasn’t sure anymore.

Chapter Text

- February 15th 2011 -

Raylay twisted the radio’s dial, her fingers steady despite the frustration creeping in. Static filled the air, the same empty noise she’d been hearing for days now. The radio screeched to a halt, buzzing lightly.

Faint, crackling, but unmistakably human.

“—sanctuary—on the way—Washington D.C.—safe—”

Then it was gone. Raylay stared at the radio, her pulse quickening. The last time she had heard this message, she had convinced herself it was a ghost signal of sorts, just some old loop repeating endlessly. But now? It was still going, that meant someone was out there, alive.

She stood abruptly, grabbing her pack. “We’re leaving.” Sophia, still rubbing sleep from her eyes, blinked. “What? Why?”

Raylay was already stuffing supplies into her bag. “I got the signal again.” Sophia sat up straighter, suddenly more awake. “The sanctuary?”

Raylay could only nod.

Lula stretched, yawning, before trotting over to Raylay’s side. Sophia hesitated, then quickly started gathering her things, too.

Father Gabriel watched from the doorway, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. “You’re going?” Raylay didn’t even glance at him. “Yeah.”

It was quiet for a bit, Sophia shooting worried glances towards the priest as she packed her stuff, “Take me with you.” Raylay paused.

Slowly, she turned to face him, arms crossed. “You wanna leave your little safe haven now?” It was cold and she knew that but she couldn't care less about the man before her.

Gabriel swallowed, shifting nervously. “I—” He took a breath. “I can’t stay here forever. And if there’s really a place out there, somewhere safe-”

She narrowed her eyes. “You think there’s anywhere safe left?”

Gabriel didn’t answer.

Raylay exhaled sharply, adjusting her rifle strap. “Fine. But if you’re coming with us, you’re pulling your weight.” She stepped closer, eyes sharp. “And that means killing.”

Gabriel stiffened and Raylay didn’t blink. “If you hesitate? I’ll kill you.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Gabriel’s throat bobbed, but he nodded quickly.

Raylay narrowed her eyes, then turned on her heel. “Then let’s move.”

- February 16th 2011 -

The fire was small but steady, crackling softly in the cool night air. The woods stretched out beyond their little camp, endless and black, trees swaying in the wind like something animated.

Raylay sat with her back against a fallen log, her rifle resting within reach. Sophia was curled up beside her, head resting on Raylay’s lap, breathing slow and steady in sleep. Lula was tucked close to Sophia, ears twitching at the occasional sound. Gabriel sat a few feet away, his hands wrapped around his knees, eyes darting nervously toward the trees. Every so often, his gaze would flicker over his shoulder, as if expecting something to emerge from the darkness. Wincing and flinching at the sound of branches snapping.

Raylay sighed. “You’re jumpy.” Gabriel swallowed, slowly. “I don’t… like the dark.”

Raylay smirked, adjusting her position slightly so she didn’t wake Sophia. “Figures.”

Gabriel ignored her tone. “It’s too open out here. Too… exposed.”

Raylay shrugged. “That’s the point. If anything comes, we’ll hear it.”

Gabriel didn’t look convinced. Raylay studied him for a moment before exhaling through her nose. “You know,” she murmured, running her fingers absently through Sophia’s tangled hair, “my daughter was scared of the dark, too.”

Gabriel looked up, surprised.

Raylay hadn’t meant to say it, but the words were already out.

“She’d refuse to sleep unless I checked every corner of her room. The closet, under the bed. Had to leave the hall light on, too.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Used to drive me crazy.”

She could tell Gabriel had assumed Sophia was her daughter but now he seemed to have a realisation look on his face. Gabriel listened quietly, the firelight flickering in his wide eyes.

Raylay’s gaze drifted to the flames. “One night, she said there was something outside her window. Swore up and down it was a monster.” Her voice softened. “Turned out to be a tree branch tapping against the glass.”

Gabriel exhaled slowly. “What did you do?”

Raylay smirked faintly. “Told her to punch it in the face if it got too close.”

Gabriel blinked, then let out a short, nervous laugh. Raylay’s smile faded. “She believed me, too. Said she’d fight anything that came for her.”

She ran her fingers gently through Sophia’s hair again, feeling the weight of her daughter’s absence like a stone in her chest. Gabriel didn’t press for more, leaning his head against the tree in silence. The fire crackled between them, she closed her eyes and let herself be dragged into a dreamless sleep.

- February 17th 2011 -

Raylay walked in front, rifle in hand, Sophia beside her with Lula at her heels. Gabriel trailed behind them, constantly tripping on his own feet. He had been quiet most of the morning, his nervous energy radiating off him in waves.

A lone walker staggered out from behind an abandoned car. Its flesh was gray and rotting, one eye milky white while the other hung loose in its socket. Its mouth opened and closed in slow, mindless hunger. Gabriel froze. Raylay didn’t.

She stopped and turned to him. “Here’s your chance.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. “I—I don’t—”

Raylay shoved her knife into his hands. “No more excuses.”

He looked at the blade like it was something foreign, something wrong in his hands. The walker groaned, dragging itself closer.

Gabriel took a step back. “I—I can’t—”

Raylay’s voice was sharp. “You hesitate, and it’ll be you or Sophia.”

Gabriel’s breath hitched as the walker lunged at them, Sophia's eyes widened as she moved for her knife but Raylay held a firm grip on her forearm, he was only doing this to himself.

With a strangled cry, Gabriel thrust the knife forward, his hands shaky and his grip unsteady. The blade sank into the creature’s skull with a sickening crunch.

The walker twitched once, then collapsed. Gabriel stumbled back, chest heaving, his face pale. He stared at the blood on his hands, at the body at his feet.

Raylay watched him carefully. “Congratulations. You’re a killer now.”

Gabriel looked at her, horror in his eyes. Sophia glared at her, pulling her arm away harshly. Raylay wasn't sorry for what happened, it was always going to happen.

- February 18th 2011 -

Dozens of them stepped out of the tree line.

“Shit,” Raylay hissed, already reaching for her rifle, she knew guns were the worst weapons for having to deal with these things but they really had no choice, gunshots would attract more but it would also keep them at bay. Gabriel stiffened beside her, gripping his knife with shaking hands. Sophia pressed close to Raylay despite the earlier anger and resistance, Lula growling low in her throat. The walkers moved sluggishly but relentlessly, their numbers growing by the second.

Raylay fired. One fell. Another took its place. They were surrounded. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She had killed them.

Lula barked wildly, snapping at a walker that got too close. Sophia swung her knife at another, but they were coming from all sides now, cutting off any escape. Raylay reloaded, cursing under her breath.

Then—Gunfire. Not hers.

A bullet ripped through a walker’s skull, then another, dropping them one after the other. Raylay turned, eyes locking onto a black man and a boy, both wielding rifles, picking off the dead with practiced precision.

“Get down!” the man shouted.

Raylay grabbed Sophia and Gabriel, shoving them behind an overturned truck. More gunfire rang out, the scent of blood thick in the air.

It was silent for a moment, Raylay peered over the truck’s edge. The herd was gone. Bodies littered the road, their putrid stench filling Raylay’s nose.

The man lowered his rifle, exhaling. He was a tall African-American man with sharp eyes that flicked towards Raylay. The boy beside him looked no older than fifthteen, close to Sophia in age she assumed, his hands steady despite the gun in them.

The man nodded once, firm, steady. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter Text

- February 18th, 2011 -

Sophia couldn’t stop staring at the boy. It had been so long since she’d seen another kid, an actual kid, not just a body on the side of the road or stumbling in the woods. Duane. That’s what his dad called him. He was maybe a little older than her, maybe not. He had a rifle slung over his shoulder like it was nothing, like he had always known how to use it.

They had saved them. Raylay didn’t trust them. She never trusted anyone. Even now, she stood stiff, hand near her gun as she talked to Morgan. Sophia didn’t care; she was excited for once.

“Where are you guys staying?” she asked, stepping closer to Duane. He glanced at his dad slowly, then back at her. “In town, got a place locked down real good.”

Sophia perked up. “A town? Like, with buildings?”

The corner of Duane’s lips curled up softly. “That’s usually what towns have.” She rolled her eyes but grinned; it felt so weird to get to talk to someone who wasn’t an adult for once. “Smartass.”

His smirk widened. “You gonna come with us or what?” Sophia turned to Raylay, practically bouncing on her heels. “Can we?”

Raylay’s jaw was tight, but after a long moment, she gave a small nod. Morgan gestured down the road. “It ain’t far. You’ll be safe with us.” Somewhere safe, that’s what they were looking for, right? Maybe they wouldn’t even have to go to the Sanctuary. Raylay didn’t believe in safe anymore, but Sophia wasn’t Raylay; she tried not to be.

The town was somewhat quiet.

Sophia stuck close to Duane as they walked through the empty streets, Lula padding beside her. Most of the buildings were boarded up, the windows shattered or covered in grime. There were old, sun-bleached cars abandoned on the road, some with doors still hanging open. But there were no dead. Had Duane and his dad cleared everything out?

Morgan led them to an old apartment building, one of the few that still looked intact. The front door was reinforced with metal bars, and when he opened it, Sophia saw the inside was just as secure. It wasn’t just a hideout. It was a fortress.

They followed Morgan upstairs to an apartment that looked lived-in. The air smelled like gun oil and something vaguely like canned beans. There were so many guns. Sophia hadn’t shot any before. Raylay had tried to teach her, but Sophia refused to touch a gun. It had frustrated Raylay, but she wasn’t going to crack, at least not anytime soon.

A whole stash, laid out on a table. Pistols, rifles, even a few shotguns. Raylay paused, eyeing the weapons slowly. “Well, damn.”

Morgan watched her warily. “Appreciate the collection?”

Gabriel, on the other hand, looked like he was about to pass out. His fingers twitched at his sides, eyes darting between the weapons like they might explode. While the adults talked, Duane nudged Sophia. “Come on, I’ll show you my room.”

She was quick to follow him down the hall into a small bedroom.

It wasn’t much—a bed, a dresser, a few posters still clinging to the walls. But it felt real. Like a normal kid’s room.

Duane flopped onto the bed. “Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen a place like this.” Sophia sat on the floor, running her fingers over the worn-out rug. “Yeah.” She looked up at him. “How long have you guys been here?”

“Almost since the start. My dad found this place and locked it down.”

Sophia nodded, hugging her knees. “It’s nice.” It made Sophia think of her own bedroom and her old house. She missed her mom; there wasn’t a moment where she didn’t, but she felt it more in moments like these.

Duane reached under his bed and pulled out a shoebox, flipping off the lid. “Check this out.”

Sophia leaned forward, eyes widening as he pulled out a stack of comics. They were a little beat-up, some with creased spines and folded corners, but they were comics.

“You kept these?” Sophia breathed in awe, picking one up.

Duane shrugged. “Yeah. Figured the world ending didn’t mean I had to give up everything.”

Sophia ran her fingers over the cover. It was an old superhero issue, the kind Carl used to read. A familiar ache settled in her chest. Duane and Carl would have probably been friends in another life.

Duane nudged her. “What about you? You got any?”

Sophia hesitated, then dug into her backpack. She pulled out a few of her own; she had less than Duane had, but still plenty to keep her entertained. She handed one to him.

Duane grinned. “No way! I love this series.”

They sat there, flipping through pages, trading issues back and forth. For a little while, it almost felt normal—like they were just two kids, reading comics, not worrying about the world outside. She liked to pretend it was normal, like her mom had just dropped her off at a friend’s house and was going to pick her up soon.

-

The apartment smelled like warmed-up canned stew. It wasn’t much, but it was hot, and that was more than Sophia had in a long time. They all sat around the small kitchen table—Morgan at the head, Duane beside him, Raylay next to Sophia, and Gabriel sitting stiffly at the end. Lula lay under the table, her head resting on Sophia’s foot boredly.

Morgan took a bite, then leaned back in his chair. “So, where y’all headed?” Raylay didn’t even look up, eating her food slowly. “Sanctuary. Someplace on the way to D.C.”

Morgan hummed, setting his spoon down. “And you trust that?”

“No.” Raylay sighed, eyes narrowing at the man in the same way she used to look at Gabriel back at the church. “But it’s a direction.”

Morgan nodded like he understood. Then Sophia spoke up, “We could stay.”

She didn’t know why she said that. A part of her craved normalcy. She wished to eat like this every night. She could easily pretend like they were all a happy family and that the dead weren’t rotting outside. The room went quiet. Raylay stopped eating, her grip tightening on her spoon.

Morgan glanced between them, reading the tension. Sophia kept her eyes on her bowl. Raylay scared her sometimes. She thinks if she met her later on in life, the woman would have killed her already. “It’s safe here,” she mumbled. “Safer than the road.”

Raylay exhaled sharply. “We talked about this, Sophia.” It was quick and cold like most of Raylay’s words, Gabriel tensing beside her with a frown towards Sophia as if he thought it was a stupid idea too. Sophia didn’t answer. Morgan looked thoughtful, but he didn’t press. Duane, beside her, nudged her knee under the table.

She didn’t nudge back.

-

The water was lukewarm; the soap was running thin.

Duane scrubbed out a dented can, passing it to his dad to dry. Washing dishes wasn’t exactly necessary these days, but Morgan insisted. ‘Routines keep you human,’ he always said.

Duane didn’t argue with his father often or at all. He respected the man to make the right decisions when necessary, but something itched in the back of his brain. He didn’t think this was… right.

“Why can’t we go with them?” He mumbled, a frown sticking to his face.

Morgan paused mid-wipe, his shoulders tensing. “That what you want?” Duane shrugged; he liked Sophia; she had been the only other person his age he had talked to in a really long time. He really didn’t want her to leave, not when he just arrived.

He could tell she didn’t want to leave him either.

Morgan sighed, setting the rag down. “It’s dangerous out there.” Duane furrowed his brows in annoyance. “Like it’s not dangerous here?”

Morgan gave him a look, the kind that usually ended conversations, but Duane wasn’t just going to drop this. He was tired of this apartment, tired of it all; he craved change.

Morgan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ll talk to Raylay tomorrow,” he said finally. “Ask her more about her plan.”

Duane frowned, nodding and pretending that that was enough.

- February 19th, 2011 -

The apartment was quiet, the only sounds coming from the wind outside and the occasional creak of the old building settling. The kids were asleep—Duane curled up in his bed; beside him next to the pillow border they set up was Sophia with Lula’s head on her slowly rising and falling chest. Raylay was outside on watch, her shadow visible against the curtained windows due to the reflection from the moonlight.

Morgan wasn’t sure if he could sleep with strangers in his house; he wasn’t sure why he brought them with him, maybe it was the little girl with them or how they didn’t seem to turn on each other when they thought it was their last moments. Duane seemed to be particularly fond of the girl; he guessed it was due to the lack of interaction with anybody his age in a while.

Morgan stepped into the living room, his eyes falling on the other dark-skinned individual who sat at the dining table. He hadn’t struck Morgan much at first; he seemed like a cowardly man who’d be easy to take out if necessary; he wasn’t really big either, which helped ease Morgan’s worry. The man’s eyes caught onto Morgan’s, and he sent the man a hesitant small smile which Morgan did not return.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Morgan hummed, taking a seat across from Gabriel. The man hadn’t moved much since dinner, hands clasped together like he was praying. Maybe he was.

Gabriel smiled; he looked tired. “Not for a long while,” he hummed. Morgan nodded; he could understand that. His eyes moved towards the silhouette behind the white curtains, a faint figure with a gun marching back and forth like a soldier; he wondered if she had been one before everything went to hell.

Morgan leaned back in his chair. “So,” he said, voice low. “What’s the story?”

Gabriel’s fingers twitched, pausing. “Raylay and Sophia?” Morgan nodded.

Gabriel hesitated, then exhaled, shaking his head. “I don’t know everything.”

“But you know something.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Raylay doesn’t talk much about her past. She told me…” he paused, scrunching his nose as he glanced toward the door where Raylay stood outside. As if he was worried that he’d say the wrong thing and she’d come inside and shoot him. “She lost someone, maybe more than one,” he said instead.

“She’s… hard; she doesn’t trust easily.” Morgan nodded in agreement; for some reason, she didn’t seem to like the man even though it looked like they’ve been together for quite some time now. “Figured that part out myself.”

Gabriel gave a humorless chuckle. “Sophia… she’s different. She still has hope.”

Morgan nodded slowly. “That’s why Raylay wants to keep moving?”

Gabriel paused, looking down. “Maybe.” Morgan studied him, then turned his gaze to the window, where Raylay’s shadow stood unmoving.

He’d talk to her in the morning.

Chapter Text

- February 19th 2011 -

Morgan stood by the window, arms crossed, watching the early morning light creep across the town. Raylay leaned against the kitchen counter, her rifle resting within arm’s reach, Gabriel and Sophia busy packing the rest of their things before they head out later.

“So,” Morgan said finally. “Tell me about this sanctuary.”

Raylay sighed, “I don’t know much. Just a message over the radio. They’re heading toward D.C, say they have shelter.. food.” She met his eyes, “It could be a trap.”

Morgan nodded. “And you’re willing to take that risk?”

Raylay narrowed her eyes at the man she wasn't sure what to feel about, he saved them but he also didn't seem to want them to stay, “Staying still is a risk too. The second this town stops being safe, we’ll be cornered.”

Morgan glanced toward the hallway, where Gabriel and Sophia were packing. He thought of Duane, how he had been firm about going, that was the first time he saw his son like that.

“You think it’s real?” he asked, slowly. Raylay didn’t hesitate, “I think it’s worth finding out.”

Morgan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. Then he nodded, it was slow but firm. “Alright. We’ll go with you.” Raylay studied him, as if debating if she should let him come with them before humming and giving a short nod, “Then let’s move.”

By the time the sun fully rose, they were already on the road.

- February 21st 2011 -

The road stretched endlessly before them, cracked and broken, the yellow paint of the dotted lines in the middle faded by the heat and humidity, nature creeping in from both sides. The wind rustled through the trees, it wasn't hot like most days out on the road but the arm around them still exhibited a warmth.

Sophia walked in the middle of the road, Lula trotting beside her, tongue lolling out. She swung her arms as she walked, stepping over cracks like it was a game.

Raylay kept a steady pace beside her, rifle slung over her shoulder, eyes scanning the treeline readily. Morgan and Duane followed a few steps behind, while Gabriel lagged further, still adjusting to life outside the safety of the church.

For once, there was no immediate danger. No walkers groaning in the distance, no footsteps in the dark. Just the rhythm of their boots against the pavement and the hum of the wind.

Sophia looked up at Raylay boredly, “How much further do you think?” Raylay sighed. “No way to know for sure.”

Sophia huffed, “That’s what you always say.”

Raylay could only smirk, nudging Sophia’s shoulder playfully, “Maybe you should stop asking the same question.”

Sophia grinned like the child she was, “Maybe you should start giving better answers.”

Morgan chuckled from behind them, “Kid’s got a point.”

Raylay rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, she reached over and ruffled Sophia’s hair. Sophia swatted her hand away with a laugh, trying to fix it even though it never seemed to be kept. For a long moment, it almost felt normal.

Then Sophia slowed, eyes scanning the ground near the forest, “Look,” she said, pointing.

Raylay followed her gaze, sharply. Small purple flowers were growing through a crack in the road. Bright, delicate, untouched by the world’s ruin, yet.

Sophia crouched down, running her fingers over the petals. “My mom liked these,” she murmured. “She had a garden in our backyard. She always said flowers made everything feel less scary.”

Raylay frowned, Sophia talked about her mother often but she really didn't know much about the woman herself. The older woman frowned, looking towards Gabriel who eyed her with a knowing look.

Duane hesitated, crouching down beside Sophia, plucking one of the flowers gently and handing it to her.

“They still do,” he mumbled softly, Sophia blinked at him, then at the flower in his hand. A slow smile spread across her face as she took it. “Thanks,” she murmured, tucking it behind her ear.

Morgan raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Raylay caught the small grin he was trying to hide. A moment later, movement from the corner of her eye made her turn. Gabriel had plucked a flower too.

He hesitated, like he was waiting for Raylay to swat his hand away, then awkwardly held it out to her.

Raylay stared at it slowly, then back at him.

He swallowed hard. “I, uh… you don’t have to take it, I just-”

Raylay took it from him before he could finish, scoffing “Relax, Father.” She twirled the flower between her fingers, then smirked. “You know… you’re less of a coward nowadays.”

Gabriel blinked. Then he let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head.

“High praise, coming from you,” he muttered.

Raylay just smirked, tucking the flower into her vest pocket before continuing down the road.

- February 22nd 2011 -

The night was thick with silence, broken only by the distant chirping of crickets and the occasional crackle from the campfire. The flames had died down to embers, casting soft shadows across their small camp.

Morgan lay curled around Duane a few feet away, the boy’s head tucked against his father’s chest. Sophia had burrowed into her sleeping bag with Lula curled protectively beside her, the dog’s ear twitching every now and then in sleep.

Raylay stood at the edge of camp, fingers wrapped around the strap of her rifle, eyes scanning the darkened treeline. The night always felt heavier out here, too much space, too many unknowns.

She sighed, rolling out the stiffness in her shoulders before finally stepping away from her post. Gabriel sat near the fire, hunched over slightly, staring into the dying coals. Raylay dropped down beside him with a quiet grunt, stretching her legs out in front of her. For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet between them was almost comfortable now.

Then Raylay exhaled and muttered, “You think we can trust him?”

Gabriel didn’t look at her, just kept his gaze fixed on the embers. “Morgan?” She nodded.

Gabriel was silent for a moment before he spoke. “He’s a good man.”

Raylay huffed a dry laugh. “That doesn’t mean much anymore.”

Gabriel turned his head slightly, giving her a knowing look, “It used to.”

She frowned, staring at the fire, “Used to be a lot of things.”

Gabriel tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “He reminds me of you in a way”

Raylay snorted “That’s insulting, to him.”

Gabriel chuckled quietly. “I don’t think so.”

Raylay rubbed a hand over her face. “He’s got something to lose,” she muttered. “Makes people dangerous.” Gabriel watched her for a moment before speaking. “So do you.”

Raylay stiffened.

She didn’t look at Sophia, didn’t let herself. Instead, she picked up a small twig and tossed it into the embers, watching the sparks flare before fading into the night.

Gabriel let the silence sit between them for a long moment before shifting slightly, “What about you?” he asked softly. “Do you trust him?”

Raylay thought about it.

She thought about the way Morgan had thrown himself into danger for them. The way he looked at his son like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. How he never questioned her leadership, never treated Sophia like a burden, never once went against her. She thought about how she hadn’t met someone like that in a long, long time.

“…I don’t know, yet.” she admitted finally.

Gabriel nodded, like he expected that answer. "Whatever you decide, I trust your judgement." He stated. Raylay exhaled, letting her head tilt back to stare up at the night sky. The stars were brighter out here, the sky endless.

She pulled the flower Gabriel had given her from her vest pocket, twirling it between her fingers absentmindedly.

“I wasn't lying you know" she hummed as he turned to stare at her quizzingly. "You’re less of a coward nowadays,” she muttered.

Gabriel blinked at her, surprised. Then he let out a small, breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Raylay smirked, but didn’t say anything else after that. For a while, they just sat there, listening to the fire crackle and the soft sounds of their group breathing.

Chapter Text

- February 22nd 2011 -

The air was crisp when Raylay woke, the first hints of morning light barely touching the horizon. The camp was still, save for the steady breathing of the others. She pushed herself up, rolling her shoulders, and grabbed her rifle before stepping over to Morgan.

“Hey,” she muttered, nudging his shoulder with her boot. Morgan stirred with a quiet grunt, blinking up at her. “What?”

“I’m going hunting,” Raylay said. “Watch the camp.” Morgan rubbed his eyes, sitting up. He glanced around, taking in the undisturbed camp before nodding. “Yeah, alright.”

Raylay was just about to leave when she heard a voice behind her.

“I want to come.”

She turned to see Gabriel sitting up, looking at her with steady eyes. Raylay raised an eyebrow. “You?”

Gabriel nodded. “I need to learn.”

She studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine. But don’t slow me down.” Gabriel stood quickly, grabbing his knife and following as Raylay disappeared into the trees.

The forest was still in the early morning light, the air cool and damp with the lingering touch of night. Leaves rustled softly overhead, a breeze moving steadily through the trees. Raylay led the way, stepping carefully over the underbrush, her rifle slung across her shoulder.

Gabriel followed close behind, clutching his knife in an almost comically tight grip, as if something might lunge at him at any second. The corners of her lip's quirked up as she watched him curiously, “You planning on stabbing the air?”

Gabriel exhaled sharply, loosening his grip, though his shoulders were still tense. “I’ve never hunted before,” he admitted. “Or killed anything that wasn’t already trying to kill me.” Raylay raised an eyebrow but kept walking. “Killing’s killing.”

Gabriel was quiet for a moment. “Maybe,” he murmured. She knew he wasn't a huge fan of her way of things but she wasn't a fan of his either so they were even. They moved deeper into the woods, their footsteps soft against the damp earth. Birds chirped above, and somewhere in the distance, water trickled from a small creek. It almost felt… peaceful.

Raylay crouched suddenly, holding up a hand to stop him. Gabriel froze. She pointed toward a small clearing ahead. A rabbit was nibbling at some leaves, ears twitching. Raylay slowly reached for her rifle, moving with practiced ease. Gabriel watched, barely breathing, as she steadied the gun and aimed. But then, instead of pulling the trigger, she glanced at him.

“Well?” she whispered.

Gabriel blinked. “What?”

“You wanted to learn,” Raylay said, smirking. “Lesson one; take the shot.”

Gabriel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You want me to-?” Raylay rolled her eyes. “No, I want the rabbit to shoot itself.” She held the rifle out to him. “Come on, preacher.”

Gabriel hesitated before taking the gun. It was heavier than he expected, the cool metal unfamiliar in his hands. Raylay positioned herself beside him, guiding his stance. “Keep your feet steady. Don’t lock your arms, you’ll just screw yourself over when you pull the trigger.”

Gabriel adjusted awkwardly, and Raylay sighed. “Here.” She reached out, correcting his grip, moving his hands slightly. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, her fingers warm even in the cool morning air.

Gabriel exhaled slowly, his heart pounding for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure had to do with the rabbit. Raylay’s voice softened, steady and sure, “Breathe in when you aim. Exhale when you shoot.”

Gabriel did as she said, inhaling deeply. The rabbit was still there, blissfully unaware. His finger hovered over the trigger.
A branch snapped behind them. The rabbit bolted.

Gabriel cursed under his breath, lowering the gun. Raylay just sighed, shaking her head. “Well,” she said, smirking, “that was almost impressive.”

Gabriel sighed, “I scared it away.”

Raylay shrugged. “Shit happens, we’ll find another.”

They walked in silence for a bit, Gabriel still gripping the rifle like it might explode in his hands. After a while, Raylay glanced at him. “Why now?”

Gabriel looked at her, confused. “What?”

Raylay shrugged. “You’ve survived this long without hunting. What changed?” Gabriel was quiet for a moment, then sighed. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Raylay frowned, “You’re.. not.” It sounded more like a question, she didn't want to make him feel worse but she didn't want to lie either. Gabriel huffed a small, dry laugh. “You wanted to shoot me when we met.”

Raylay snorted at the memory, "if I wanted you dead you would've been."

They kept walking, the morning stretching out before them.
Raylay paused at the distant sight. It was a small cabin nestled deep in the woods like it had been waiting for them. The roof was still intact, the windows only slightly broken, and the door, though creaky, held strong when Raylay shoved it open.

She swept the rifle in first, checking for movement. The air inside was stale, dust hanging thick in the morning light. A fireplace sat cold against the far wall, an old couch positioned in front of it. A kitchen to the left, a staircase leading to what looked like a loft above.

Gabriel stepped in behind her, scanning the space. “Looks abandoned.” Raylay snorted, “Everything looks abandoned nowadays, doesn’t mean it is.”

She moved through the space carefully, clearing each room. Nothing but dust, old furniture, and the shadow of life that used to be here. When she returned, she nodded. “It’s clear.”

Gabriel exhaled, lowering his knife. “It’s… nice.” Raylay glanced around. Nice wasn’t the word she’d use. But it was secure, and that was something.

“We should bring the others here,” she muttered. “Could be a good place to rest for a few days.” Gabriel nodded. “Sophia would like that.” Raylay smirked. “Kid likes any place with four walls.”

They spent the next 20 minutes raiding the cabin, looking for anything useful. Raylay found a few dusty cans of food in the kitchen, a half-full bottle of whiskey in a cupboard, and some old blankets upstairs. Gabriel unearthed a first aid kit and some candles from a hallway closet. After a while, exhaustion started to settle in.

Raylay sank down onto the wooden floor, stretching her legs out in front of her. Gabriel sat beside her, leaning against the wall. For a long time, they just sat there in silence, the weight of the world pressing against them.

Then Gabriel sighed. “I don’t think I’m a priest anymore.”

Raylay turned her head slightly, studying him. “No?”

He shook his head. “No.” Raylay thought about that. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Gabriel hesitated, “I’m not sure.” He glanced down at his hands, quiet for a moment. “I used to think my faith would carry me through this. But now…” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Now, I don’t know what I believe in anymore.”

Raylay hummed, picking at the label on the whiskey bottle she’d found. “I don’t think I’m a mother anymore,” she admitted after a while.

Gabriel was silent for a bit, "what was her name?"

Raylay closed her eyes tiredly, "Avery."

Silence stretched between them.

After a moment, Raylay twisted off the cap of the whiskey and took a long drink. The burn was sharp, but it was the good kind of sharp; the kind that kept her present. She held the bottle out to Gabriel. He hesitated before taking it, tilting it back for a sip. He coughed immediately, grimacing. “Christ.”

Raylay snorted, “Blasphemy, preacher.”

Gabriel huffed a small, dry laugh, wiping his mouth. “Guess that proves my point.” Raylay smirked, taking another sip. They passed the bottle back and forth, the air between them settling into something almost easy.

-

The cabin was quiet except for the occasional pop of the old wooden walls settling. Raylay was half-dozing against the wall, the whiskey still warming her stomach, when Gabriel suddenly tensed beside her.

Footsteps.

Raylay was on her feet in an instant, the bottle forgotten as she grabbed her rifle. Gabriel followed suit, his movements slower, less certain.

More footsteps. Voices. There were at least three of them, maybe more. Heavy boots against the porch. A low chuckle. Fuck. Shit.

Raylay grabbed Gabriel’s arm and pulled him toward the bedroom. The only cover was an old wooden bed, barely high enough for them to squeeze under. She slid in first, belly to the floor, the wood pressing against her back. Gabriel followed, his breathing unsteady. The front door creaked open.

"Somebody’s been here," a voice muttered. Another scoffed. "No shit. Food’s missing. Bet they’re still close."

Their boots thudded across the cabin, growing louder. Raylay’s grip on her knife tightened. A shadow passed by the door. Gabriel tensed beside her, his breathing shallow. Raylay willed him to stay still. One of the men stepped into the room. His boots were muddy, his jeans torn at the knee. He seemed to pause.

Then, he crouched.

Raylay moved to slide out, but the strap of her rifle caught on the bed frame. Shit.

The man grinned. "Well, well-"

Raylay yanked at her rifle, but the strap wouldn't budge. The man grabbed her ankle and pulled. Gabriel moved before she could. With a shaky breath, he surged forward and drove his knife into the man’s stomach and a knife to his throat. The grin crumbled into shock as blood gurgled from his lips. Gabriel let go, pulling his knife out of the men's neck with shaky hands, as the body slumped onto the floor.

The other two men rushed in. Raylay finally freed her rifle and fired. The closest one collapsed, a hole between his eyes. The last man lunged at Gabriel.

Gabriel hesitated, but only for a second.

Then he slammed the knife into the man’s gut and twisted. The man gasped, his hands scrabbling at Gabriel’s arm before the strength drained from him completely.

He dropped. Silence.

Gabriel stood there, chest heaving, staring down at the bodies and his hands. His hands were red, his breathing ragged. Raylay slowly got to her feet, wiping blood from her cheek.

The cabin smelled like blood. Thick and metallic, filling every breath. The bodies lay in awkward heaps on the floor, their lifeless eyes staring at nothing. Gabriel was still standing where he’d been, hands trembling, his knife slick with red.

Raylay adjusted the rifle on her shoulder and turned to him. “We need to go.” Gabriel didn’t move. His chest rose and fell in uneven gasps, his shoulders shaking. Raylay exhaled through her nose. She had seen this before, she had seen this in Sophia.

Gabriel dropped his knife. His knees buckled, and he braced himself against the wall, fingers gripping the wood like he might collapse if he let go. His breathing turned ragged, sharp gasps cutting through the silence.

“I—I killed them.” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with something raw. Raylay sighed. She glanced at the bodies, then back at him.

"Yeah," she said. "You did."

Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. A strangled noise escaped him, something between a sob and a breath. His whole body shook. Raylay hesitated before stepping closer. Then, carefully, she rested a hand on his shoulder.

Gabriel flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

“You had to,” Raylay murmured, “It was them or us.”

Gabriel let out a shuddering breath, his head hanging low. “I never wanted to be this person.” His voice broke. "Not a killer." Raylay tightened her grip on his shoulder. “None of us did,” she admitted.

Gabriel covered his face with his hands, his breath still shaking. Raylay let him have a moment. After a while, he wiped at his eyes and straightened, but his hands were still unsteady.

“You did good,” Raylay told him, firm but quiet. “You kept us alive.”

Gabriel swallowed hard, nodding. He still looked wrecked, but he wasn’t falling apart anymore. Raylay patted his shoulder once before stepping back. “Come on. We need to go.”

Gabriel took a deep breath and nodded again.

Then, without looking back, they left the cabin behind.

Chapter Text

- March 1st 2011 -

The railway stretched endlessly, cutting through the overgrown landscape like a scar. Raylay led the way, rifle slung over her shoulder, Sophia at her side with Lula trotting ahead. Behind them, Gabriel walked in quiet contemplation, Morgan and Duane bringing up the rear. The world had felt empty for so long, just trees and silence, the occasional distant growl of the dead. But as they neared the end of the tracks, something changed.

The air smelled different. Wood smoke. Cooked food. People. Raylay tensed, a train station. Large, industrial, fenced-in with metal sheets and barbed wire. Atop the entrance, bold letters spelled out: TERMINUS.

And it was full of people. Raylay slowed, eyes narrowing. The others followed suit, tension rising. There were voices; real, human voices. The hum of conversation, the clang of metal, the sound of children laughing. People moved between train cars repurposed into shelters, some tending to small fires, others sorting through supplies. It was… organized.

Sophia gasped, eyes brightening “Is this-?” “The sanctuary.” Gabriel’s voice was barely above a whisper.

A group of people spotted them and approached. Raylay tensed, her fingers twitching toward her rifle, but the woman at the front raised her hands in a gesture of peace. She was in her forties, with sharp eyes and a practical air about her.

“Welcome to Terminus,” she said with a small smile, “You look like you’ve come a long way.”

Raylay didn’t lower her guard. “We have.”

The woman nodded. “We can offer food, shelter, safety. No catches.”

Morgan exchanged a glance with Raylay, his expression unreadable. Sophia, however, was already looking at the people, eyes wide with something Raylay hadn’t seen in a long time; hope. Terminus looked like everything they had been searching for. But Raylay had been let down before and she was ready to be let down again.

Raylay didn’t move. She didn’t lower her rifle. Her eyes swept over Terminus, taking in every detail; the people working, the guards posted along the fences, the repurposed train cars acting as makeshift homes. It all seemed… too good. Too good to be true.

“Seems like you got quite the operation,” she muttered, eyes sharp. The woman, Mary, nodded. “We do our best.”

Raylay shifted her stance, still unconvinced. “How do you make sure no bad people get in?”

Mary didn’t seem fazed by the question. “We have scouts,” she answered. “They watch the tracks, keep an eye on newcomers before they ever step through the gates. We don’t just let anyone in.”

Raylay narrowed her eyes, she was 100% nobody had been watching them when they entered and even if there were they just decided to let them in, did they look like non-threatening group? “And if someone dangerous does get in?”

Mary exhaled through her nose, her expression unreadable. “We handle it.” Gabriel stepped closer, voice soft but firm, “Ray.” She ignored him.

“How do you get your food?” Raylay pressed. “It takes a lot to feed this many people.” Mary tilted her head slightly, “We grow most of it ourselves. There’s farmland behind the main station; vegetables, some livestock. We also scavenge when we need to.”

Raylay glanced at the people bustling about. She spotted a man tending to a fire pit, a woman carrying a basket of what looked like fresh vegetables. It all looked… normal. She wasn’t convinced.

“How do you patrol?” Raylay continued. “How do things work around here? Who’s in charge?”

Mary’s lips twitched, almost amused. “We share leadership here. Decisions are made together. We take turns patrolling, and everyone contributes in some way. No freeloaders.” Raylay finally turned to Gabriel, giving him a look. “Sounds perfect, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel let out a slow breath. “Maybe it’s just a place where people are trying to survive, like us.”

Raylay didn’t answer. She couldn’t shake the unease crawling up her spine. Mary must have sensed the tension because she motioned behind her. “Let me introduce you to my boys. Maybe that’ll ease your nerves.”

Two men approached from a nearby train car. One was lean, sharp-eyed, with a calculating expression that set Raylay on edge. The other was younger, softer, looking less like a leader and more like someone who followed orders.

“This is my son, Gareth,” Mary said, motioning to the sharp-eyed man. Then she nodded at the younger one. “And this is Alex.”

Gareth gave a polite smile, but his eyes flicked over Raylay in quiet assessment, “You’ve been through a lot,” he noted. Did they look that bad?

Raylay met his gaze, unflinching, “We have.”

Alex, on the other hand, offered a warmer smile. “You don’t have to worry here. We take care of our own.”

Raylay felt it the second they stepped through the gates; the itch in the back of her skull, the feeling that something was off. She had spent too long surviving, too long fighting, to trust anything that looked this good. So, as Mary and Gareth continued their introductions, Raylay took a step back.

“I’m leaving.”

The words weren’t loud, but they carried enough weight to silence the group.

Morgan turned to her, brows furrowing. “What?”

“This place isn’t right,” Raylay muttered. “I don’t trust it.”

Gabriel exhaled, already exhausted. “You don’t trust anything.”

“That's what's kep us alive 'till now, right?”

Morgan crossed his arms. “And what exactly do you think is wrong with it?”

Raylay gestured vaguely at their surroundings. “It’s too clean. Too perfect. It doesn’t make sense.” Gabriel shook his head. “So because it isn’t a wasteland, it must be dangerous?”

Raylay’s jaw clenched. “The world doesn’t just give you things, Gabriel. There’s always a price.”

Morgan sighed. “Well, I don’t see a price right now. I see food, shelter, safety. And I see my son getting to be a kid again.” He glanced over to where Duane and Sophia were talking, already comfortable. “We’re staying.”

Raylay’s fingers twitched at her side. She looked at Sophia, expecting her to step away from Duane and follow her. But Sophia didn’t move.

“I’m staying too.”

Raylay’s eyes narrowed, she hissed “Sophia-”

“I like it here,” Sophia said firmly. “And Duane’s here. You said we should stick together, right?”

Raylay looked at her, looked at the way she was standing taller, more certain than she’d been in weeks. She turned to Gabriel. “You staying too?”

Gabriel hesitated, then nodded. “I think you’re making the wrong decision.” Raylay scoffed, “Have I ever made the wrong decision?”

Silence echoed and she wanted to scream, all she wanted was too keep them safe, she just wanted everyone alive.
Raylay exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair.

“Fine,” she muttered. “We stay.”

For now.

Mary smiled kindly, but there was a firmness beneath it, “One last thing before we get you settled,” she said. “We ask that all newcomers turn in their weapons. Just for safety reasons.”

Raylay’s body tensed immediately. “Not happening.”

Gabriel sighed. “Ray-”

“No.” She turned to Mary, her voice firm. “I don’t go anywhere without my rifle.”

Mary’s expression didn’t falter. “We don’t allow firearms inside the community. It keeps the peace. You’ll get it back if you ever decide to leave.” Raylay clenched her jaw, her grip tightening around the strap of her rifle.

Gabriel stepped in front of her. “Claire. Please.” His voice was low, pleading. “Just this once, let it go.”

Her chest rose and fell with sharp, irritated breaths. She looked at Sophia, then at Morgan, then at Gabriel. They were all waiting. Watching. Her fingers twitched.

Then, with a slow, reluctant movement, she pulled the rifle from her shoulder and shoved it into Gabriel’s arms. But when Mary extended a hand for her knife, Raylay’s glare turned sharp.

“I keep this.”

Mary hesitated, but Raylay didn’t. After a moment, Mary nodded, “Fine.” Raylay turned away without another word, already feeling the loss of her weapon like an ache.

- March 2nd 2011 -

The apartment was quiet, save for the steady breathing of those asleep. The moon cast pale light through the cracked blinds, illuminating the room in slanted silver beams. Raylay sat with her back against the door, knees drawn up, knife resting loosely in her grip. The silence pressed in on her, thick and suffocating. She hated this; it was too safe, too still. The kind of quiet that meant something bad was coming, she just knew it.

Her fingers drummed idly against the handle of her knife. She forced herself to listen, to pick apart every creak of the old building, every whisper of the wind outside. Just in case.

A shift in movement. She stiffened.

"Raylay?"

Gabriel’s voice was low, groggy with sleep. She didn’t turn to look at him but her shoulders relaxed at the familiar voice.

"You should rest," he murmured, sitting up. She closed her eyes in annoyance, "Someone has to keep watch."

Gabriel ran a hand over his face, sighing. "We’re inside walls. We’re safe." Raylay let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah. Just like all the other ‘safe’ places we’ve been, right?"

Gabriel didn’t answer right away.

"You can’t keep running on fumes," he said eventually. "You’ll burn out."

"I’ll sleep when I trust this place," she muttered.

Gabriel hesitated, then slowly got to his feet. He walked over and sat beside her, resting his back against the door.

"You trust me, don’t you?"

She stayed quiet for a long time. Finally, she exhaled, tilting her head back against the door.

"Get some sleep, Father," she muttered.

Gabriel didn’t push. He just sat there, keeping her company.

The silence stretched between them, comfortable in its own way. The warmth of another person sitting beside her was something Raylay hadn’t let herself appreciate in a long time.

Gabriel sighed, the corners of his lips twitching “You know, I used to sleep like a baby before all this.”

Raylay huffed a quiet laugh, thoughts lingering on her farmhouse “Bet you did.”

He smiled faintly. “Now? Every time I close my eyes, I hear them.”

Raylay didn’t have to ask who.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I know what that’s like.”

Gabriel shifted slightly. “Tell me something good,” he said. “Something before all this.”

Raylay hesitated. Then, quietly, she said, “I used to sing to my daughter.”

Gabriel turned his head slightly toward her.

Raylay exhaled, voice softer now, “When she couldn’t sleep. I’d hum to her until she did. Sometimes she’d ask for lullabies, sometimes just whatever was stuck in my head that day. Didn’t matter. As long as I was there, she’d sleep.”

Gabriel didn’t respond for a moment. Then he said, “You have a nice voice.”

Raylay let out a small, tired scoff. “Don’t push your luck, Father.” He chuckled under his breath. Then, after a pause, “You should rest.”

“I told you-”

“I’ll keep watch,” Gabriel said firmly. “Just for a few hours.” Raylay turned to look at him, skeptical.

“You trust me, don’t you?” he repeated, looking into her eyes.

She hesitated, then sighed. “If you fall asleep, I’m stabbing you.”

Gabriel laughed lightly, “Fair enough.”

And, for the first time in a long time, Raylay let her eyes drift shut.

Chapter Text

Terminus was quiet, organized. Too perfect, Raylay thought. But the others seemed to settle in easily enough. Raylay volunteered for patrol. It was something to do; something that let her keep moving, keep watching. The walls of Terminus might have been high, but that didn’t mean she trusted them. Morgan joined her sometimes. They walked the perimeter together, rifles in hand, listening to the distant sounds of the world outside.

One evening, as they made their rounds, Morgan broke the silence, “You ever think about before?”

Raylay glanced at him curiously, “All the time.”

Morgan nodded. “Duane used to hate interacting with other kids,” he said, a small, wistful smile on his face. “I had to push him to talk to them, it seems easier for him; talking to Sophia"

Raylay paused,  “Avery was the opposite, she wouldn't stop talking to anyone who would listen”

Morgan’s gaze softened. “You ever talk about her?”

Raylay hesitated, she had only talked about it to Gabriel, Sophia had seen her kill the dead version of her daughter but other then that it was all just a distant memory, “No.”

Morgan exhaled. “Maybe you should.” She didn’t answer.

That night, for the first time in months, Raylay slept a little easier.

The days passed quickly, Sophia and Duane had made fast friends with the other kids. The other adults had tried to interact with Raylay but she promptly refused.

Raylay stood with her arms crossed, leaning against one of the wooden beams that lined the courtyard. Her eyes followed Sophia and Duane as they ran with the other kids, laughter echoing in the late afternoon air. Her eyes looked over the surroundings, she'd have to talk to Mary later on about fencing the surroundings with barbed wire instead of just fences.

“Didn’t think I’d see them smile like that again,” Morgan’s voice came from beside her. Raylay turned slightly. She hadn’t even noticed him walk up, she'd have to work on focusing on her surroundings more. He was watching the kids, too, something distant in his gaze.

“Yeah,” Raylay muttered. “Feels weird.”

Morgan huffed a quiet chuckle. “Don’t it, though?”

He nodded toward a small table in the corner of the courtyard, where an old, battered deck of cards sat.

“Poker?” he offered. Raylay raised a brow at him. “You play?” Morgan shrugged. “Used to. Learned as a kid.”

Raylay hesitated, then let out a short breath. “Alright,” she said, pushing off the beam. “But don’t think I’m going easy on you.”

Morgan smirked, something light “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

- March 18th 2011 -

The night air was crisp, the kind that felt clean in her lungs but carried a warning of colder nights ahead. Raylay walked slowly, hands in her jacket pockets, boots crunching softly against the dirt path. Terminus was eerily quiet at night, save for the occasional flickering lantern and the distant sound of groans coming from the far woods.

She didn’t hear Gabriel approach, but she wasn’t surprised when he did.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, falling into step beside her. Raylay huffed a soft laugh. “Do I ever?”

Gabriel smiled softly, “Good point.”

They walked in silence for a bit, the only sound their footsteps against the gravel. Gabriel tilted his head, glancing at her “You ever miss the dumb things?”

Raylay frowned. “Like what?”

He exhaled, thinking, “Like… bad movies. The kind that were so terrible, they were entertaining.”

Raylay chuckled, “Oh, yeah. Used to watch those with Avery. We had this tradition; Friday nights, junk food, and whatever ridiculous movie we could find.” She shook her head, a rare, fond smile tugging at her lips. “She loved those terrible shark movies. You know, the ones where the effects were so bad, you could see the strings?”

Gabriel laughed, nodding along.

Raylay nodded. “Yeah, well… she thought they were the best thing ever. Used to reenact them in the living room, I had to play the shark.”

Gabriel grinned. “I would pay to see that.” Raylay smirked. “Too bad you missed it.”

They kept walking, the conversation shifting between topics that didn’t matter, not anymore; favorite fast food, weirdest thing they’d ever eaten, embarrassing childhood memories. It was easy. Lighter than anything she’d let herself feel in a long time.

At some point, Gabriel nudged her shoulder lightly “You know,” he said, voice teasing, “if I had to guess, I’d say you were a theater kid.”

Raylay shot him a glare. “Take that back.” Gabriel laughed. “Oh no, I can see it now. Drama club president, full monologues in the mirror-”

“I swear to God, Gabriel-”

“-probably had a collection of playbills, cried during musicals-”

Raylay groaned. “I regret walking with you.”

“No, you don’t,” Gabriel said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, but there was no real heat behind it.
The walk had stretched longer than Raylay expected, the weight of the night pressing down in a way that felt less suffocating than usual. Maybe it was because she wasn’t alone.

She glanced at Gabriel, his silhouette relaxed in the dim glow of the lanterns scattered through Terminus. He walked with his hands in his pockets, eyes forward, but there was something calmer about him than there had been when they first met.

“You’ve changed,” Raylay said suddenly.

Gabriel turned his head toward her, “What?”

“You’re different,” she clarified. “From when you were a priest.”

Gabriel huffed a quiet laugh. “I’d hope so.”

Raylay studied him. “You used to be… a coward.”

Gabriel chuckled lightly, “You'll never let me live that down, will you?”

Raylay shrugged, “It's who you were.” He sighed, nodding. “Yeah. You’re right.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I became a priest because I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted. “Christianity was the only thing that made sense.” Raylay frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gabriel hesitated, then exhaled. “My childhood… it wasn’t good.”

Raylay didn’t say anything, just let him talk.

“My father was… he was a cruel, man” Gabriel continued, voice steady but distant. “He used to hit my mother, sometimes me too.”

Raylay clenched her jaw. She wanted to say something, but she let him go on.

“My mother was devout. She’d tell me that God had a plan, that if I believed, I’d find my way.” Gabriel’s lips pressed together, “I clung to that. It was the only thing that made me feel safe. So when I got older, I followed it. I thought if I dedicated myself to God, I could finally be at peace.”

Raylay watched him, the way his shoulders tensed, like even talking about it put him back in that place.

“Did it help?” she asked.

Gabriel hesitated, then shook his head. “Not the way I thought it would.” He glanced back at her, “But it kept me going. It gave me structure. And back then, that was enough.”

Raylay nodded slowly. “And now?”

Gabriel exhaled, looking up at the stars. “Now… I don’t know. I used to think faith was about never doubting, but I doubt everything now. I doubt God. I doubt myself. I doubt this place.” He looked at her. “But I don’t doubt you.”

Raylay stiffened slightly, caught off guard. She forced herself to scoff, “That’s a mistake.”

Gabriel just smiled faintly. “Maybe. But it’s the only thing that feels real.” Raylay didn’t know what to say to that. So she just walked beside him, letting the quiet settle around them.

The garden was quiet, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. Raylay crouched behind a row of bushes, pulling down Gabriel with her, "What are we doing?" He whispered curiously as they snuck into the garden. "Stealing fruit" she laughed lightly, he had never actually really heard her laugh, a real laugh.

They slipped between the plants, hands reaching for whatever fruit they could find. Raylay plucked a handful of berries, popping one into her mouth, savoring the burst of tart sweetness.

Later, they sat beneath the shade of a tree, Gabriel’s gaze landed on a small patch of wildflowers. He reached over, plucking one delicately between his fingers.

“My mother used to tell me a story about these,” he murmured, twirling the flower. Raylay raised a brow. “Oh yeah?”

Gabriel nodded. “She said these flowers were a symbol of perseverance. That no matter where they grew, no matter how harsh the conditions, they always found a way to bloom.” He glanced at Raylay, a thoughtful expression on his face, “Kind of like you.”

Raylay scoffed, looking away. “You’re getting soft, priest.”

Gabriel just chuckled lightly. Then, with careful fingers, he tucked the flower behind her ear. Raylay stilled, feeling the warmth of his touch linger for a second too long. She met his gaze, something unreadable flickering between them before she quickly looked away.

“C’mon,” she muttered, standing. “Before we get caught.”

The laughter between Raylay and Gabriel faded as a distant sound reached their ears; a rustling in the woods, unnatural in its rhythm. They exchanged a glance, their easy camaraderie instantly replaced by caution. Raylay’s hand drifted to her knife, instincts honed by months of survival sharpening in an instant.

Gabriel stiffened beside her, “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, scanning the treeline. The wind carried something else; muffled footsteps, too many to belong to animals, too steady to belong to walkers.

Something shifted in the woods. Then the first gunshot rang out.

Raylay grabbed Gabriel’s arm and yanked him behind a tree as the echoes of chaos erupted from Terminus. Shouting. More gunfire. The crackle of something burning.

“Shit,” Raylay muttered, peering out from behind the trunk. Shadows moved between the trees, dark figures slipping toward the settlement.

The weren't safe anymore, they never were.

Chapter Text

Raylay sat in the dim train car, her back against the cold metal wall, fingers absently tracing a jagged scratch in the floor. It had been a month. A month since the world shifted again, since the so-called sanctuary fell. She hadn't seen Gabriel. Or Morgan. Or Duane. Or Sophia. The thought made her stomach turn. They could be dead.

The women around her were broken, beaten down into obedience. Raylay understood that feeling; the weight of helplessness pressing down, the numbness creeping in. But she refused to let it take her. She wasn't going to die in this cage.

"You're thinking again," whispered a woman named Evelyn, her voice barely audible in the stale air. She was one of the few who still bothered to keep hopes alive.

Raylay turned her head slightly. "Thinking's all we have in here."

Evelyn hesitated. "What are you thinking about?"

Raylay met her eyes, steel in her gaze. "Getting out."

The other women stiffened, shifting uneasily. Escape was an impossible dream—to them. Raylay wasn't just hoping and praying for something to change, she was planning.

The doors swung open, light peaking into the dark car. The women flinched, sobbing and shaking in fear. It was a man Raylay recognized; his big steps shook the ground as he marched towards her, his fingers twisting in her hair.

She barely had time to brace before she was yanked forward, her knees scraping against the rusted floor of the train car. The stale, metallic scent of old blood filled her nose as she hit the ground.

“I told the others to keep their hands off you,” the man murmured, a smirk grazing his face, his breath hot and reeking of rot. “You’re my favorite.”

Raylay swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. He was stronger than her, bigger. She had no chance if she let this play out.

Not again.

He pulled her out, dragging her into a disgustingly familiar room as his hands fumbled with her shirt, aggressively yanking at the fabric. Raylay’s pulse roared in her ears.

Now.

She struck fast, her fingers finding the jagged scrap of metal she had hidden beneath her sleeve. In one desperate motion, she drove it into his neck. The sound he made was a wet, choked gurgle. He reared back, clutching at the wound as blood poured through his fingers. Raylay shoved him off, scrambling to her feet as he collapsed, twitching, onto the filthy floor.

She had done it. She had killed him.

Her chest heaved. She turned toward the door, but before she could move—

It slammed open.

Two men stood in the doorway, their faces twisting in shock at the scene before them. Raylay barely had time to react before one of them lunged, his fist colliding with her ribs. She gasped, pain bursting through her side.

“Fucking bitch,” one of them snarled. The other knelt beside the dying man, watching him convulse. Then his gaze lifted to Raylay. She’d never forget it.

Her stomach dropped. The first man grabbed her wrist and pried the bloody scrap of metal from her grip.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

She felt the blade before she saw it, a searing pain as it was driven into her eye, dragging down the right side of her face. Raylay gasped, her vision blurring. The world swayed.

She was going to die here.

No.

Not like this.

She clenched her jaw, swallowing the scream bubbling in her throat. The pain was unbearable, but she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. She could barely breathe as she hit the floor, her blood pooling beneath her.

The men laughed. One nudged her with his boot.

“Not so tough now, are you?”

Raylay didn’t answer. She focused on breathing.

She was alive. Barely.

Raylay barely felt herself being dragged.

The pain in her side was all-consuming, each breath like a knife twisting deeper into her ribs. Her body scraped against the ground as they hauled her away, her blood leaving a streak on the cold floor.

She was too weak to fight back. The hallway blurred past her in smears of rusted metal and flickering light. Somewhere in the distance, men laughed. Someone screamed.

Darkness surrounded her.

The slam of a heavy door.

Raylay hit the floor hard. Dust and grime clung to her skin as she gasped for breath. Her fingers curled against the concrete, nails scraping uselessly against the unyielding surface.

She pushed up weakly, her head pounding. No windows. No cracks of light. Only the suffocating blackness pressing in from all sides. The walls felt close, too close. Her breath quickened.

Not like this.

She struggled to sit up, her fingers pressing against the wound in her side. Warm, sticky blood coated her skin. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to panic.

Her pulse throbbed in her ears. The silence stretched, thick and endless. No Sophia. No Gabriel. No Morgan. No Duane.

She had no idea if they were even alive.

No.

She couldn’t think like that.

With a sharp breath, Raylay forced herself to move, crawling toward where she thought the door might be. Her fingers brushed cold metal. A handle. She gripped it weakly and pulled.

Nothing.

Please God, not like this.

-

Raylay lay motionless on the cold, unforgiving floor.

Her body ached, her limbs heavy, her stomach an empty pit that clawed at her insides with a dull, ceaseless hunger. It had been days, maybe longer. Time had lost all meaning in the suffocating darkness. Her lips were cracked, her throat raw from thirst. The air in the room was thick, stale, and every breath she took felt like dragging in dust and despair.

She had pissed herself at some point.

She wasn’t sure when.

The shame had been a distant thing, swallowed up by the greater misery of it all. Now, the damp, acrid stench clung to her, mixing with the filth of the floor and the sweat of her body. She didn’t have the strength to care. Her fingers twitched weakly, tracing the crusted blood along her right eye. She couldn’t see and she wasn’t sure if that was because of the darkness or if she had really gone blind. The wound burned, the infection spreading slow but sure.

She was dying.

And she didn’t even know if Sophia was alive. She had promised to keep her safe, promised to bring her back to her mother.

A sob clawed its way out of her throat, ragged and hoarse, barely more than a whisper in the thick silence. She pressed her forehead to the floor, her body curling in on itself as the tears came.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

Not in some dark, piss-stained room, alone and forgotten.

Not when Sophia still needed her.

But what if Sophia was already dead? What if Gabriel was dead? What if she had fought and bled and killed for nothing? Her sobs turned silent, her body shuddering with the force of them. She wanted to stop crying. It was weak. Useless. But she couldn’t. She was weak. She was useless.

She had killed them, Sophia was dead because she led them here. Gabriel was dead because he trusted her. It was all her fault.

“Mommy?”

Raylay’s body jerked. Her eyes darted through the blackness, but there was nothing. Just the same endless void.

Then the voice came again, louder this time. “Mommy, why aren’t you looking for me?”

Raylay whimpered. “No,” she rasped. “You’re not here. You’re not real.”

But then she saw her.

Avery stood at the far end of the room, bathed in a pale glow that didn’t belong in this godforsaken place. She was still nine years old, still in that stupid pink princess dress she used to love. Her curls bounced as she tilted her head, a pout on her lips.

“You left me,” Avery accused, her little face twisting.

“No, baby,” Raylay croaked. “I didn’t—I swear—”

Avery took a step closer. “Then why didn’t you save me?”

A sob ripped from Raylay’s throat. “I tried—”

“Did you?”

The voice wasn’t Avery’s anymore. It was him now—her husband’s, low and cold. Raylay flinched as his figure materialized beside Avery, his arms crossed, his eyes filled with nothing but disappointment.

“You always acted so tough,” Nathan said, his lip curling. “But look at you now. Pissing yourself in a dark room, crying like a weak little bitch.”

Raylay’s breathing hitched. “Stop.”

“You’re pathetic,” he sneered. “Avery died because you weren’t strong enough. Just like you’re not strong enough now.”

Avery’s tiny fingers curled into fists. “You let me die, Mommy.”

“No,” Raylay whispered, shaking her head violently. “No, no, no—”

Nathan leaned in, his voice venomous. “You’re gonna die in here. Alone. And it’ll be your fault.”

Raylay squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands over her ears. “You’re not real,” she hissed. “You’re not real.” Avery’s voice rang in her ears, high-pitched and furious. “You’re weak, Mommy!”

Then the voices stopped.

Silence.

Raylay opened her eyes.

They were gone.

Just the dark. Just her ragged breathing. Just the cold, sinking back into her bones. And the terrifying thought that maybe they were right.

Chapter Text

Raylay lay curled in the corner, her body trembling, her breath shallow. The darkness had become her world, her mind slipping in and out of consciousness, each second stretching endlessly. She had stopped hoping for rescue days ago—weeks, maybe. She wasn’t sure anymore. Time meant nothing in this place.

Faintly, she could hear distant sounds, muffled at first. The crack of gunfire. The frantic yelling of men.

A dream, she thought numbly.

Another hallucination.

She shut her eyes again.

The sound grew louder, closer. Footsteps pounded outside, the sharp clank of the lock. Raylay flinched as the metal door swung open, blinding light spilling in.

A figure stumbled inside, breathless.

Gabriel.

Her heart clenched painfully at the sight of him, beaten and bruised, his face smeared with dirt and blood. His cassock was torn, his hands shaking as they reached for her.

Raylay whimpered, pressing herself against the wall. Another hallucination. That’s all this was. Just another cruel trick.

"Raylay," Gabriel gasped, dropping to his knees beside her. "Oh, God—"

She let out a strangled sob, shaking her head violently. "No," she whispered, her voice raw from disuse. "No, you’re not real. You’re not real."

His hands, warm despite the tremor in them, cupped her face. His eyes were red-rimmed and desperate as they locked onto hers. "I'm real," Gabriel choked. His breath hitched, and then, to Raylay’s shock, tears spilled down his bruised face. "I swear, I’m real."

Raylay sobbed harder, her whole body wracking with it. "I’m sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I’m so sorry—I didn’t—I tried—"

Gabriel let out a shattered sound, half a sob, half a breathless prayer. He pulled her into his arms, clutching her tightly against his chest. "It’s okay," he whispered, his voice cracking. "You’re okay."

She felt him shaking against her, his body just as wrecked as hers. He was hurting. He was crying.

He always seemed to be crying.

-

Gabriel sat on the cold wooden floor, his back pressed against the wall, watching over Raylay as she slept. The flickering candlelight cast soft, shifting shadows over her face, highlighting the bruises along her jaw, the fresh cuts on her cheek. The bandages over her right eye stood out starkly against her pale skin.

She looked so small like this; curled in on herself, her breathing uneven, fingers twitching slightly even in sleep. Gabriel swallowed against the tightness in his throat, looking away in shame. He had never seen her so still before. Raylay was always moving, always on edge, always ready for a fight. Now, she just looked… fragile.

He hated it.

His fingers clenched around the small cloth in his lap. He had dampened it earlier with the last bit of clean water they had. Now, as quietly as he could, he leaned forward and pressed it gently against her forehead, wiping away the sweat clinging to her skin. She stirred, mumbling something incoherent before falling silent again. Gabriel exhaled softly, relief washing over him.

She was alive.

That was the only thing keeping him together. The past few days had been a blur of blood, fire, and death. He had killed more men than he could count. He was a walking sin. He had nearly lost himself in the violence. But nothing, none of it, had been more terrifying than finding Raylay like that.

Bleeding. Broken. Barely holding on.

Gabriel closed his eyes, forcing down the memory.

He had failed her.

No—no, he couldn't think like that. He had found her. He had saved her.

But the guilt lingered anyway. He was a coward. He was weak.

His gaze drifted back to her bandaged eye. His chest ached at the thought of what they had done to her, how close he had come to losing her forever. He reached out hesitantly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. His fingers trembled.

"You’re safe," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "I promise."

Raylay didn't wake. But for the first time in weeks, she looked at peace.

-

Raylay woke to the soft glow of candlelight and the feeling of something damp against her forehead. Her body ached, a deep, throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from every inch of her skin. Her throat was dry, her limbs heavy, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was.

Then it hit her.

Terminus. The men. The dark room.

Gabriel.

Her breath hitched as she forced her right eye open, only to be met with darkness. Confusion gripped her. She blinked, but nothing changed. The right side of her vision was gone; just an empty void.

Her chest tightened.

No, no, no—

Raylay turned her head slightly, her left eye adjusting to the dim light. She saw Gabriel sitting nearby, asleep against the wall, his face bruised and hollow. His hands were curled into fists, even in sleep.

Her heart twisted.

She pushed herself up, her arms trembling under her weight. Every movement sent pain lancing through her body, but she gritted her teeth and stood, her legs shaking beneath her.

The room spun, and she reached out, catching herself against the edge of a wooden table. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she forced herself toward the small, cracked mirror hanging on the wall.

Her reflection was a stranger.

Bruises, dried blood, cuts; her face was disgusting. But it was the bandages over her right eye that held her focus.

Hands trembling, she reached up and began unwrapping them.

The fabric was stiff with dried blood, sticking to her skin as she peeled it away. Her breath hitched as she uncovered the wound beneath.

Her right eye was gone.

The skin around it was swollen and bruised, the wound still fresh, the stitching jagged and uneven. The socket was sunken, hollow; a painful reminder of everything she had lost.

A strangled noise escaped her throat.

Her fingers hovered over the wound, but she couldn’t bring herself to touch it. Her breath came faster, shallower.

She gripped the edge of the table, staring at the ruined side of her face, at the proof that she was no longer whole. Her vision blurred with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

She was Raylay. She didn’t break.

But God, she felt like she was breaking now.

Gabriel stirred at the sound of Raylay’s ragged breathing. His body ached, every bruise and cut a reminder of what they had endured, but the moment he saw her standing there, swaying on unsteady legs, his pain didn’t matter.

"Ray?" His voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion. She didn’t answer.

She stood in front of the mirror, hands clutching the edges of the wooden table as if it was the only thing keeping her upright. The bandages had been ripped away, and Gabriel’s breath caught when he saw the wound.

Her right eye; gone.

Her chest rose and fell too fast, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the hollow space where her eye had once been. Her breathing turned erratic, and she let out a sharp, broken gasp, gripping the table so tightly her knuckles went white.

"Raylay," he tried again, pushing himself up despite the pain.

She flinched at his voice. Then, slowly, she turned to face him.

Gabriel had never seen her like this. Raylay was always sharp edges and steel, always moving forward no matter what hell they had to walk through. But now, now she was shaking, barely holding herself together, her single remaining eye filled with something he’d never seen in her before.

Fear.

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Instead, a sob wrenched itself from her throat, and before Gabriel could think, he was in front of her, catching her as she collapsed into his chest. Her hands gripped his shirt, twisting the fabric as she buried her face against him. Her shoulders shook, her entire body wracked with silent, broken cries.

Gabriel held her tight, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her trembling frame.

"It’s okay," he murmured, his voice cracking. "You’re okay."

But they both knew that wasn’t true. Raylay had lost something she could never get back.

She sobbed harder, fingers digging into him as if she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go. Gabriel didn’t pull away. He held her through it, letting her grief pour out, letting her be something she never allowed herself to be; vulnerable.

Chapter Text

Raylay laid on her side, facing Gabriel, her single eye open but unfocused, staring at nothing. The dim candlelight flickered between them, casting shadows across her face. She looked exhausted, more than that; she looked hollow.

Gabriel lay beside her, arms resting over his stomach, staring at the ceiling. The silence between them was heavy, almost suffocating, but he didn’t rush to fill it. Raylay would speak when she was ready.

And finally, she did.

“Are they dead?” Her voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

Gabriel turned his head to look at her. She didn’t move, but he could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers curled slightly into the blanket.

“We didn’t find them,” he admitted.

Raylay blinked slowly, “Alive or dead?”

Gabriel exhaled, staring back up at the ceiling. “No bodies.”

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Raylay’s hand twitched slightly, and she finally shifted, rolling onto her back, staring up like he was.

“So they got out?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral. Gabriel hesitated. “I don’t know.”

That was the truth, and he knew she could hear it in his voice. He wanted to believe Morgan, Duane, Sophia—whoever was left—that they had escaped. But in the chaos, in the fire and blood and gunshots, he hadn’t seen them. He had barely made it out himself.

Raylay let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.

Silence again.

Gabriel turned his head to look at her, watching the way her chest rose and fell. He didn’t know what she was thinking. But then, in a voice so soft it almost wasn’t there, she whispered, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

Gabriel swallowed hard.

He reached over, hesitating just for a second before placing his hand over hers.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “Not alone.”

Raylay didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him. But she didn’t pull her hand away either.

-

The dining hall was dimly lit, filled with the quiet murmur of conversation as survivors gathered around long wooden tables. Plates were passed, bowls filled, the scent of freshly cooked meat thick in the air. It should’ve been comforting. It wasn’t.

Raylay sat stiffly, her hands resting on the table but not reaching for the food. Gabriel was beside her, bruises dark against his skin, his expression unreadable. Across from them, Mary sat with that same calm, motherly smile she always wore, her hands folded neatly.

Raylay’s gaze dropped to her plate. A thick slab of meat sat there, browned and glistening. It smelled good, but something about it made her stomach twist.

“What is this?” Raylay finally asked, her voice quiet but sharp.

Mary’s smile didn’t waver. “Meat,” she answered simply, taking a bite of her own.

Raylay’s fingers twitched, “What kind of meat?”

Mary took her time chewing before swallowing. “The kind that kept us alive.”

Silence fell over the table.

Raylay’s eye darted to the other survivors, watching them eat without hesitation. Her grip on her knife tightened. Gabriel, who had been quiet, finally spoke. His voice was hoarse. “You—” He swallowed. “You’re saying—”

“We killed the men who took our home,” Mary said evenly. “The ones who hurt us. We made sure none of them would ever do it again.”

Raylay’s stomach turned. She looked down at her plate again, bile creeping up her throat. The meat stared back at her, dark and rich and glistening.

Her voice was ice. “You’re feeding us people.”

Mary tilted her head slightly, as if considering that. Raylay shot up from her seat so fast the chair scraped against the floor with a sharp screech.

“You’re feeding us people?” she spat, her voice cutting through the murmurs of the dining hall. Heads turned, but Mary remained composed, dabbing at her mouth with a cloth napkin like this was just another meal, another conversation.

“I’m feeding you what kept us alive,” Mary corrected, her voice even, steady. “We had to do something with the bodies.” Raylay’s hands curled into fists. “That’s not survival. That’s just fucking sick.”

Mary let out a soft, almost pitying sigh, tilting her head. “Sick is what they did to us.”

Raylay’s breath caught in her throat. Mary’s eyes darkened, and this time, her voice wasn’t so soft. “What they did to you.”

The words struck like a hammer, the weight of them dropping into the silence. The entire room felt like it shrank around Raylay, suffocating her.

Gabriel’s head snapped toward her, his brow furrowing. “Raylay?” His voice was quiet, confused. Raylay couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t let him see the raw, festering thing inside her that she’d been trying to ignore.

Mary leaned forward slightly. “Don’t act so righteous. If you had the chance, you’d kill them again, wouldn’t you?”

Raylay clenched her jaw. Her nails dug into her palms. Mary’s voice softened, almost gentle. “We’re not so different, you and I.”

That did it. Raylay turned on her heel and stormed away, shoving past the other survivors, past Gabriel, past the sickly sweet scent of cooked meat.

Gabriel stared after her, still frozen in place. His mind reeled, the pieces clicking together far too late.

Raylay had never told him. And he had never thought to ask.

-

Gabriel found Raylay in their small shared room, shoving supplies into her bag with quick, jerky movements. Her breathing was sharp, her jaw tight, her good eye burning with rage and something else; something raw and unbearable.

“You’re leaving,” Gabriel said. It wasn’t a question.

Raylay didn’t stop packing, “I am.”

He hesitated before stepping further inside, lowering his voice. “Mary won’t let you go.”

Raylay let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “She can try and stop me.”

Gabriel swallowed. “Raylay—”

“I’d rather die than stay here,” she snapped, yanking the zipper closed with too much force. The words cut through him like a blade.

He let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over his face before straightening. “Then I’m going with you.” That made her stop. Her shoulders stiffened, and for a long moment, she didn’t move. Then, finally, she turned to face him.

His heart clenched at the look in her eye. He stepped closer. “Raylay… what did Mary mean?” His voice was softer now, cautious, but she still flinched like he’d struck her.

She looked away, shaking her head. “Drop it.”

“I can’t.”

Her breathing hitched. She closed her eye and ran a hand down her face. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

She let out a sharp breath through her nose and turned back to her bag. “I said drop it.”

Gabriel exhaled, his jaw tightening. But he didn’t push. Not yet. Instead, he grabbed his own bag and started packing.

-

The night air was thick with tension as Raylay and Gabriel moved silently through the shadows, their bags strapped to their backs. The walls of Terminus loomed behind them, the distant sound of voices carrying in the wind. They had one shot at this. One chance to get out before Mary and her people noticed.

Gabriel gripped the knife in his hand, his pulse pounding. He wasn’t shaking. Not this time. A man stood near the edge of the fence, his rifle slung lazily over his shoulder. He looked half-asleep, his stance relaxed.

Raylay motioned for Gabriel to wait, but he didn’t. He stepped forward, his movements eerily steady, and before the man could react, before he could even turn his head, Gabriel drove the knife into the side of his neck.

The man choked on a gurgled breath, his hands flying to his throat as blood poured between his fingers. Gabriel didn’t let go. He lowered him to the ground, his eyes dark, unwavering, until the man’s body went still. Raylay stared at him.

He met her gaze, his jaw clenched. “Let’s go.”

They didn’t waste another second. They climbed over the fence and slipped into the woods, the darkness swallowing them whole.

-

The sun hung low in the sky as they walked down the road, its golden light casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The world was quiet, save for the rustling wind and the distant calls of birds. Raylay’s boots scuffed against the ground, her steps slow and deliberate. Gabriel walked beside her, his head bowed, his expression unreadable.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The weight of their escape, of everything that had happened, sat heavy between them. But Raylay had been thinking about it since last night. Since the moment Gabriel pressed that knife into that man’s throat without a second of hesitation.

“You’re used to it now.”

Her voice broke the silence like a stone hitting glass. Gabriel glanced at her, confused. “What?”

She didn’t look at him, just kept walking, arms wrapped around herself. “Murder,” she said plainly. “You don’t hesitate anymore.”

Gabriel exhaled sharply, looking ahead at the endless stretch of road. “It wasn’t murder.”

She glanced at him with a frown, “Wasn’t it?”

“He would’ve stopped us,” Gabriel said, his tone firm. “He would’ve raised the alarm and then we would have been dead or worse.”

She stopped, turning to him. “And that makes it easier?”

Gabriel met her gaze, his expression dark. “No.” He shook his head. “Nothing about this is easy, but I’m not the same man I was when we met.”

Raylay studied him, her one good eye searching his face. His priest’s collar was long gone, his hands bloodstained. He was still Gabriel, but not the Gabriel she had first met in that church. Not the scared, cowardly man who was too afraid to lift a weapon.

And yet, the way he looked at her now, the way he held himself… it almost reminded her of herself. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t want him to be like her.

She sighed, running a hand down her face. “Yeah,” she muttered. “I know the feeling.”

Gabriel glanced at her, then back at the road. They started walking again, side by side, two ghosts in a dying world.

They walked in silence for a while, the wind whistling through the trees on either side of the road. Raylay’s fingers tightened around the straps of her bag, her thoughts a tangled mess. The world had blurred together in her mind; days, weeks, months. It was all just survival.

She had kept track but not since—She swallowed hard and glanced at Gabriel. His face was unreadable, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He had changed. She had changed. Maybe there was no going back.

“What day is it?” she asked suddenly.

Gabriel blinked, turning his head slightly toward her. “What?”

She exhaled through her nose, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “The date. What day is it?”

Gabriel was quiet for a moment, his brows furrowing as he tried to work it out. “I… I think it’s May. Maybe the second?”

Raylay let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Jesus.”

Gabriel hesitated before asking, “Why?”

She shrugged, her good eye staring blankly at the cracked road ahead. “Just realized I don’t remember the last time I kept track. Could be my birthday, for all I know.”

Gabriel’s expression softened. “Is it?”

She smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes, “I have no fucking clue.”

They kept walking, the weight of time pressing down on them.

--- May 2nd 2011 ---

Chapter Text

- May 10th 2011 -

The woods had always been silent, but now they felt hollow.

Raylay sat on a fallen log, running her fingers along the handle of her knife while Gabriel worked on starting a fire. The sun was setting, streaks of orange and pink bleeding through the trees, casting long shadows. The air smelled like damp earth and pine, and for the first time in a long time, it almost felt peaceful.

Almost.

Gabriel struck the flint again, sparks jumping onto the small pile of twigs and dried leaves between them. He muttered something under his breath; probably a prayer. Raylay wasn’t sure if he even believed in them anymore.

“You’re slow,” she muttered, watching him struggle.

He huffed, giving her a flat look. “I’d like to see you do it faster.”

Raylay smiled tiredly but made no move to take over. Instead, she leaned back, stretching her sore legs in front of her. “We should find a river, clean up a little.”

Gabriel finally got the fire going, small flames flickering to life. “You’re saying I stink.”

“I’m saying we both do,” Raylay admitted.

A breeze rustled through the trees, making the flames dance. Gabriel sat back, wiping his hands on his pants, watching as the fire grew stronger. There was something different about him now. Something harder. It was in the way he held himself, the way he looked at her without as much fear in his eyes.

Raylay pulled out a small can of beans from her bag and tossed it to him. “Since you’re so good at starting fires now, you can cook.”

Gabriel caught it clumsily, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

She snorted in return, “I know.”

For a while, they just sat in silence, the fire crackling between them. It felt strange; just the two of them again. No Sophia. No Duane. No Morgan. No safety net. Just them and the trees, the dark pressing in around them like a living thing.

After a moment, Gabriel spoke, his voice quieter. “Where do we go from here?”

Raylay poked at the fire with a stick, watching the embers glow. “Anywhere but back.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “Yeah.” She looked at him then, really looked at him, the bruises that still lingered, the exhaustion in his face, the weight he carried in his shoulders. She knew what he was thinking because she was thinking it too.

They had survived, but at what cost? Raylay exhaled and leaned her head back, staring up at the sky through the trees. “I miss looking at the stars.”

Gabriel glanced up too, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. “They’re still there.”

She hummed, closing her eyes for a moment. “Yeah. They are.”

Raylay let the fire’s warmth seep into her bones, but it didn’t touch the cold feeling inside her. The silence between them stretched, broken only by the distant rustling of the wind through the trees.

She was silent ad she stared into the flames, "Do you think Morgan got out?"

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. He sat on the other side of the fire, hands clasped between his knees, gaze heavy with thought. “I don’t know.”

Raylay exhaled sharply through her nose, tilting her head back. The night sky stretched above them, dark and endless.

"And Duane?" she asked, her voice quieter.

Gabriel shook his head slowly, “I don’t know, Ray”

She shut her eyes for a moment. She could still hear Duane laughing with Sophia. She could still feel Morgan standing beside her. It felt like another life, a sweet dream she had been forced to wake up from.

She clenched her jaw and forced herself to ask, “And Sophia?”

Gabriel hesitated, and she hated the hesitation.

“I don’t know,” he repeated. His voice was careful, cautious, like he was afraid she’d break. Raylay exhaled slowly, feeling something sharp press against her ribs. It wasn’t grief. Not yet. It was the fear of not knowing.

Her hands tightened into fists. “I should’ve never stayed there.”

Gabriel rubbed his face, his exhaustion evident. “We did what we thought was right at the time.”

Raylay sighed, “And look where it got us.”

Gabriel didn’t argue. Maybe because he agreed. Maybe because there was nothing to say. Raylay turned her gaze back to the fire, her expression hardening. “If they’re out there, I’m going to find them.”

Gabriel didn’t question it. He just nodded, voice quiet but firm. “Then we will.”

- December 1st 2011 -

Winter had flown by quickly.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, cracked and littered with the remnants of the old world. Raylay's boots crunched against loose gravel as she walked steadily beside Gabriel, their silence companionable but heavy. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows through the skeletal trees lining the road.

Then, the sound of movement caught her attention. Raylay’s hand immediately went to her knife, her body tensing. Gabriel halted beside her, his fingers brushing against his gun but not drawing it.

A voice rang out, cautious but steady. "We don't want trouble."

Raylay’s eyes snapped toward the source. A broad-shouldered man stepped out from behind an abandoned car, his hands raised slightly in a show of peace. He was big, solid, with a thick beard and wary eyes. Behind him, a woman with sharp features and an equally sharp gaze stood with her rifle at the ready. To their left, a teenage boy hovered protectively in front of a woman, who stood next to a tall man, a coward.

Raylay’s grip tightened on her blade. Gabriel cleared his throat, stepping slightly forward. "Neither do we," he said, his voice even.

The bearded man studied them for a moment before lowering his hands. "My name's Tyreese." He gestured toward the woman beside him. "My sister, Sasha. That’s Allen, Donna, and their son, Ben."

Raylay’s eyes flickered to the boy, then back to Tyreese. "Raylay," she said simply. She jerked her chin toward Gabriel. "That’s Gabriel."

Tyreese's gaze lingered on her, as if trying to decide whether she was a threat. "You got a place you're heading?"

Raylay hesitated. They didn’t have a real destination, not anymore. But she wasn’t about to admit that to a group of strangers. Gabriel, ever the diplomat, nodded. "We’re on the road. Looking for safety."

Donna gave a bitter chuckle. "Aren’t we all?"

There was a pause, the kind that carried unspoken questions. Finally, Sasha exhaled and lowered her rifle. "We’ve got a camp a few miles back. It’s not much, but it’s safe enough for the night."

Raylay studied them, weighing the offer. She didn't trust easily. Not anymore. But Gabriel glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before saying, "We appreciate that."

Raylay sighed through her nose, knowing she was outnumbered on this decision. "Fine," she muttered. "But if this is a trap, you’re all dead."

Tyreese arched a brow but didn’t seem fazed. "Not a trap," he assured her. "Just people trying to survive."

Raylay wasn’t convinced, but she kept her knife in hand as they followed the group down the road.

-

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows on the dirt. The camp Tyreese and his group had led them to wasn’t much; just a clearing tucked between trees, a couple of makeshift tents, and a small fire pit. It was temporary, that much was clear, but they had supplies. Food. Blankets. Weapons. Raylay sat a little apart from the others, her back pressed against a tree, a knife resting on her knee. She wasn’t asleep. She never was.

Gabriel sat beside her, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, but he didn’t lie down either. The others; Tyreese, Sasha, Allen, Donna, and Ben, were asleep, or at least resting. Raylay could hear their breathing, steady and deep. It was stupid, to sleep and let strangers keep watch, she could tell the Sasha girl was wary of her but the others seemed to comfortable, that's what gets them killed.

She tilted her head toward Gabriel, her voice a whisper. “We should kill them.”

Gabriel’s head jerked, his drowsiness vanishing in an instant. “What?”

“They have supplies,” Raylay said, her tone flat. “Food. Weapons. We could take what we need and leave before sunrise.”

Gabriel just stared at her, his mouth slightly open, like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. “What? They helped us.”

“They could be lying. Could be leading us into a trap,” she murmured. “People don’t do things out of kindness anymore.”

Gabriel shook his head, his expression shifting from shock to something closer to horror. “You’d kill them in their sleep?” His voice was barely audible, but she could hear the tremor in it. She shrugged. “It’s easier that way.”

Gabriel turned his body toward her, eyes searching hers, like he was trying to find something, maybe some piece of humanity he thought was still in there. His voice dropped lower, but there was an edge of something almost like disgust in it. “That’s murder, Ray.”

Her eyes narrowed, what a hypocrite “It’s survival.”

“No,” Gabriel said, firmer this time. “It’s murder.”

Raylay exhaled slowly, looking past him to the fire, where Tyreese’s big frame lay still, his chest rising and falling in sleep. The others were curled up, unaware of the conversation happening just a few feet away. Vulnerable.

Easy.

But Gabriel was looking at her like he didn’t recognize her. Like she was something twisted and broken beyond repair. It reminded her of Sophia.

Something ugly.

Raylay’s fingers tightened around her knife, then loosened. She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “You’re too soft.”

“And you’re-” Gabriel stopped himself, but she could see it in his eyes. Raylay could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for something; maybe a cross, maybe nothing at all. She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to say it.

"I'm what?" she pressed, her voice low and sharp.

Gabriel swallowed hard. His throat bobbed, and for a second, he looked away, as if he couldn't stand to meet her gaze. Then, slowly, he turned back, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're becoming like them."

The words hit harder than she expected. Raylay felt something cold coil around her chest, squeezing.

She glared, shaking her head. "Like who?"

He wouldn't say it, he wouldn't dare.

Gabriel didn't flinch. "The ones who took Terminus. The ones who did those things to you."

The silence between them stretched thin. Then, before she could stop herself, Raylay moved. Sne snatched Gabriel’s gun from his holster, the weight of it solid and familiar in her hands. She raised it, aiming it right at his head.

Gabriel went completely still. His eyes widened; not in fear, but in something else. Something deeper.

“Raylay,” he murmured.

Her chest heaved. “I am nothing like them,” she snarled, her grip tightening on the gun. “Don’t you ever compare me to those monsters again.”

Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t even lift his hands in defense. He just looked at her, his expression calm, almost sad.

“I know,” he said softly. “I know you’re not.”

Raylay’s hands started shaking.

Her breath hitched, and suddenly, the world blurred. A choked sob tore from her throat, and before she could stop herself, she lowered the gun.

Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, the gun slipping from her grasp. Her shoulders trembled as the sobs came faster, harder. Gabriel knelt beside her, hesitant. He didn’t reach for her, didn’t try to touch her. He just sat there, close enough to remind her she wasn’t alone.

“I’m not them,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

“You’re not,” Gabriel agreed. “And you never will be.”

Raylay buried her face in her hands, the weight of everything pressing down on her. The pain, the rage, the fear; it was all too much.

Gabriel swallowed hard, his throat dry. Raylay sat there, trembling, her face buried in her hands, and he hated himself for what he had said. For pushing her to this.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Raylay didn’t respond right away. Her shoulders shook with every ragged inhale, but she didn’t lift her head. Gabriel hesitated, then forced himself to keep going. “You’ve been fighting for so long. You’ve been trying to survive. I had no right to say that to you.”

Raylay exhaled sharply, glaring. “You think?” Her voice was raw, thick with emotion.

Gabriel winced. He lowered his head, hands clasped together. “I think… I forget how strong you are. How much you’ve endured. And I—I spoke without thinking. Without understanding.”

Raylay finally lifted her head, her one good eye red-rimmed, cheeks streaked with tears. “You think I wanted to be like this?” she muttered. “I had a family. I had a life. Then the world took it from me. And now I’m supposed to just—just let my guard down? Trust people?” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

Gabriel nodded slowly. “I know.” His voice was softer now, gentler. “And I won’t ask you to.”

Raylay stared at him, searching his face.

Gabriel held her gaze. “I just need you to know that you’re not a monster.”

Raylay let out a shuddering breath, then wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I don’t feel like much of anything anymore,” she admitted.

Gabriel hesitated, carefully, he reached out. His fingers brushed against her wrist, a tentative, silent offering of comfort.

To his quiet relief, she didn’t pull away.

Raylay let out a shaky breath as Gabriel’s fingers hovered near her wrist. She didn’t know why, but suddenly, all the anger, all the pain, all the exhaustion weighed down on her at once. Before she could think better of it, she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against his shoulder.

Gabriel stiffened for half a second before exhaling, his own tension fading. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her, his grip firm but careful, as if afraid she’d push him away. But she didn’t. Instead, Raylay clung to him.

She wasn’t used to this. She wasn’t used to comfort, to warmth, to someone being there when she was breaking apart. Nathan was never there.

Gabriel held her tighter. “You’re not alone,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady. “You never have to be alone.”

Raylay squeezed her eyes shut, trying to swallow down the emotions rising in her throat.

After a long moment, Gabriel pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eye. “Promise me something,” he said, voice still soft.

Raylay sniffed, wiping at her face. “What?”

Gabriel hesitated, then met her gaze with quiet determination. “Promise me we won’t kill people who don’t deserve it.”

Raylay flinched at the words, at the memory of the gun in her hands, the way she had turned it on him in her anger. She was a monster. Gabriel didn’t look away. “I know why you’re like this. I know what they did to you. But I also know that you’re not like them.”

Raylay took a slow breath, her hands clenched into fists. For a moment, she wasn’t sure she could promise anything. The world was cruel. It had chewed her up, spit her out, and left her to rot. But Gabriel was still here.

And as much as she hated to admit it, she wasn’t ready to lose herself completely.

“…Fine,” she mumbled. “I promise.”

Gabriel gave her a small, relieved smile. “Good.”

Raylay exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just a little. Then, reluctantly, she let go of him and pulled herself together.

Life wasn’t done with her yet.

Chapter Text

- January 8th 2012 -

The sun was beginning to dip below the trees, casting long shadows along the cracked road as Raylay and Sasha moved through the abandoned neighborhood. The silence was thick, broken only by the occasional rustle of wind through broken windows or the distant sound of birds. It had been months since Raylay had been out on a run with anyone besides Gabriel, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Sasha was quiet but alert, her rifle held at the ready as they navigated between rusted-out cars and overgrown sidewalks. They hadn’t said much since leaving camp, but Raylay didn’t mind. She preferred silence to small talk.

They reached a convenience store that looked like it had already been picked clean, but it was still worth checking. Raylay knelt by the entrance, peering through the dusty glass. It was dark inside, the shelves overturned and scattered, but there were no obvious signs of movement.

Sasha nodded toward the door. “We go in, we stay quick. No lingering.”

Raylay nodded, annoyed. “Not my first time.”

They slipped inside, their footsteps careful against the debris-covered floor. It smelled like dust, mildew, and old blood. Raylay moved toward the shelves while Sasha covered her, both of them working in sync.

After a few minutes of searching, Raylay found a few half-crushed cans of food and a bottle of water that was still sealed. She shoved them into her bag, glancing over at Sasha, who was crouched near a broken freezer.

They made their way back outside, scanning their surroundings before moving back toward the road. The silence stretched between them for a while before Sasha finally spoke.

“I used to be a firefighter,” she said.

Raylay raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Back when things made sense.” Sasha glanced around at the ruins of the world. “I used to think my job was dangerous, that the worst thing that could happen was running into a burning building and not making it out.” She huffed a laugh. “Turns out, that was nothing compared to this.”

Raylay adjusted the strap of her bag. “I was a stay-home mom,” she admitted after a beat.

Sasha turned to look at her, surprised. “You got kids?”

Raylay paused, “…Had.”

A knowing silence passed between them. Sasha didn’t ask for details, and Raylay didn’t offer. After a while, Sasha sighed. “It’s just weird. The way things were. Feels like a different life.”

Raylay nodded slowly. “It was.”

Sasha gave her a look. “You ever think about it? The past?”

Raylay let out a slow breath, looking up at the darkening sky. “All the time.”

Neither of them said anything for a long moment, but it didn’t feel awkward. Just two people walking side by side through a world that didn’t care about them anymore. Finally, they spotted the edge of their camp up ahead, the firelight flickering through the trees. Sasha glanced at Raylay, “I’ll take first watch tonight.”

Raylay nodded, not feeling like arguing “Alright.”

- February 10th 2012 -

A scream.

Raylay shot up from where she was sitting, her hand instinctively gripping the knife at her belt as she turned toward the noise. The camp was in chaos; people scrambling, shadows shifting against the flickering firelight.

A walker.

It had already been taken down, its rotting body twitching on the ground, its skull bashed in with what looked like a rock. But the damage had already been done. Donna was on the ground, clutching her arm, her face twisted in agony. Blood seeped between her fingers, dripping onto the dirt.

“She- she got bit,” Ben choked out, eyes wide in horror as he watched his mom.

Raylay could only frown, thos people were bound to die anyways. She stepped forward, drawing her knife, her expression hard. “Move.”

Allen quickly blocked her path. “Wait-”

“There is no waiting,” Raylay snapped, her voice sharp with fury. “You know what happens next. She’s done.”

Donna whimpered, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “Please—please, I don’t—”

Ben dropped to his knees beside his mother. “We don’t know how long it’ll take,” he said desperately. “She’s still here! She’s still her.”

Raylay gritted her teeth. “Not for long.”

She took another step forward, but Allen shoved her back, his face twisted with rage. “She is not dead yet! We’re not just gonna kill her!”

Raylay’s patience snapped. “She’s as good as dead! The longer you wait, the worse it gets. What, you want her to turn on you? Rip you apart in your sleep? Rip your son apart?”

Ben shook his head violently, tears streaking down his face. “We can wait! Just—just a little longer!”

Raylay’s grip tightened on her knife, her pulse hammering in her ears. They were being stupid. They were being weak and weakness got people killed, she would know.

“Raylay,” a voice said behind her.

A hand on her arm. She turned, breath shuddering, and met Gabriel’s steady gaze. His expression was calm, but his eyes were pleading.

“Don’t,” he murmured. Raylay yanked her arm free. “She’s already dead,” she hissed.

Gabriel didn’t move. “But they aren’t.”

Raylay’s jaw clenched. Her heart was pounding, rage and frustration curling hot in her chest. Why couldn’t they see? Why did they always have to make it so hard for her?

Gabriel took a slow breath, “Let them do this their way.”

Her fingers twitched around the hilt of her knife. Ben was still crying. Donna was still breathing. And Raylay; Raylay felt like screaming. Instead, she shoved her knife back into its sheath and turned away.

“Fucking fine,” she bit out.

-

The woods were empty at night, she had left the cam0 for some time to herself, finding herself in an abandoned campsite, there wasn't much to it, seemingly already raided. Her eyes landed on a black tattered bag on the floor, pausing.

The bag was light, the fabric stiff and worn, but when she unzipped it, her fingers found something smooth inside.

A lighter.

She turned it over in her hands, clicking it open. A small flame flickered to life, warm and steady against the cold night air. She stared at it.

Morgan. Duane. Avery. Sophia.

Gone.

Gone because she wasn’t strong enough. Because she couldn’t save them. Her fingers trembled. The flame flickered.

She pressed it to her skin.

A sharp hiss. The scent of burning flesh. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay still. To feel it. To remember that she was still here when they weren’t. That she deserved this.

"Raylay!"

The voice shattered through the quiet.

She flinched, the lighter falling from her grip as she spun around. Gabriel was there, his breath ragged, eyes wide with something between panic and horror.

“What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Raylay opened her mouth, but no words came out. Gabriel’s gaze dropped to her arm. To the angry red burn marring her skin. His expression twisted, something breaking in his eyes.

He crossed the distance between them in two steps, dropping to his knees in front of her. “Raylay,” he breathed, his hands hovering over hers like he was afraid to touch her, like she might shatter if he did.

She swallowed, blinking hard, her vision swimming. “I—”

But her voice cracked, and suddenly, she was shaking. Gabriel pulled her against him without hesitation.

She went rigid at first, but then the warmth of him, the solidness of him, melted something inside her. She buried her face into his shoulder, her breath hitching, and for the first time in a long time, she sobbed. He held her tighter, murmuring sweet words against her hair. She gripped the fabric of his shirt, her burned arm throbbing, her heart aching, and for once, she let someone else hold the weight.

- February 13th 2012 -

"Me and Raylay are going out hunting," Gabriel stated through breakfast, Raylay paused, looking at Gabriel with a quirked brow. Sasha frowned, "It's better if we stick together, especially after-"

She glanced towards Ben and Allen's tents, they were still mourning Donna and hadn't come out to eat. Gabriel shook his head lightly, "It'll be fine, we can handle ourselves."

After breakfast Gabriel took Raylay to the familiar woods, riffle in hand. Raylay narrowed her eyes at Gabriel as they walked through the woods, branches snapping beneath their boots. "You gonna tell me where we're actually going?"

Gabriel didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes on the path ahead, his grip on his rifle steady. "You’ll see when we get there," he said finally.

Raylay sighed, adjusting the strap of her own gun across her shoulder. "You lied," she pointed out.

Gabriel glanced at her. "I improvised."

"Uh-huh." Raylay wasn’t sure if she was impressed or irritated. Probably both. Gabriel had been different ever since Terminus; harder, sharper. The man who once trembled at the idea of killing had slit a man’s throat so they could escape. He had changed. They both had.

But he hadn’t just lied to the others; he had lied to her and that made her uneasy. Even though she trusted him with her life by now it was still weird.

"You’re gonna have to give me more than that, Father," she said, stepping over a fallen log. Gabriel sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "I just… I needed to get you away from them for a little while."

Raylay raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Gabriel hesitated. "Because you need it," he said quietly.

She frowned, scrunching her nose in annoyance. "Do you still think I'm going to kill them?"

Gabriel stopped walking and turned to face her. "You were burning yourself last night."

Her stomach clenched. She didn’t think he was ever going to mention it again, it had been a moment of weakness. He wasn’t looking at her with pity. He wasn’t even looking at her with judgment. Just something heavy and raw and unshakable.

"I don’t need a babysitter," she muttered.

"I know," Gabriel said. "But you need something."

Raylay hated how her throat tightened at that. She turned away before he could see it, adjusting the strap of her rifle again. "It better not be nothing."

Gabriel exhaled and started walking again. "It’s not nothing."

Gabriel led Raylay through the woods, his hand brushing branches out of the way as they walked. The afternoon sunlight filtered through the trees, casting golden patterns across the lengthy grass. Raylay had no idea where they were going, Gabriel had been annoyingly vague when he told her to follow him. But she trusted Gabriel, she had told him that a long time ago.

"If this is some elaborate scheme to murder me, I gotta say, you’re taking your time with it," Raylay muttered, stepping over a fallen log.

Gabriel huffed a quiet laugh. "Yes, Raylay, you’ve figured out my plan. I’ve only spent months keeping you alive so I could bring you all the way out here to - oh, I don’t know - push you into a ditch."

Raylay smirked. "I knew it." Gabriel shook his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. "We’re almost there, just be patient."

Raylay didn’t say it, but she kind of liked the way he was smiling to himself, like he was excited. She hadn’t seen that look in a while. After a few more steps, the trees thinned, and suddenly they were standing at the edge of a clearing. Raylay stopped short, blinking.

A small meadow stretched before them, dotted with wildflowers and bathed in golden sunlight. In the middle, a crystal-clear stream wound its way through the grass, the water bubbling softly over smooth stones. The whole place looked untouched, like something out of a dream.

Gabriel turned to her, a little uncertain now. "I—uh, I found this place a while ago, when I was scouting ahead. Thought it might be… nice."

Raylay blinked, she hadn’t seen anything this peaceful in so long.

"Yeah," she said quietly, stepping forward. "It is."

Gabriel followed her, watching as she crouched by the water and ran her fingers through the cool stream. He sat beside her, letting the warmth of the sun soak into his skin. For a while, they didn’t talk. They just sat there, listening to the water and the rustling of the trees.

Raylay leaned back on her hands, gazing at the sky through the gaps in the trees. The golden hues of the setting sun mixed with the deepening blue of the evening, and for a moment, everything felt still. Peaceful.

She exhaled slowly. “You know… when we find Sophia and the others, maybe we should stop running.”

Gabriel turned to her, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Raylay stretched her legs out, letting her boots rest near the edge of the stream. “I mean—” She hesitated, as if saying it out loud would make it too real. “I mean we should find somewhere in the mountains. A place no one will bother looking. Somewhere quiet. We could just… live. The way we used to.”

Gabriel studied her carefully. “You’ve never talked about stopping before.”

Raylay shrugged, but there was something raw in her voice when she spoke. “I’m tired, Gabriel. And I know Sophia’s tired too. When we find her, I don’t want to keep dragging her from one hellhole to another. I want her to have something stable. Something safe.”

Gabriel was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly, he asked, “Do you really think there’s still a place like that left?”

Raylay sighed, closing her eyes in thought “There has to be. Somewhere up in the mountains, away from all this. We could build something. Hunt. Fish. Grow our own food.” She pursed her lips, running a hand through her tangled hair. “I just want to give Sophia a chance to be a kid again, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Gabriel nodded slowly, as if considering it. Then he offered her a small smile. “That sounds… nice.”

The corners of her lips twitched into a smirk, “I know, right? I’m full of good ideas.”

Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head, there was something hopeful in his eyes now, something lighter than before. Raylay let herself believe that they could live somewhere like that.

Hope. It was her first mistake.

Chapter Text

- August 3rd 1981 -

The afternoon air hung heavy with the scent of damp pavement as Raylay walked home alone, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her gaze fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk. She never liked walking this way; past the empty lot where the fence had long since collapsed, where the shadows stretched too far even in daylight.

She knew better than to stop when she heard footsteps behind her. Knew better than to look over her shoulder, but when the voices started, low murmurs that escalated into laughter, her fingers curled tighter around the strap of her bag.

There were three of them. She didn’t know their names, but she recognized their faces. Boys from school.

“Hey, why you walkin’ so fast? Slow down, darlin” one of them called.

Raylay ignored them, kept walking, both her feet and her heart picking up speed. She heard them close in, their sneakers scuffing against the pavement. One of them grabbed the strap of her backpack, yanking it hard enough to pull her back a step.

“Come on, don’t be like that.”

Panic shot through her ribs. She spun, trying to pull away, but another hand caught her arm.

A blur of movement. A loud crack. One of the boys staggered back, clutching his face. Raylay barely had time to process what had happened before she saw him.

An older boy.

She knew him from school too, a sophomore. He was taller than the others, lean but strong, his dark plaid shirt smeared with dirt as if he’d been in a fight before this one even started.

“Back the hell off,” he snapped. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it, making the remaining two hesitate. One of them recovered quickly, cursing as he lunged. The older boy dodged, landing a solid punch to his stomach, but the third boy was already swinging. Raylay flinched as the hit connected, sending the boy stumbling back.

He spat blood onto the pavement, didn’t even seem to care.

“Pull that shit again,” he mumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. It was enough. The boys cursed under their breath, but they didn’t want to fight anymore. Not really. They turned and left, muttering something about how this wasn’t over.

Raylay stood, her hands still gripping the straps of her bag. The boy sighed, rolling his shoulder like he was shaking off the pain. When he looked at her, his expression softened—just a little; she would’ve missed it if she hadn’t been looking so intently.

“You okay?”

Raylay nodded. She could still feel the ghost of their hands on her, but she was fine. She should’ve said thank you. Should’ve asked if he was okay. Instead, she blurted out:

“You’re bleeding.”

He blinked, like he hadn’t even noticed the cut above his eyebrow, the blood smeared along his jaw. She shifted, gripping the sleeves of her sweater. “I… I have a first aid kit at home. If you want, I could—”

He studied her for a long moment, then exhaled.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Okay.”

Weird.

-

Raylay hesitated at the front door, her fingers trembling as she fit the key into the lock. She knew she was safe now, but her body hadn’t caught up to that yet. She was used to that. She stepped inside, her breath held tight in her chest. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

“Dad?” she called, barely above a whisper.

No answer. The tension in her shoulders eased—just a little. He wasn’t home.

She turned back to the older boy, who stood just outside on the porch, hands shoved in his jean pockets as if he wasn’t still bleeding from the fight. His expression was unreadable, his dark eyes scanning the empty hallway behind her. Her father would kill her if he knew she brought a boy home, so she’d make it quick.

“You coming in or not?” she asked, softer than she meant to. He hummed, pulling his feet out of his shoes and stepping inside.

Raylay’s hands weren’t as steady as she wanted them to be as she dug through the bathroom cabinet, pulling out an old first aid kit. She could feel his gaze on her, watching as she knelt in front of him.

He sat on the closed lid of the toilet, legs spread, elbows resting on his knees. He didn’t flinch when she reached up, dabbing at the cut above his brow with an alcohol wipe.

“Sorry,” she murmured when he tensed. He only grunted in response.

Raylay focused on her work, cleaning the blood from his face. His knuckles were raw, and there was already a bruise forming along his jaw. She should’ve been afraid of him; he reminded her a lot of her dad, but this guy she didn’t even know hadn’t hesitated to step in, hadn’t hesitated to help her.

Her voice was quiet when she finally asked, “Why did you do that?”

He hummed in thought, his head tilting slightly as he considered her question. For a moment, she thought he might not answer at all.

“It’s either going to be them or us.”

Raylay paused, her fingers tightening slightly around the bandage she was pressing against his brow. She thought about the way those boys had looked at her. The way they had laughed.

She didn’t know what to say to that. So instead, she pulled back, studied her work, and finally met his dark eyes.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he wasn’t used to people asking. Raylay nodded as he mumbled an answer; his name was unusual, but she doubted she’d forget it.

“…Thank you.”

- July 28th 2012 -

The group moved carefully through the overgrown terrain, staying low as they neared the rusted fences of the abandoned prison. Raylay’s grip tightened on her knife as she scanned for movement. Sasha, ahead of them, paused near a break in the fencing. She gestured for them to follow.

“Looks like an old maintenance entrance. We can get through here.”

They slipped through one by one, stepping into what had once been a yard. The silence was unsettling. No walkers. No people. Just the eerie hum of the wind against metal. The place had the kind of stillness that made her think of the day after Avery's death. Something had happened here. Something recent.

“Don’t move.”

A voice, young but firm.

Raylay turned her head slowly. A teenager stood a few feet away, aiming a rifle straight at them. His stance was steady, practiced. His dark hair was damp with sweat, and his eyes, sharp and wary, darted between them.

“Hands where I can see them,” he ordered.

Raylay raised her hands slightly, just enough to show she wasn’t an immediate threat. The rest did the same.

“We’re not looking for trouble,” Tyreese said slowly.

The teen didn’t lower his weapon but jerked his head to the side, “Follow me, but try anything and I’ll shoot.”

They followed him through a set of heavy doors, moving deeper into the prison. The air inside was cooler, carrying the faint scent of old metal and dust. As they walked through the dimly lit halls, voices echoed from further in.

Raylay kept her knife loose in her grip, glancing at the others. Something was off. The place was too quiet, too strained. As they rounded a corner, she tensed. A group of people turned to watch them with wary eyes. Some lifted weapons, others simply observed with caution. An older man with graying hair stepped forward, scanning them before speaking.

“Who are you?”

Raylay met his gaze, shoulders squared. "Survivors."

-

Once inside, Raylay, Gabriel, and the others were introduced to the people running the prison. The teenager who had found them was named Carl. Despite his age, he carried himself like someone much older, someone who had seen too much. He reminded her of Sophia. Of Duane, too. If the kids were still here, she guessed they'd be friends.

Carl led them to a small section of the prison where they could rest. “You can stay here for now,” he said, keeping his tone neutral. “But my dad has the final say.”

Raylay noted the way the others glanced at each other. Their movements, their faces—there was something under the surface. Mourning. They had lost someone recently. She could feel the grief lingering in the air, thick as smoke.

As the group settled in, Carl left, disappearing deeper into the prison halls. Raylay stood still, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her single eye narrowing as she watched him go.

“Something’s off,” she muttered lowly, making sure no one else could hear.

Gabriel looked at her carefully. He had learned long ago not to ignore Raylay’s instincts. They had kept them both alive more times than he could count. “What do you mean?” he asked.

She shook her head, frustrated. “I don’t know yet. Just— I don’t trust it.”

Gabriel sighed, glancing around the prison. It was stable, more so than any place they’d stayed in a long time. It was secure, stocked, and full of people who, so far, hadn’t tried to kill them. Despite that, Raylay wasn’t paranoid for no reason. If she had a bad feeling, there was probably a reason.

He exhaled slowly. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll keep an eye on things. If anything too strange happens… we leave.”

Raylay gave him a small nod, but the unease in her expression didn’t fade. If it came to worse she'd have to dump the small group they've settled in and leave with Gabriel, even though he'd probably be against the idea but it was either them or us.

-

The man in charge, Rick, didn’t show up until later. When he did, Raylay saw immediately that he wasn’t fully present. His eyes were distant, haunted, as if he were looking past them rather than at them. He spoke in clipped sentences, nodding absently as Carl explained who they were. It wasn’t long before Raylay realized the man was talking to someone who wasn’t there. She had seen that dazed look before; in herself.

Under his breath, Raylay heard him mutter something.

“No… no, it’s not—It’s not safe…”

She narrowed her eyes. It wasn’t directed at them. He wasn’t talking to anyone in the room.

"You can't stay," Rick said suddenly.

Gabriel tried to reason with him. “We haven’t done anything to threaten you.”

Rick didn’t listen. His hands were shaking, his jaw tight. “I won’t risk my people.” His voice wavered slightly, but his grip on his revolver was firm.

Raylay’s muscles coiled. He was scared, and scared men were dangerous. Rick took a slow, measured step forward, eyes locked on Raylay like she was some kind of animal he needed to put down. His fingers twitched near the grip of his gun which she eyed warily in response.

"You got something to say?" he asked, voice low, almost mocking.

Raylay didn’t flinch. She didn’t move.

"You gonna put that gun to use?" she shot back, her tone icy.

Rick scoffed, shaking his head. "See, that right there? That’s why you ain't stayin’ here. People like you don’t fit. You don’t follow rules. You’re a damn rabid dog waitin’ to bite."

Raylay’s hands curled into fists. Who was he to say that about her?

"You don’t know the first thing about me."

"I know enough." Rick’s gaze flickered with something dark, something unhinged. "You think I haven’t seen your type before? You walk in, act all tough, then when people start dyin’ you don’t do nothin’ about it."

Sasha stepped forward between them, hands raised. "Look, we’ll leave. We don’t want trouble," she said firmly. "We understand—"

Raylay cut her off, voice sharp. "I don’t need you to speak for me."

Sasha shot her an incredulous look, "Ray—"

"No." Raylay took a step closer to Rick. "I’m not gonna bow my head and act like we did something wrong just because he can’t keep his damn head straight."

Rick’s breath hitched, his eyes narrowing. "You think I’m crazy?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Raylay was sure she wasn’t the only one who thought that. One look around would be enough to prove her point.

"I know you are."

Rick was quick, closing the distance between them in sharp steps, his face just inches from hers. "You better start walkin’, right now, before I—"

Gabriel moved from his place behind her. His hand shot out, shoving Rick back just enough to put himself between them. "Back off," Gabriel said, his voice steady, but his body rigid with tension. Rick’s chest rose and fell heavily, nostrils flaring. "Get out of my way."

Gabriel squared his shoulders, fingers curling at his sides. "No."

For a moment, no one spoke. The air was thick, suffocating. A man with a bow slunged around his back took a hesitant step forward, "Rick."

Rick exhaled sharply, stepping back. His hands twitched at his sides before he finally pointed toward the gate. Her face twisted into a scowl and she spat at Rick’s feet.

“You’re a goddamn coward.”

Rick’s face darkened, his knuckles going white, “Get out,” he said.

No one moved. Rick’s voice roared the second time. “NOW!”

Bow-man stepped forward, putting himself between them. “Ain’t gotta be like this, man.” Rick didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked onto Raylay like she was already dead to him.

Raylay turned to Gabriel, voice tight. “We’re leaving.”

Gabriel hesitated, looking at Rick, at the others. Then he nodded. Tyreese exhaled sharply but didn’t argue. They turned and made their way toward the door.
As the gates slammed shut, Raylay caught Carl’s gaze. He wasn’t looking at his father. He was looking at her.

She ignored him.

Chapter Text

- July 29th 2012 -

The woods were quiet.

Raylay’s boots pressed against the damp earth as she moved alongside Gabriel, Tyreese, Sasha, Ben, and Allen. The air was thick with tension, their group walking in near silence, weapons ready. They were scouting, looking for anything useful; food, water, supplies.

Raylay had learned the hard way that the real danger was never the dead. It was the living.

And sure enough, they weren’t alone.

The sound of rustling ahead made them all freeze. In seconds, Raylay had her knife in hand, Gabriel instinctively shifting closer to her side. Tyreese gripped his hammer, and Sasha had her rifle raised.

Then, men stepped out from the trees. Armed men. For fuck’s sake. Couldn’t they catch a break?

Raylay counted five of them at first glance. One of them; tall, grizzled, and with a cocky grin plastered on his face, had only one hand, a jagged stump where the other should be. The others looked just as rough, their weapons held a little too easily. Not like survivors, but men who had gotten used to taking what they wanted.

The one-handed man grinned, eyes raking over Raylay like she was something to eat. “Well, well,” he drawled, thick Southern accent dripping from every word. “Ain’t every day I stumble across a lady like you in the middle of the woods.”

Raylay tightened her grip on her knife. “Move,” she said flatly.

The man let out a low whistle, turning to his group with amusement. “Fiery one, huh? Damn, I always did like a woman with some bite.” He turned back to her, smirking. “Name’s Merle. You got one, sweetheart?”

Raylay didn’t answer. Gabriel shifted beside her, his whole posture tense, his hand hovering over the gun at his side. Tyreese and Sasha weren’t lowering their weapons, either.

The grin never left Merle’s face, “Relax, people. We ain’t lookin’ for trouble. Actually, we might have ourselves a little opportunity for ya.” He gestured loosely with his remaining hand. “Me and my boys got a place. Safe, warm, got food. Maybe y’all’d like to come check it out?”

Raylay let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I bet.”

She didn’t trust him, not for one fucking second. His eyes were too sharp, his tone too easy, like a man who had spent a lifetime sweet-talking people just before putting a knife in their back. The way his gaze lingered on her made her skin crawl.

“We’re good,” Sasha said coldly. Merle tilted his head, feigning disappointment. “That so? Shame. It’s real nice.” His smirk widened as he looked her up and down. “Woulda been real nice havin’ a pretty thing like you around, too.”

Gabriel took a step forward, putting himself between Raylay and Merle. “Back off,” he said, voice low and firm.

Merle let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Damn, blackie here’s got a little fight in him! I like it.”

Sasha’s patience snapped. “We’re leaving,” she said, aiming her rifle directly at Merle’s chest. “And if you try to stop us, I will kill you, all of you.”

Merle raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Easy, easy. No need to get all trigger-happy, sweetheart.”

Raylay didn’t wait for him to say anything else. “Come on,” she muttered, already turning on her heel. The others followed, but she could feel Merle’s eyes on her back the whole way.

More movement came from the trees. The snap of branches, the rustling of leaves; too many footsteps. Her stomach dropped. It all reminded her too much of Terminus, she couldn’t go through that again.

More men stepped out of the woods, surrounding them. At least ten, maybe more, all armed. Rifles, pistols, knives. Some had the look of men who had been out here for too long; lean, hungry, desperate. The worst kind. Others looked too comfortable, like they’d done this before.

Raylay’s grip on her knife tightened as she turned her head just enough to glance at Gabriel. His jaw was clenched, his eyes darting between the men, he felt it too, the familiarity of the situation. Tyreese shifted his weight, subtly preparing for a fight, and Sasha slowly adjusted her aim. Ben and Allen were still as statues, their hands hovering near their weapons.

Merle chuckled. “Now, now,” he drawled, taking slow, easy steps toward them. “Y’all weren’t really plannin’ on leavin’ so soon, were ya?”

Raylay swallowed her anger, forcing herself to think. They were outnumbered, outgunned. Fighting was a death sentence. Running was impossible. They were trapped. Again.

She forced her expression to stay blank, “Let us go.”

Merle gave a mock frown. “Aww, sugar. That ain’t very friendly.” He gestured around. “See, my boys here? They don’t take too kindly to bein’ brushed off. Makes ‘em feel… unappreciated.”

She wondered if that was the biggest word the redneck knew. A few of the men chuckled, a low, unsettling sound.

Raylay’s heart pounded. She looked at Gabriel again, and he was already looking at her, waiting. He trusted her judgment but she could see it in his eyes; he was scared too.

Tyreese spoke up, his voice calm but firm. “We don’t want trouble. Just let us go, and we won’t have any problems.”

Merle scratched his chin, pretending to think. “Hmm. Temptin’ offer. Real temptin’. But see, y’all don’t exactly look like the types to just wander off and forget a meetin’ like this.”

Raylay felt her pulse in her throat. Shit. This is bad.

Merle grinned again, but this time, there was something darker behind it. “So how ‘bout this? We all go back to town, have ourselves a little chat. Maybe a drink, if we’re feelin’ friendly. Then we see where things go.”

Raylay’s jaw clenched. They couldn’t go with them.

She shifted slightly, adjusting her grip on her knife. If they had to fight, she’d go for Merle first. He was the leader, she could tell; cut off the head, and maybe the others would hesitate. But before she could act, she felt a hand brush against hers. Gabriel.

She glanced at him, and he gave the slightest shake of his head. Not yet.

Her blood boiled, but she forced herself to stay still. Not yet.

Merle was watching them, amused. “What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

Raylay inhaled slowly. Exhaled. Then she looked him dead in the eye.

“You take one step closer,” she said, voice low and steady, “and I’ll carve you up like a goddamn turkey.”

Silence.

Merle grinned wider.

“…Damn,” he chuckled. “I think I’m in love.”

-

The gates of Woodbury loomed ahead, tall and fortified, guarded by men with rifles. Raylay’s stomach twisted. This was wrong. Every instinct screamed at her that they shouldn’t be here, but there was no choice. Not with all those guns pointed at them.

As soon as they stepped inside, the people of Woodbury turned to look. Some curious, some wary, it all looked too perfect, too fake, at least the prison wasn’t pretending to be something they weren’t.

Merle walked ahead, grinning like he owned the place, and then he suddenly stopped. He turned toward Raylay and clapped a hand on her shoulder, a mock-friendly gesture that made her skin crawl. Her first instinct was to yank her shoulder back in disgust.

“All right, sweetheart,” he drawled. “Time to take you to the boss.”

Raylay stiffened, Merle wasn’t the main leader? "I'm not going anywhere without them." She nodded toward Gabriel, Tyreese, Sasha, Ben, and Allen.

Merle clicked his tongue. “Ain’t up to you, darlin’.”

Gabriel immediately stepped forward, eyes burning with barely contained rage. “She’s not going alone.”

Merle tilted his head, amused. “Ain’t up to you, neither, baldie.”

Raylay exhaled slowly, pushing down her frustration. She turned to Gabriel, meeting his gaze. “It’s fine,” she said, voice firm. “I’ll go.”

“No,” Gabriel snapped. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “This is a bad idea, Raylay. You know it.”

She did. But if they fought back now, they’d be dead before they could even try to escape.

She gave him the smallest nod, trying to reassure him. “It’s fine,” she repeated. "I'll handle it."

Gabriel’s jaw tightened. His chest rose and fell sharply. His lips parted like he was about to argue again, but then he looked at her, really looked at her and he saw it. The decision was already made. There wouldn’t be convincing her otherwise.

“Damn right, she will,” Merle cut in with a smirk. “Y’all sit tight. We’ll see what the Gov’na wants to do with ya.”

Before anyone could argue again, Merle grabbed Raylay’s arm and pulled her forward. Merle grinned, satisfied, and led Raylay away. She didn’t look back but she could feel the gazes on her back.

Merle dragged Raylay through the winding streets of Woodbury, past houses that looked too pristine, too staged. The whole place felt like the punchline to a dumb joke. A desperate attempt to pretend things were normal when they weren’t.

They reached a large building near the center of town, and Merle pushed open the doors without knocking. Inside was an office; clean, well-furnished, like something out of a time before. Behind the desk sat a man with dark hair, he looked like an actor from a 60’s film. He looked up from a glass of whiskey as they entered, and a slow smile tugged at his lips.

“Merle,” he greeted. “And who’s this?”

“Found ‘er in the woods with a group,” Merle said, giving Raylay’s shoulder a squeeze before shoving her forward. “They didn’t exactly roll out the welcome mat, but I figured you’d wanna meet their leader.”

Raylay didn’t react, keeping her expression carefully neutral. She wasn’t their leader, she wasn’t sure they had one but Gabriel or Tyreese, even Sasha would be a better fit than her.

The Governor (because that’s who this bastard had to be) leaned forward slightly, studying her with mild interest. “That so?”

“She didn’t say it outright,” Merle admitted. “But she’s the one callin’ the shots.”

Dumbass.

The Governor hummed, considering this. Then he waved a hand. “That’ll be all, Merle.”

Merle frowned, like he wanted to argue, but then he just shrugged and gave Raylay a smirk before walking out, shutting the door behind him.

Now it was just the two of them.

The Governor stood and walked around his desk, moving with a practiced ease. He poured himself another drink, then lifted the bottle in offering. “Whiskey?”

Raylay didn’t even glance at it.

He chuckled and took a sip himself, then leaned back against his desk. “You’ve got a fire in your eyes,” he said. “I like that.”

She didn’t respond.

“So,” he continued, “why don’t you tell me a little about yourself? About your people.”

She narrowed her eyes, she hadn’t been allowed to keep her knife (obviously) but her fingers hovered over the strap where it used to be, “No.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “No?”

“No,” she repeated. “Because it doesn’t matter. You’re wasting your time.”

His lips twitched in mild amusement. “That so?”

“This place,” she gestured vaguely around the office, “Woodbury. It’s fake. A pretty little lie wrapped in a neat bow. It won’t last.”

The amusement in his expression faded just slightly.

Raylay took a slow step forward. “You can dress it up all you want, but I know what happens when you try to build a fantasy in the middle of a nightmare. It always falls apart and when it does, which it will, people die.”

The Governor studied her carefully, but he didn’t move.

“My group and I don’t need your version of the world,” Raylay continued, “We just want to leave.”

The Governor exhaled slowly, swirling the whiskey in his glass before taking another sip. “Well,” he said, voice smooth, “that’s unfortunate.”

The Governor sighed, setting his glass down with an air of forced patience. "Normally," he said, his tone almost casual, "I’d put on a show. Tell you that you and your people are free to come and go as you please. Maybe give you a tour, let you see the good life here. But let’s not waste each other’s time, Raylay.”

Her jaw tightened at the way he said her name, like he’d already decided he owned it.

“You’re not leaving,” he continued smoothly, watching her closely. “Not because I won’t let you, but because I can’t let you.”

Raylay’s hands curled into fists at her sides. "The fuck does that mean?"

The Governor smiled like he was humoring a child, "You’re sharp. Sharper than most. I see it in your eyes, the way you hold yourself. You’re not some lost soul looking for shelter. You’re a leader. And leaders… they don’t just walk away from something like this. Not without making things difficult for everyone involved."

Her fingers itched for the familiar feeling of her knife pinching her thighs, “If you think I’m just going to sit here and play house—”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to sit anywhere,” he cut in, still smiling. "I expect you to survive, because if you leave; If you try to run—your people? They’re dead."

Raylay felt her blood go cold. She had known, the second they were surrounded in the woods, that this was a trap. That this place, however clean and safe it looked on the surface, was rotten at its core.

He wasn’t just keeping them here. He was owning them.

Her breath came sharper through her nose, the Governor tilted his head slightly, considering her.

"Before all this," he said, voice dipping into something softer, calmer, "where were you staying?"

Raylay stared at him. The way he’d switched topics so seamlessly only made her more uneasy.

The Governor waited, but when she didn’t answer, he sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed in her. "Come on now, Raylay," he coaxed. "You’re smarter than this. I’m just asking a question. No need to make things difficult."

Raylay felt her heart pound in her chest, but she kept her face neutral, she hated the way he said her name, if Gabriel hadn't said it infront of Merle, the redneck wouldn't have know and her name would have never been spoken ftom the mouth of the devil. "We moved around," she said flatly. "Never stayed anywhere long."

The Governor hummed. “That so?”

She didn’t respond.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The office was quiet, the weight of the conversation pressing in like a vice. Finally, the Governor pushed off his desk and picked up his glass again.

“Well,” he mused, taking another sip. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

Raylay’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t going to let them go.

They were trapped because of her, again.

Chapter Text

- July 30th 2012 -

Raylay sat on the cot, back against the wall, her fingers idly tracing the chipped wood of the bed frame. The room was small, barely more than a storage closet, with a single dim bulb casting sickly yellow light over the concrete walls. No windows. One locked door.

She had spent the last few hours pacing, testing the door, feeling along the walls for anything loose, anything she could use. Nothing. They’d thought of everything.

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the door finally creaked open.

Merle stepped in, holding a plate of food; some stale-looking bread and a small tin of something that might’ve been beans. He smirked at her, amused by the way she straightened slightly at the sight of him.

“Dinner time, sweetheart,” he drawled, setting the plate down on a small crate near the bed. “Y’oughta eat while you still got the chance.”

Raylay didn’t move. Didn’t touch the food. She leveled him with a glare instead. “My group’s gonna come looking for me.”

Merle chuckled, shaking his head like she’d just said something real funny.

“Nah,” he said. “They ain’t lookin’ for ya, sugar.”

Raylay’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t let it show. “You don’t know that.”

Merle grinned, leaning casually against the doorframe. "See, that’s the thing. Governor told ‘em you ran off. Just up and left ‘em in the dust. Poor ol’ Gabriel was real torn up about it.”

Raylay’s blood ran cold.

Bullshit. Bull. Fucking. Shit.

They wouldn’t believe that. Gabriel wouldn’t believe that.

...

But she wasn't the most mentally stable either, she had acted out many times before maybe they- no.

But..

If the Governor fed them the right story, kept them under lock and key, made it so they had nowhere else to go—

“They know I wouldn’t do that,” she said, but even as the words left her mouth, she could hear how hollow they sounded.

Merle shrugged, still smirking. “Maybe. Maybe not. But don’t matter much now, does it? Either way, they ain’t comin’ for ya. Best you get used to that.”

Raylay stared at him, her fists clenched at her sides.

Merle just laughed, tapping his fingers against the door as he backed out. “Eat up, sweetheart. Governor wants ya strong.”

And then the door slammed shut, the lock clicking into place.

Raylay sat there in the dim light, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Her group wasn’t coming for her, because as far as they knew…

She had already left them behind.

-

The door creaked open again, and Raylay didn’t bother looking up. She knew it wasn’t Merle this time.

She could feel it.

He shut the door behind him, the lock clicking into place. The Governor stepped inside, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, an easy smirk on his face like he was just stopping by for a friendly chat. The sight of him made her skin crawl.

"Hope you’re settlin’ in," he said, glancing around the room as if it were some cozy little cabin instead of a locked cell.

Raylay glared, arms crossed over her chest. "Yeah. Five stars. Great hospitality."

He chuckled, stepping further inside. "I thought we’d have a little talk. You and me."

"I have nothing to say to you," she muttered.

"Oh, I think you do," he said, like he already knew she’d break eventually. He pulled the crate away from the wall and sat down on it, elbows on his knees. "We got time, after all."

Raylay glared at him, "Get to the point."

The Governor just smiled, shaking his head. "Y’know, I like you, Raylay. You got fight in you. Ain’t often I meet someone who doesn’t fold the second things get tough." He leaned back a little, studying her like she was some kind of puzzle he wanted to solve. "That’s why I wanna tell you somethin’ I don’t tell most people."

She didn’t respond, but he didn’t need her to.

"My name’s Philip," he said. "Philip Blake."

Raylay didn’t react. Didn’t move. Why would she care what his name was?

She just stared at him, waiting for whatever bullshit speech was about to follow.

The Governor—Philip—sighed like he was reminiscing about some long-forgotten past. "Had a wife once, you remind me of her. I had a daughter too. Penny." He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "She’s still with me, in a way."

Raylay’s stomach twisted. She knew what that meant.

She had done it too.

Raylay sat on the edge of the cot, her back straight, fists clenched in her lap.

"Had an interesting talk with your people today," he said, his tone light, almost casual.

Raylay’s chest tightened. What people? Who did he talk to?

She didn’t let the panic show, just swallowed hard and forced her voice to stay steady. "And?"

He stepped closer, just enough to loom without touching. "One of them told me somethin’ real personal about you."

Her jaw locked.

"They said you lost a daughter too."

A cold, sharp pain shot through her, straight through the ribs. She inhaled slowly through her nose, not blinking, not moving.

"They didn’t say much," the Governor continued, pacing a little, watching her. "Didn’t need to. I could see it. You carry it like a stone on your back."

Raylay’s hands curled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. Who said it? Her mind raced. Sasha? Allen? Ben? It sure as hell wasn’t Gabriel.

Someone had given him that piece of her, and now he was holding it over her head. When she found out who they were gonna get it from her.

The Governor crouched in front of her, tilting his head, trying to get her to meet his eyes. "I know what that kind of loss does to a person," he murmured. "Makes you see the world different. Makes you harder. Stronger."

She finally looked at him, her expression cold, empty. "You think you understand me?"

He smiled. "I know I do."

Raylay stared at him, feeling the rage bubbling just beneath the surface. She wanted to hurt him. To wipe that smug, knowing look off his face.

Instead, she whispered, "Go to hell."

The Governor chuckled, rising to his feet. His fingers gripped her chin but she pulled away roughly. "Oh, sweetheart," he said, backing toward the door, smirking like he already had her figured out.

"We’re already there."

- August 3rd 2012 -

Raylay learned quickly that silence was its own kind of weapon.

Every day, it was either Merle or the Governor who came to see her.

Merle would bring food, toss a few jabs her way, make crude comments just to see if he could get a rise out of her. She ignored him, and that only seemed to amuse him more.

The Governor—Philip—he was different. He didn’t come to taunt her. He came to talk.

He talked about how he built Woodbury from nothing, how he kept people safe, how he made hard choices no one else could. How everything he did, everything, was for the greater good. She was so fucking tired of this,

Raylay listened. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t argue. Just sat there, staring at the floor or the wall, letting him fill the silence with his justifications, his little glimpses into the twisted world inside his head.

And Philip Blake, the Governor of Woodbury, just smiled.

Because he liked her.

And that was more dangerous than anything.

She saw it in the way he looked at her, the way his voice softened sometimes when he said her name. He admired her, maybe even respected her. And that meant he wanted her to understand him.

It was a game, and she knew it. He was trying to get inside her head, to wear her down bit by bit.

But what scared her wasn’t the way he looked at her. It was the small, creeping fear that if she stayed here too long… she might start to understand him, too.

- August 8th 2012 -

The door slammed open.

Raylay shot up from the cot, her body tensing on instinct, her hands curling into fists. The Governor stood in the doorway, swaying slightly. His eyes were bloodshot, and even from across the room, she could smell the alcohol on him. She tensed, her father, Nathan, it all flashed through her mind quickly, she winced.

His breath came in ragged pants, his jaw clenched so tight she thought his teeth might crack, but it wasn’t anger directed at her.

He looked broken.

Without warning, he staggered forward, collapsing onto the cot beside her. She wanted to move as far away from him but was too afraid to do so, something, memories maybe, held her still. His hands fisted in his own hair as he let out a strangled sob.

"I tried… I tried everything, but she was still… still gone." His voice cracked, barely a whisper. "My little girl… my Penny…"

Raylay froze. She knew it all too well.

She had seen the sharp, calculating glint in his eye as he manipulated, threatened, controlled. But this? This was something else. Something familiar.

His shoulders shook violently, his breaths coming in ragged, uneven gasps. And then, before she could react, he hugged her.

Just wrapped his arms around her like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. Raylay stiffened instinctively, her mind screaming at her to push him off, to do something, but… she didn’t.

She didn’t move.

Because for all the hate she had for this man, for all the fear—this wasn’t the Governor of Woodbury.

This was just a father who had lost his child.

And for the briefest moment, she thought of Avery.

Of the weight of her daughter’s tiny hand in hers. Of laughter echoing through the farm house. Of a warm body snuggled against her in the dead of night.

Of the cold emptiness that followed.

Of herself.

She swallowed hard and hesitated, God, what the hell was she doing? But eventually, awkwardly, she rested a hand on his back.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t tell him it would be okay. Didn’t tell him Penny was in a better place. Didn’t tell him anything at all.

Because she knew there were no words. Nothing could prepare a parent for this, nothing.

So she just sat there, letting the devil grieve.

- August 10th 2012 -

The door clicked shut. Raylay’s stomach twisted.

Not Merle. Not the Governor.

Just some other man. Someone who had been bringing her food lately. Someone who had never said much, until now.

His eyes were wrong. Dark. Hungry. Familiar.

He placed the tray down carefully, like it mattered. Then he turned the lock with a quiet finality. Raylay's breath caught. She wanted to cry

"Don’t," she said, voice steady despite the way her hands curled into fists.

He didn’t listen. The belt came undone with a slow, deliberate pull.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

She couldn't move. Her body screamed run, but her limbs were frozen. There was no where elsw for her to go, anyways. She could only watch as he took a step closer, then another.

Not this. not again. God, please not again.

The door burst open. A shadow moved, fast and brutal.

The man barely had time to turn before a fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Raylay gasped, stumbling back. She buried her head in her arms, the tears wetting her skin. No words were spoken. Just fists. Over and over, smashing into bone with unrelenting force.

The attacker didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Blood splattered the floor, her skin too, it felt warm and sticky on her skin, disgusting. It was filthy, she was filthy.

The man gurgled something, tried to fight back, but another blow silenced him. His body went limp, but the assault didn’t stop.

Whoever it was— They were not going to stop. She would let it go on but she felt as if she was going to throw up at the sight of the mushed face. Raylay forced herself to move.

She stepped forward, heart pounding, reaching out gently.

"Stop," she said. "Stop, he's done."

A breath. A shudder. Slowly, they let go.

The man lay crumpled on the floor, barely conscious. The attacker stood, shoulders rising and falling with ragged breaths.

Raylay stared, her own breathing shallow. He didn’t look at the man. He looked at her. Waiting for a reaction.

She sobbed pulling away and finding herself back into the corner of the room, she slid down the wall, burying her face into her knees, eyes shut tightly, a sobbing and shaking mess.

If she had looked up she would have noticed that he had been shaking, too.

Chapter Text

- May 26th 2011 -

Sophia never looked at him anymore. She never looked at Morgan either.

She walked ahead of them, her shoulders stiff, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Her boots dragged through the dirt, kicking up dust, but she never slowed down.

Never spoke. Never asked about Ray anymore.

Duane wanted to talk to her. He wanted to say something, anything, to make her look at him again. But every time he opened his mouth, the words died before they could come out. Because this Sophia wasn’t Sophia anymore.

She had changed the night men got in Terminus.

She had fought and screamed, tears streaming down her face, punching Morgan’s arms as he held her back. "We can’t leave her! We have to go back!" she had sobbed, her whole body shaking, "She’s all I have!"

But Morgan didn’t listen.

He kept dragging her, kept pulling her away, and when Duane turned back to look at what once was a sanctuary, he had felt it too; something breaking.

Not just Sophia. All of them.

Now, she wouldn’t speak to Morgan at all. Wouldn’t even glance at him. When he told them where to go, she followed, but never because she wanted to. It was like she didn’t care anymore, like she was just waiting for the world to give her an excuse to die.

And Duane didn’t know how to fix it.

The silence between them stretched as they moved through the woods. The sun was high in the sky, burning down on them. The heat made sweat stick to his neck, made the air thick and suffocating.

"We should rest soon," Morgan said from behind them.

Sophia didn’t acknowledge him. Duane swallowed, glancing at her. Her expression was blank, her gaze fixed ahead.

Morgan sighed through his nose, adjusting the rifle strap on his shoulder. "Sophia—"

A branch snapped.

Something crashed through the brush.

A walker.

Duane barely had time to turn before it slammed into him, knocking him flat on his back. His head cracked against the ground, pain exploding through his skull. The walker snarled, teeth snapping inches from his face, its rotted breath filling his nose.

Duane gasped, shoving against its chest, trying to keep its jaws away. His fingers slipped on the damp, torn flesh, his arms shaking.

"Duane!" Morgan yelled.

The walker pressed down harder, snarling-

Then its head split open.

Blood and brain matter splattered across Duane’s face, hot and wet.

He gasped, choking, blinking up in shock.

Sophia stood over him, gripping the handle of an axe, panting hard. Blood dripped from the blade. From her fingers. From her arms.

She had buried it into the walker’s skull, and she wasn’t stopping.

She yanked it out and slammed it down again.

And again. And again.

She kept going long after the walker was dead, long after its head was nothing but pulp. She hacked and hacked, her breath coming in ragged sobs, her arms shaking with the force of each blow.

"Sophia!" Morgan grabbed her shoulder, trying to pull her away.

She shoved him off so violently he almost stumbled. "Don’t touch me!" she screamed, her voice raw, her chest heaving.

Morgan stared at her, his face unreadable.

Duane struggled to sit up, his heart pounding against his ribs. His hands shook as he wiped the blood from his face.

Sophia stood there, her whole body trembling, her breath sharp and uneven. She gripped the axe so tightly her knuckles had gone white.

Then, finally, she let it drop.

She turned away from them, running a hand over her face, smearing walker blood across her cheek. Her shoulders shook, but she didn’t say anything.

Morgan took a slow step forward. "Sophia—"

"Shut up," she snapped. "Just- shut up."

She didn’t wait for them. She just kept walking.

And this time, Duane didn’t try to follow.

-

The fire crackled, casting flickering shadows across the dirt. The smell of burnt meat filled the air, but Sophia wasn’t here to eat it.

She hadn’t come out of her tent all day.

Duane sat across from his father, absently poking at his food with a stick. He could hear her inside; shifting every now and then, maybe just lying there, staring at the ceiling of fabric. She hadn’t spoken a word since earlier. Hadn’t even looked at them.

He glanced up at Morgan. His dad sat stiffly, staring at the flames, jaw clenched like he was trying to swallow words he didn’t want to say.

"What’s wrong with her?" Duane asked quietly.

Morgan sighed through his nose, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked… old. Tired in a way Duane had never seen before, not even when they lost his mom.

"She’s angry," Morgan said.

Duane frowned. "At us?"

Morgan hesitated. Then nodded. Duane swallowed, guilt twisting in his stomach. He didn’t know what to say to that. He liked Sophia, he didn't want her to be mad at him, or at his dad either.

"She thinks we abandoned Ray," Morgan continued, voice low. "And maybe we did. Maybe I did."

Duane looked up sharply, "Dad—"

"I told myself we had no choice." Morgan’s gaze was distant, locked on something that wasn’t there. "That we couldn’t save her. That getting you two out was the only thing that mattered." He exhaled slowly. "But Sophia doesn’t see it that way, she sees it as betrayal. As failure."

Duane swallowed hard. "She won’t even look at you."

"I know."

Silence stretched between them. The fire popped, sending embers into the air. Duane looked toward Sophia’s tent, stomach twisting. "Is she gonna be okay?"

Morgan didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him.

And that silence said more than words ever could.

- February 7th 2012 -

The air was thick and stale inside the small, boarded-up house they had holed up in. It smelled of old wood, dust, and something worse; sickness. The kind that clung to the walls, to the sheets, to the weak and ragged breaths of his father.

Morgan was dying.

Duane sat beside him, staring at the shallow rise and fall of his chest. His skin was hot to the touch, his forehead slick with sweat, his breaths uneven. Fever had taken hold days ago, and now he barely opened his eyes. He barely spoke. Duane wasn't sure what was wrong with him, he hadn't got bit, he was just sick, but it wasn't a normal sickness either, it was something really bad.

"We should do it now," Sophia said from behind him.

Duane stiffened. His hands curled into fists in his lap.

"Before he turns," she added, like she was just stating a fact. Like she wasn’t talking about his dad.

He turned sharply, eyes blazing. "Shut the hell up."

Sophia didn’t flinch. She just stood there, arms crossed, jaw set, her expression unreadable. Her light hair dirty with sploches of walker blood and dried sweat.

"You know I’m right."

"No, you don’t know shit." Duane shot to his feet, anger surging like a wildfire. "He’s not dead."

"Yet."

"You don’t fucking say that!" His voice cracked, his vision blurred with rage. He was shaking. "This is my dad! You don’t get to decide when he goes!"

Sophia just stared at him, cold and unmoving.

"I like Morgan," she said, quieter now. But it was a lie, it was all bullshit, she wouldn't even fucking look at him. "But I don’t like waiting for people to die."

"Then leave," he snapped. "Go. If it’s so fucking inconvenient, then just go."

Her jaw clenched. Something flickered in her eyes, something almost like regret, but she didn’t argue. She just turned and walked out of the room, her footsteps heavy against the floor.

Duane stood there, shaking, heart hammering. His chest felt tight, like something inside of him was about to snap.

He turned back to Morgan. Sat back down.

And reached for his dad’s burning hand, gripping it tightly.

"I won’t let her touch you," he whispered, voice thick. "I promise, Dad. I won’t let anyone touch you."

-

Duane stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him with more force than necessary. His hands were still shaking. His breathing was uneven. His chest felt too tight.

Sophia sat at the small, rickety table, a map spread out in front of her, tracing something with the tip of her knife. She didn’t look up when he entered.

"We need medicine," she said flatly.

Duane exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "No shit."

"There’s a town a few miles south," she continued, ignoring his tone. "Might have something useful. We should go before he gets worse."

He clenched his jaw.

"We?"

She finally looked up, meeting his glare with an even stare of her own.

"I know you don’t want my help," she said. "But you need it."

Duane scoffed, glaring daggers at the girl "Oh, so now you give a damn? Thought you were ready to put a bullet in his head."

Sophia didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. "I said what I said. But I also know he’s all you have. And if you think I want to watch you go crazy over him, you’re wrong."

Duane swallowed hard. She was right. He did need the help. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

"Fine," he muttered. "We go at first light."

Sophia nodded, folding the map. "Get some rest."

Duane didn’t move. He just stood there, staring at her, the anger still burning low in his chest because deep down, he knew; if Morgan didn’t make it, Sophia wouldn’t wait.

And if she tried, he’d kill her himself.

- February 8th 2012 -

The pharmacy was in worse shape than Duane expected. Shelves knocked over, glass shattered across the floor, old blood smeared on the walls. The air was stale, thick with the scent of rot.

They moved quickly, silent and efficient. Killing walkers had become second nature by now; Duane took out one near the counter while Sophia drove her knife into another’s skull. Neither of them flinched.

Sophia moved toward the back of the store, rifling through what little remained on the shelves.

"Check the aisles," she said over her shoulder. "See if anything’s left."

Duane did as she said, stepping over a corpse slumped near the cold medicine section. Most of the bottles were either gone or broken. He grabbed the few things that looked useful; cough syrup, bandages, a half-full bottle of painkillers.

He turned to see Sophia holding something in her hands. She stuffed it into her bag quickly, but not before he caught a glimpse. Pads? As far as he knew she wasn't on her period yet but he felt to awkward to ask so he just looked away.

A minute later, she pulled a pack of cigarettes from a drawer, turning it over in her hands.

"You ever smoke?" she asked. Duane frowned. "No. Have you?"

Sophia shrugged, staring at the pack of cigs as if it held the answers to all her questions. "My mom used to. I stole one from her once, tried it out back when I was, like, ten."

"And?"

"Tasted like shit." She frowned, shaking the pack. "But I get why people do it. Helps with stress, I guess."

Duane eyed her warily, his dad was a big anti-smoker guy before the apocalypse, he wasnt sure about now though. "You planning on trying again?"

She was quiet for a second before shoving the pack into her bag. "Dunno. Maybe."

It was the first time in a long while that they talked about something normal. Actually it was the first time in a while where they actually talked at all.

It almost felt like they were just two teenagers looting a convenience store for fun. But then a walker groaned outside, and the moment was gone.

-

The pharmacy had already been picked clean, but they managed to scrape together what they needed. A few bottles of antibiotics, some painkillers, and whatever else looked useful. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to keep Morgan alive.

Sophia moved fast, efficient, her knife never leaving her grip. Duane kept watch, but his mind was already at home; wondering if they’d make it back in time, wondering if his dad would even be awake when they did.

A soft scuff of a boot against the tile. Duane spun, shotgun raised. Sophia was faster.

She was on him in an instant, knife at the man’s throat, shoving him back against the shelves so hard that pill bottles tumbled to the floor.

"Who the fuck are you?" she growled.

The guy raised his hands slowly, palms up. He was lanky, with shaggy brown hair, a scruffy beard, and tired eyes that didn’t seem all that scared, despite the blade pressing into his skin. He wore a thick coat and a beanie, his clothes covered in dirt and dried mud.

"Whoa, easy now," he said, his voice calm. "Didn’t mean to sneak up on you."

Her grip tightened on the knife as she pushed it closer to his neck. Duane took a step closer, his finger resting near the trigger, "You alone?"

"Yeah," the guy answered easily. "Been alone for a while."

Sophia didn’t believe him.

"Bullshit."

Duane could see it; the way her shoulders tensed, the way her grip tightened. She was gonna kill him. No hesitation, no warning.

"Sophia—"

"Shut up, Duane." She dug the knife in just enough to make the man flinch. "We can’t risk it. We don’t know him."

"Hey, I haven’t tried to kill you yet, have I?" The man said, voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Yet."

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have walked in here unarmed."

Duane hesitated. The guy wasn’t wrong.

"Maybe he’s telling the truth," Duane said, looking at Sophia now. "We don’t have to do this."

Sophia glared at him as if he were stupid, "You don’t get it, do you? People lie. People kill. That’s all they do."

"Not all of them," the man interrupted. Sophia didn’t move.

Duane’s grip on the shotgun tightened. "We should at least hear him out."

For a second, Sophia didn’t react. Finally, she sighed and pulled back, shoving the guy away.

"Talk fast."

The man rubbed his neck where the knife had been and gave them a lopsided grin.

"Name’s Paul, but my friends used to call me Jesus."

Chapter Text

- February 13th 2012 -

Sophia sat on the porch or what she assumed was a porch of the trailer they were given, arms wrapped around her knees, watching the people move around like life had meaning again. It made her sick. It reminded her too much of Terminus and not in a good way. Terminus had been taken over because they were weak, dumb.

Morgan was still bedridden inside, his body weak from the infection, but the doctor said he’d live. That should’ve made her feel something. Relief, maybe. But all she felt was the dull ache of exhaustion, like she had been fighting for so long she forgot what it meant to stop. Duane was inside with his father, wouldn't leave his side. Sophia got him, if that were her mom or Ray she wouldn't either.

"You don’t like it here."

Sophia glanced up. Jesus stood at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed, watching her with that same unreadable expression he always had. She wasn't sure what to make of him, he seemed nice enough but fairly stupid to trust a bunch of strangers, she doubted Ray would like him, or maybe she would. Sophia was starting to forgot what she was like.

"It’s fine," she muttered, looking away.

"You don’t have to lie."

Sophia exhaled slowly, digging her fingers into her sleeves.

"It’s just... fake," she said. "These people act like it’s all okay. Like it’s just some normal town. Like nothing ever happened."

Jesus nodded, stepping onto the porch and leaning against the railing. "And that pisses you off."

"Yeah." She glared. "Because it’s bullshit."

Jesus was quiet for a long time. Then he sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "I get it."

Sophia raised an eyebrow.

"No, you don’t."

"No?" Jesus tilted his head. "You think I just woke up one day and decided this place was home?" He gestured to the walls around them. "This took time. It took work. I didn’t trust it either at first."

Sophia clenched her jaw, looking away again. She wanted to argue, to tell him that letting people get comfortable was just an open invitation to be slaughtered. That nothing lasted. That safety was just an illusion. She had seen it before. But she didn’t say anything, because deep down, she wanted to believe it too.

- February 13th 2012 -

Sophia sat on the porch, picking at the splintered wood with the tip of her knife, when she noticed the change.

The Hilltop had a hum to it, a certain rhythm; people working, talking, going about their day. But now? Now it was quiet. Stiff.

Then she saw the men. Armed men she feared most, the haunted her dreams and memories, they were always there no matter where she went.

They rolled in like they owned the place, a convoy of trucks kicking up dirt. Armed, grinning, dangerous. But it wasn’t the men that caught her eye; it was him.

The tall man with the leather jacket and the bat slung over his shoulder. Sophia narrowed her eyes as he hopped out of the truck, flashing a wide, cocky grin at the crowd gathering in the courtyard.

"Well, well, well—Hilltop! It’s that time again!" He clapped his hands together, stepping forward like he didn’t have a care in the world. "And let me tell ya, folks, I am in a damn good mood today. So, let’s keep it that way, huh?"

Jesus was standing by the blacksmith, arms crossed, tense.

"Who the hell is that?" Sophia muttered, pushing off the porch and stepping closer.

Jesus sighed tiredly, "Negan."

She frowned. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

Jesus gave her a look like she’d just asked what a walker was. "It means you be quiet and behave."

Sophia bristled. She didn’t like being told what to do, and she especially didn’t like the way everyone flinched when this guy spoke. Who was he?

Negan strolled toward Gregory, the so-called leader of Hilltop, who was already wiping sweat from his forehead.

"H-Hello, Negan," Gregory stammered, forcing a nervous smile. "Always a pleasure."

Negan grinned. "Gregory, my man! Now, I don’t mean to be a pain in the ass, but we did a little inventory check on our way here, and, uh—" He rocked back on his heels. "You’re a little short this time."

Gregory blanched. "Oh, I—I’m sure that’s a mistake, we—"

"Oh, it is a mistake." Negan’s grin widened. "Just not mine."

Sophia’s stomach turned as she watched Gregory fumble for an excuse, his eyes darting to his own people like a cornered animal. Short on what? Why were they giving this dumbass part of their inventory anyways?

Then Negan snapped his fingers. "Alright, boys. Since these fine folks didn’t pay up, let’s see what we can take in trade, huh?"

The armed men started moving. Taking crates of food, medicine, tools; whatever they wanted. The Hilltop residents shrank back, some lowering their heads, others whispering curses under their breath but doing nothing.

Sophia felt something in her snap.

She stormed forward, snatching a sack of potatoes straight out of a man's hands.

"The hell do you think you’re doing?" she spat.

The Savior, a bald guy with a scar down his cheek, blinked in surprise. "Taking our cut, kid. Step aside."

Sophia tightened her grip on the sack. "Bullshit. You’re stealing."

The courtyard froze. Gregory practically screeched. "Little girl, don’t—"

Negan turned.

Slowly, dramatically, he turned toward her, eyebrows lifting in amused disbelief. Then, as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world; he laughed. A deep, booming laugh that echoed through the otherwise silent courtyard.

"Holy shit! Kid, you got some balls!" He pointed his barbed bat at her, shaking his head. "What’s your name, sweetheart?"

Sophia squared her shoulders. "Sophia."

"Sophia." Negan let the name roll off his tongue like he was testing the flavor of it. He grinned again. "Damn. You got more fight in you than half the people here."

Gregory rushed forward, hands outstretched. "Please, she’s just a child—"

That was oddly kind of him.

Negan whipped toward him, the grin instantly gone.

"Shut. The fuck. Up."

Gregory flinched back.

Negan turned back to Sophia, smirking. "Now, kid, I like you. Seriously. But here’s the thing—you wanna keep those pretty little teeth in your mouth, you gotta learn how shit works around here."

Sophia clenched her fists. Negan leaned down, voice dropping into something just above a whisper. "Now, tell me—are you a slow learner?"

She didn’t answer. Negan chuckled. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he clapped her on the shoulder.

"Lucky for you, I got a soft spot for spunky kids." He turned to his men. "Take the rest, but leave her with something. We ain’t monsters."

Sophia’s hands shook as she watched them finish looting.

Jesus grabbed her arm, pulling her back. "Are you insane?" he hissed. "You don’t pick fights with him."

Sophia kept her eyes locked on Negan as he swung that stupid bat over his shoulder, flashing one last smirk before hopping into the truck.

She wasn’t scared.

She was furious.

-

The sun was beginning to set by the time the Saviors rolled out of Hilltop, leaving the place hollowed out like a carcass. People shuffled back to their homes, heads low, muttering amongst themselves. No one fought back. No one ever fought back.

Except her.

Sophia stood rigid in the dirt, fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped, turning on Jesus the second the last truck disappeared over the hill.

Jesus sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "That was us surviving."

"Bullshit," she spat. "That was you all rolling over for some asshole with a bat!"

"You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Then tell me!" she demanded, she wasn't just a dumb kid anymore, she deserved to know, she had earned that right.

Jesus glanced around; people were still watching, listening. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the main house, away from the prying eyes. She yanked free, but followed, chest rising and falling with rage.

When they were alone near the back, Jesus exhaled, crossing his arms. "Look, I get it. You’re pissed. But you need to understand something—Negan isn’t just some asshole. He’s a warlord. The Saviors? They outnumber us ten to one. They control half the outposts in the area, and they have more guns, more supplies, and more people than we ever could. We don’t fight them because if we did, we’d all be dead."

Sophia’s nails bit into her palms. "So you just let them take whatever they want? Whenever they want? And no one does a damn thing?"

Jesus’ jaw tightened. "It’s not that simple."

"It is," she shot back. "You’re all cowards."

Jesus narrowed his eyes. "You think fighting back is brave? You think it’s smart?" He shook his head. "I’ve seen what happens to people who try to stand up to Negan. I’ve seen whole communities wiped out. Every last man, woman, and child." He took a step closer, voice low. "You think you would’ve made it out of there alive if he didn’t like you?"

Sophia flinched but didn’t back down.

"You're lucky, kid," Jesus continued. "Negan doesn’t usually let people mouth off like that. He’s got a code, sure, but cross a certain line? He’ll beat your head in like a fucking watermelon, and he’ll do it smiling."

Sophia swallowed the lump in her throat, but her anger hadn’t faded. "So what? We just let him walk all over us forever?"

Jesus sighed, "For now, we do what we have to. But things change. People change." He looked at her meaningfully. "Just don’t get yourself killed before that happens."

Sophia turned away, her fists still shaking.

She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t blind. She understood the numbers, the reality of it all. But that didn’t mean she had to accept it. Negan was a tyrant.

All Sophia knew was that if Raylay was here, she wouldn't let this be.

-

The trailer smelled of dust and stale air. The only light came from a small lamp near the bed, casting long shadows over the walls. Sophia stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind her. Duane was slumped in a chair beside the bed, arms crossed, breathing deep. Asleep.

Morgan was awake. His eyes, weary but sharp, tracked her as she approached.

"You’re up," she said, voice softer than usual.

"Looks that way," Morgan muttered, his voice rough from sleep.

She hesitated before pulling a chair closer and sitting down. For a while, neither of them spoke. The quiet wasn’t awkward; it was heavy, like something unspoken had been hanging between them for too long.

"Duane’s been worried about you," she said eventually.

Morgan huffed out a tired chuckle, "That boy worries too much."

"Wonder where he gets it from."

Morgan shot her a look, and for a brief second, she almost smiled. Almost.

Silence again. Sophia stared at her hands, fingers idly twisting together.

"I don’t blame you, you know," she finally said. "For what happened to Ray."

Morgan’s expression didn’t change, but his fingers twitched against the blanket.

"You should," he said after a moment. "You lost her because I couldn’t save her. I failed."

"No." She shook her head. "You did what you could. We all did." Her throat tightened. "Shit happened. Bad shit. Raylay and Gabriel... she wouldn't want us to sit here and mourn her, just move on."

Morgan looked at her, really looked at her, and something in his eyes softened.

"You’re different," he murmured.

Sophia furrowed her brows in confusion but otherwise didn't say anything. Morgan studied her, the quiet stretching between them again. Then, with a small sigh, he shifted slightly in the bed.

"You should get some rest," he said. "You and Duane both."

Sophia hummed tiredly, then stood up. She hesitated for a second before reaching out, squeezing his arm briefly.

"I’m glad you’re still here," she muttered. Then she turned and walked toward the door, leaving him to rest.

Chapter Text

- August 10th 2012 -

The room was dimly lit, the weak glow of a lantern casting flickering shadows against the walls. Raylay sat curled in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around herself as if she could squeeze the memory of what almost happened out of her skin.

Blood stuck to her like tar; her hands, her arms, splattered across her torn shirt. It wasn’t hers. She wasn’t sure if that made it better or worse.

Her breath came in sharp, shuddering gasps. She pressed her forehead against her knees, squeezing her eyes shut, but the image was still there. The leering face. The click of the door locking. The sound of the belt unbuckling—

A choked sob tore from her throat, and she gritted her teeth against it.

Get a grip, Raylay. Get a fucking grip.

But she couldn’t. Not this time.

Footsteps. Slow, cautious. The man who saved her was standing across the room. She knew who it was just by the sound of those footsteps.

Nathan.

Her ex-husband. Avery’s father.

He hadn’t said a word since he tore the bastard off of her, since he smashed his head against the wall over and over until there was nothing left but a mess of bone and blood.

Now he was just standing there, hands at his sides, watching her.

How was he here? He shouldn't be here.

Raylay lifted her head, her breath hitching when her eyes met his. Older. More worn. His face was harder than she remembered, the lines deeper, the beard unkempt. But the eyes?

The eyes were the same.

Shock. Guilt. Something else she couldn’t name.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. She just shook her head, fresh tears spilling over her cheeks. Nathan took a step forward. Then another.

Raylay flinched.

He stopped, hands lifting slightly, palms open. A silent promise that he wouldn’t come any closer if she didn’t want him to. That was a first.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, in a voice quieter than she’d ever heard from him, he said, “It’s you.”

She sobbed quietly to herself, this couldn't be happening.

His throat bobbed, his jaw tightening as he took her in; the blood, the bruises, the jagged scar across her right eye, the way she was shaking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“Raylay…”

Her face twisted, and she dug her fingers into her scalp, pressing hard enough to hurt.

“I—” Her voice cracked, and she sucked in a trembling breath. “I can’t—”

Slowly, carefully. He knelt in front of her, giving her space but close enough that she could reach out if she wanted to.

She wanted to.

Instead, she pressed her back harder against the wall, as if she could disappear into it. Nathan’s voice was barely above a whisper. “You’re safe now.”

She shook her head, staring at her bloodstained hands. “Safe?" She choked out, it all felt like some sick joke.

Nathan exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. She closed her eyes, pressing the heels of her palms against them. “He said I ran away. He told my group I left them.”

Silence.

Raylay pressed herself further into the wall, fingers digging into her arms as if she could keep herself from shaking. Nathan was still kneeling in front of her, close but not touching. Watching her too carefully, too quietly.

Like he knew. Like he remembered.

He had always been able to sense her fear.

And that scared her most of all.

"You’re dead." The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice hoarse, raw. "Or you should be."

She couldn’t breathe.

Her ex-husband. Here. Now.

She had watched them take him away. Had signed the divorce papers, had thought she was free.

But now?

Now he was here, he was back, kneeling in front of her, telling her they had to leave. Raylay’s hands balled into fists.

"No," she whispered.

Nathan tilted his head.

"No?"

Her pulse pounded in her throat. The tone he used, it made her sick. She forced herself to meet his eyes, she wasn't a weak little house wife anymore. Her eyes searched for something, anything, that wasn’t him.

But it was him.

The same man who had hit her, bruised her, called her a crazy bitch when she tried to leave. The same man who had made her shrink, made her second-guess everything, made her feel like nothing until she had no fight left.

Until Avery. Avery had made her fight.

But Avery was gone.

And now here he was, telling her what to do all over again.

Nathan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Look, I get it. I do. You don’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me either."

'I get it.'

No, nobody got it.

Nobody understood it.

Raylay sucked in a sharp breath, hands trembling. "I don’t trust you. I—" She shook her head. "I don’t even know how you’re here."

"Prison didn’t last." His voice was flat. "Not when everything went to hell."

Her stomach churned. She could still picture it; Nathan in handcuffs, the judge’s gavel slamming down, the relief that had flooded her even as he glared at her from across the courtroom.

And now she was trapped with him, again.

Her body locked up, instincts screaming at her to run.

Nathan sighed again, rubbing his face. "I know you’re scared. But I just saved your ass, Raylay. You think I’m gonna hurt you now?"

She stared at him, heart hammering.

She didn’t know.

She never knew with him.

He had always been unpredictable. Gentle one second, violent the next. The kind of man who could cradle her cheek while calling her worthless in the same breath.

And now he wanted her to trust him?

"We have to go," he said, standing.

Raylay flinched, and for a second, just a second, something flickered across his face.

Not anger. Not amusement. Something else. Regret?

No.

Nathan didn’t regret things.

"I’m not going anywhere with you," she bit out. Nathan’s jaw tightened. "You don’t have a choice, Raylay."

She clenched her teeth. "Like hell I don’t."

"Listen to me," he snapped, stepping closer. "That Governor? He’s not gonna let you walk out of here., but I can."

She swallowed hard, nails digging into her palms.

She hated this. Hated him.

Hated that some twisted part of her still saw the man she had once loved. The man she had once trusted.

"You expect me to just—just follow you?" she hissed.

"I expect you to stay alive."

Silence. She wanted to refuse.

She wanted to spit in his face and tell him to go to hell.

But she couldn't.

She wasn’t getting out of here alone.

And that terrified her more than anything.

-

Smoke curled into the sky, thick and black. Raylay’s legs ached, lungs burning as she ran, feet pounding against the dirt. Her clothes were soaked in blood; not hers, but it didn’t matter. The weight of it pressed against her skin, heavy, suffocating.

She could still hear the gunfire behind them, the shouts, the chaos. Woodbury was tearing itself apart, and somehow, Nathan, of all people, had gotten her out.

And he wasn’t alone.

Raylay barely had time to register the others; strangers, mostly, before they were in the woods, running for their lives.

She still wasn’t sure how to process that.

But now wasn’t the time.

They reached the meeting point where Rick and the others were waiting. Their group, battered and breathless, slowed to a halt. Rick’s rifle was raised before he even got a good look at them. Then his eyes landed on Merle.

His expression darkened immediately.

"What the hell is he doin’ here?"

Merle smirked, arms raised like he was unarmed, like he wasn’t a threat. "Ain'tcha happy to see me, Sheriff?"

Before Rick could respond, an Asian man with a swollen, bloodied face, stepped forward, (Why was Merle here?) voice sharp with rage.

"You don’t get to come back with us!" Asian boy spat, his entire body shaking. "Not after what you did!"

Merle grinned, his face a mess of bruises and blood. "Oh, come on now, chinaman—"

"Don’t call me that!"

"—I helped you get out, didn’t I?" Merle spread his arms, as if expecting a round of applause. "That’s gotta count for somethin’."

Nathan was next to her, silent. Watching.

He hadn’t spoken much since they escaped, but she could feel him there. His presence was impossible to ignore. Because he was a part of this.

Rick’s group.

Raylay’s mind was spinning. The man who had once been her… something, was part of the group she was now supposed to trust? She never even liked Rick in the first place.

Her stomach churned.
"He got us out," A pretty girl said, her voice uneasy.

"That don’t erase shit," Asian boy shot back. "He tortured me, Maggie. He would’ve killed me."

Rick’s jaw clenched. He turned to a man she vaguely remembered, the bowman.

"We ain't takin’ him."

"Rick—" Bowman started, but Rick didn’t let him finish.

"No. After what he did? He’s not walkin’ into that prison."

Merle scoffed. "Guess I ain't welcome, huh?"

Bowman stepped forward, his posture tense. "We need him."

Rick shook his head. "No. We don’t."

Bowman exhaled sharply, his frustration rising.

"He's my brother," he said.

Raylay understood him to a point, if it had been Gabriel in Merle's position she would be mad too.

"And you saw what he did!" Asian boy snapped. "What he is!"

Bowman clenched his jaw, looking between Merle and the group. His people. His family.

Merle just stood there, watching, waiting.

"You come back with us," Rick said, his voice softer now, directed at Daryl, "but he doesn’t."

The silence stretched. Then bowman shook his head.

"I ain't leavin' him."

Rick’s face fell slightly, disappointment setting in.

"You don’t have to do this," Pretty girl said, almost pleading.

"Yeah, I do," Bowman muttered.

He turned away from them, stepping up beside Merle.

Raylay swallowed.

They had all lost people, she could tell. Bit this felt worse then just a normal loss. Even if she didn't know the guy.

Rick exhaled sharply and turned away.

"Let’s go."

Raylay hesitated, her mind still spinning from everything; Nathan, Woodbury, the Governor, but she followed when the group started moving again.

What about Gabriel?

What about her small group?

Her family?

Were they still at Woodbury? She didn’t think so, they were smarter then that. They would have left during the chaos.

Chapter Text

- August 10th 2012 -

The car ride back was silent.

No one spoke. No one even looked at each other.

The Asian boy stared out the window, his fingers twitching against his leg, still seething from Merle’s presence. The pretty girl kept stealing glances at him, worried but knowing better than to push. The Last Samurai sat in the corner, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

And Raylay?

She sat in the back, feeling like she wasn’t really there at all. Nathan was driving. That alone made her stomach twist. Every bump in the road, every slight jerk of the car, made her flinch. Every now and then, she would glance at his hands gripping the steering wheel, waiting for something; some reminder that the man sitting inches from her used to hurt her in ways no one ever knew.

But Nathan said nothing. He just kept driving. She felt like she was suffocating.

They arrived at the prison as the sun began to set, the orange glow casting long shadows over the tall fences. The place still looked the same; cold, grey, like something that shouldn’t have been a home but was. The moment they drove in, the gate closing behind them, something changed. Raylay barely had time to register the figures before the car door flew open, and suddenly—

"Raylay!"

Sasha’s voice, thick with disbelief, rang through the yard and then arms (warm, familiar, real) wrapped around her. Raylay froze for half a second before she was gripping Sasha just as tightly, her fingers digging into the back of her shirt.

"You—God, we thought—" Sasha pulled away, her eyes wet. "We thought you were dead!"

A breathless laugh, somewhere between relief and exhaustion, came from her right.

"Raylay."

Her head snapped up. Gabriel stood there, his dark eyes wide, disbelief and something else, something deep, written all over his face. She barely had a second to breathe before he was moving, stepping forward and pulling her into his arms.

And that was when Raylay broke. The last two months; the prison, Terminus, Woodbury, the Governor, Nathan, it all shattered inside her, and suddenly she was gripping Gabriel like he was the only thing keeping her standing.

"You’re here," he whispered, his voice rough. "You’re here."

"I am." she admitted, voice muffled against his shoulder.

Gabriel pulled back just enough to look at her, his expression darkening.

"He told us you ran away." His voice was quiet, careful. "That you left us."

Raylay exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You believed him?"

"No," Gabriel said, his grip tightening. "Not for a second."

Raylay’s throat closed up. Her eyes prickled with tears. She swallowed hard, nodding, and Gabriel let out a breath before pulling her back into the hug, his hand cupping the back of her head.

"Alright, that’s enough."

Raylay tensed immediately at the familiar voice, the warmth of Gabriel’s embrace evaporating as reality came crashing back. Nathan stepped forward, his presence heavy, the weight of his voice pressing down on the air. "I get that this is emotional and all, but maybe we should be focusing on what’s actually important here."

Gabriel’s grip on her tightened just slightly before he pulled away, his face hardening as he turned to face Nathan.

"And who the hell are you?" Sasha demanded, stepping closer, her eyes sharp and untrusting.

Nathan looked unimpressed, "Nathan Priez. I helped get your friend out. You’re welcome."

Sasha narrowed her eyes, equally unimpressed.

"You helped?" Gabriel echoed, his voice quiet but sharp. Raylay glanced between them, her pulse hammering. This was bad. Nathan wasn't supposed to be here, that was the whole point of the world ending; for her to get away.

Nathan’s jaw twitched. "Yeah, well, she wouldn’t have gotten out at all if it wasn’t for me. I put my ass on the line, in case that means anything."

Raylay could feel the tension building, suffocating, pressing in from all sides. She needed to stop this.

"We should focus on something else," she said quickly, stepping forward, forcing herself between them.

Nathan barely looked at her, keeping his gaze locked on Gabriel. "You trust this guy?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

Raylay’s stomach twisted. Gabriel exhaled sharply, then looked at Raylay, searching her expression, like he was trying to understand; trying to figure out why the hell she hadn’t said anything about this man before.

And Raylay… she couldn’t answer. Not now. He wasn't her Nathan, a stranger.

A heavy silence fell over the group. Nathan stood near the prison entrance, arms crossed, eyes scanning the people around him with sharp calculation. But then, his gaze settled back on Raylay, and his next words sent a chill down her spine.

"You still haven’t introduced me properly, sweetheart," Nathan said, voice too casual, too smooth. "I’m Raylay’s husband. Well… ex-husband, I guess.”

Gabriel stiffened beside her. Sasha’s brows shot up. Tyreese looked between them, wary. Raylay’s throat tightened. This wasn't supposed to be happening.

Nathan turned back to her, tilting his head, his expression unreadable. "So where’s Avery?"

The world tilted. Raylay stopped breathing. Her chest locked up, like she’d been hit in the gut, her limbs suddenly too heavy to move. Gabriel’s head snapped toward her, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. Nathan’s stare bored into her, unwavering, waiting. She opened her mouth; nothing came out. Nathan’s brow furrowed, his lips parting just slightly, like he was piecing something together.

"Raylay…?"

The air felt too thick, suffocating. Nathan took a step forward, but Gabriel moved instantly, blocking his path. "That’s enough."

Nathan narrowed his eyes. "I asked my wife a question. That doesn’t concern you, does it?"

"She's not your wife." Gabriel snapped.

Raylay finally moved. She reached out, grabbing Gabriel’s sleeve; trying to ground herself, trying to keep him grounded. She swallowed hard, forcing the words out.

"She’s gone."

Nathan froze. His expression didn’t change. Not at first. His mouth twitched, his brows pulled together, something shifting behind his eyes.

"What do you mean ‘gone’?"

Her chest ached. She hated this. Hated him. Hated the way he was forcing her to say it out loud. But it wasn't his fault either, despite everything, he was still Avery's father, that was his little girl that had died in that farmhouse.

Her fingers curled tighter into Gabriel’s sleeve.

"She died."

Nathan stared at her. The group was silent. His lips parted in a slow exhale, a soundless breath.

"You let her die?"

Raylay’s whole body locked up. Gabriel glared, "Hey—"

But she stepped in front of him, her vision swimming, her breath uneven. Nathan shook his head, stepping back, running a hand down his face. "Jesus Christ, Ray-"

"Stop."

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut like a knife. Nathan fell silent. Her chest heaved, her pulse hammering, her entire body trembling with restraint. She wouldn’t do this. Not here. Not now.

She turned away from him, toward the prison doors, her voice raw as she spoke.

"Let’s go inside."

Raylay's hands trembled at her sides, clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She walked ahead, barely registering the cold, stale air of the prison. Gabriel had asked if she was okay, his voice soft, careful, worried, but she didn’t answer. She couldn’t. She needed him away from this. She needed Nathan away from them.

She pulled Nathan aside once they were inside, further into the prison, away from the others, her boots echoing against the concrete. She didn't stop until they were deep inside, where the halls were empty, the silence pressing.

Finally, she turned. Nathan stood there, watching her. His arms were crossed, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes. Something burning.

"Tell me."

She swallowed the bile in her throat.

"It was the first day," she started, voice hollow. "The first fucking day, Nathan."

His jaw twitched.

"She was outside," Raylay forced herself to keep going. "Playing. Just…playing. I was inside, washing the dishes. It happened so fast—I heard her scream, and when I ran out, they were already on her."

She sucked in a sharp breath.

"Five of them." Her voice cracked. "Five fucking walkers. They tore her apart, and I—" Her eyes burned. "I got there too late."

Nathan’s face hardened.

"I pulled them off of her. Killed them all. But she—" Raylay shook her head. "She was already gone."

The silence between them was suffocating. Nathan's fingers twitched at his sides, his mouth set in a tight line. Raylay exhaled, a shaky, broken sound. "I carried her inside." Her throat tightened. "I couldn’t—" She let out a sharp breath, her eyes wet. "I couldn’t let her go, Nathan. I couldn’t—"

She looked down, blinking rapidly, her chest caving in.

"I chained her up."

Nathan inhaled sharply.

"She turned," Raylay whispered. "And I—" She squeezed her eyes shut, then forced them open, meeting his gaze, raw and unguarded. "I kept her that way. For days. Maybe weeks. I don’t even remember. I just—I couldn't let go. Not yet."

Nathan's expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. "And then one day," Raylay whispered, "I found the courage."

Silence. He stared at her. The weight of it all pressed against her chest, crushing her. His lips parted, and for a moment, she thought, hoped, that maybe, just maybe, he’d understand.

But Nathan could never understand her.

"You’re a monster."

Raylay stopped breathing.

"You kept our daughter in chains," Nathan spat, disgust curling his lips. "You let her turn into one of those things. You—" He shook his head. "You were supposed to protect her, Raylay."

She flinched.

"You were supposed to be her mother."

Something inside Raylay cracked. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her skin. She lifted her head, her expression blank, her voice cold.

"And where the fuck were you?"

Nathan froze. Raylay took a step forward.

"You want to talk about what I should have done?" she hissed. "You think I wanted this? You think I haven’t lived with this? You think I don’t see her every time I close my eyes?"

Nathan clenched his jaw.

"You weren’t there," Raylay whispered. "You never were."

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You killed her."

Raylay’s chest ached but she didn’t let it show. She swallowed everything down, the pain, the guilt, the grief, all of it. And she looked him dead in the eyes.

"You don’t get to judge me."

Nathan stared at her, his expression tight, his body tense. Raylay was done. She was so so done with him. She turned on her heel, walking away. She didn’t stop. Not when he called her name. Not when the guilt clawed at her ribs. Not when her heart felt like it was breaking all over again.

All because of a man that should be dead.

- August 11th 2012 -

Raylay woke before the sun. She lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of her jail cell she shared with Gabriel, the weight of last night pressing down on her chest like a stone. Nathan’s words still echoed in her head, sharp and unforgiving.

'You killed her.'

She forced herself to breathe. Slowly, carefully, she got up, moving through the cold prison halls, her boots barely making a sound against the concrete floor. The air smelled of damp stone and old blood, but beneath it, there was something else; something warm.

Food.

She followed it to the kitchen. A short white-haired woman was already standing there, sleeves rolled up, stirring something over the fire. She glanced up when Raylay walked in, her face tired but calm.

Raylay hesitated in the doorway. She doesn’t know me. I don’t know her. But something about the quiet, steady way the woman moved made her step forward.

"Need help?" Raylay asked.

The woman studied her for a second, then nodded. "Grab some knives. You can chop."

Raylay did as she was told, pulling up a crate to sit on while she worked. For a while, they didn’t talk. The only sound was the scrape of the knife against the cutting board, the faint bubbling of whatever the woman was cooking. It was strangely…peaceful.

Then, without looking up, the woman asked, "Who’s Nathan to you?"

Raylay’s hands stilled. She could feel the woman watching her now, patient but unrelenting.

"My ex," Raylay muttered, going back to chopping the vegetables, a bit faster this time.

The woman didn’t react right away. She just kept stirring the pot, the wooden spoon moving in slow, steady circles. After a moment, she let out a quiet hum.

"Thought so."

Raylay frowned, "What’s that supposed to mean?"

The woman finally looked at her, wiping her hands on a rag. "I used to have one of those. A husband who thought he owned me. Who thought I’d always be the scared little thing he made me into."

Raylay didn’t say anything.

"And for a long time, I thought he was right," The woman continued. "I let him decide who I was, what I could be. Thought I had no choice. But you know what? He’s dead now. And I’m still here."

Raylay looked away, eyes narrowed, gripping the knife tighter. "It’s different."

She tilted her head, "Is it?"

Her eyebrows furrowed further, Raylay wanted to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. The woman sighed, stepping closer. "Listen to me. You’re not some housewife anymore. Whatever he was to you, whatever he made you feel; none of that matters now. You make your own future. Not him."

Raylay exhaled sharply, staring down at the vegetables she’d been chopping. "I'm not sure I know what that future is?" she muttered.

She hummed,"Then you get to figure it out."

Raylay paused for a moment before finally asking, "What's your name?"

Carol blinked, then smiled a little. "Carol."

Raylay nodded, trying the name out in her head. It suited her; calm, steady, but with something steel beneath the surface.

Before she could say anything else, a man's voice, who she recognized as Rick's, cut through the quiet.

"Raylay."

She turned, finding him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes serious.

"I need to talk to you."

Raylay followed Rick outside into the cold morning air. She assumed they were going to get kicked out again or maybe he'd grow some balls and kill her himself, she wasn't sure but she was prepared, the familiar weight of her knife strapped to her jeans.

The courtyard was quiet, the sun barely beginning to rise over the prison walls. She shoved her hands into her pockets, waiting. Rick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I owe you an apology. For before. Back at the gates."

That was unexpected.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell him that he’d done more than just throw her and her people out. That he’d left them to die, but she couldn’t blame him; she’d do the same, or worse. She only stared at him, her expression unreadable. He took the silence for what it was and moved on.

"The Governor’s coming." His voice was firm, but there was something uneasy beneath it. "And when he does, we’re gonna need you and your people to fight."

She frowned, that was the second time someone assumed she was the leader. Raylay finally scoffed, shaking her head. "Now you need us?"

Rick didn’t flinch, she could tell that he’d been expecting that. "Yeah."

She studied him, eyes sharp, searching. She wanted to hate him. Wanted to tell him to go to hell, but Gabriel and her group couldn’t get kicked out again, they weren't ready to be out in the woods again, or at least she wasn't.

And the Governor was coming.

After a long pause, she exhaled, glancing toward the prison walls. "We’ll fight."

That was all she gave him but to him it was enough.

Chapter Text

- August 19th 2012 -

People died, Merle was back and Nathan was still alive.

Raylay had been keeping her distance from Nathan all morning, busying herself with whatever task kept her out of his way. Every time she caught sight of him across the prison yard, she turned the other way. Every time he tried to talk to her, she acted like she didn’t hear him. The air between them was thick, suffocating, but she wasn’t ready to deal with it. Not yet.

She was sharpening her knife near the courtyard steps when Merle’s gruff voice cut through the air. “Hey, sunshine,” he called, striding up with that cocky smirk. “You wanna do somethin’ useful ‘stead of just sittin’ there makin’ that blade all pretty?”

Raylay raised an eyebrow, “Like what?”

“Got a breach in the back,” he said, jerking his head toward the fence line. “Ain’t nothin’ major, but someone’s gotta check it before we start gettin’ unwelcome guests.”

She glanced around. The others were occupied; Rick and the bowman which she had learnt was called Daryl were discussing patrols, the Asian boy, Glenn, and the pretty girl, Maggie, were fixing the watchtower, and Gabriel… well, Gabriel was watching her from a distance, like he had been all day.

She stood, ignoring the man's watchful eyes and slipping the knife into her belt. “Alright.”

Merle grinned. “Knew you had some fight left in ya.”

They walked together toward the rear of the prison, where the fence met the tree line. The air smelled like damp earth, and the occasional growl of a walker echoed in the distance.
“You sure this isn’t some excuse to get me alone?” she asked dryly.

Merle chuckled. “Darlin’, if I wanted alone time with you, I wouldn’t need no excuse.”

Raylay hummed but didn’t rise to the bait, “So what’s the problem?”

Raylay never trusted Merle, not fully.

So when he led her past the fence, away from the prison and toward the dense tree line, she kept her knife in her hand. The supposed 'breach' didn't look as bad as he made it sound. It could’ve waited.

She turned to him, narrowing her eyes. "Alright, Merle, what's the real—"

Pain exploded in the side of her head before she could finish.
A sharp, crushing force.

The world spun.

Her knees buckled.

She barely registered the leaves and dirt as they rushed up to meet her. Somewhere above her, Merle muttered, "Shit, girl. Didn’t wanna do it this way."

The last thing Raylay saw before everything went dark was Merle standing over her, scrunching his nose like he regretted it.

-

Raylay’s head pounded.

The world swayed as she tried to move, only to realize her hands were tied behind her back. Rope bit into her wrists, rough and unrelenting. Her boots scuffed against cracked pavement as she stumbled, barely catching herself before she hit the ground.

She was outside.

Not the prison.

Somewhere else. A town, long abandoned.

Sunlight stretched long shadows across empty streets, buildings stripped bare, the only sound the occasional creak of rusted signs swinging in the wind. Merle was beside her. Walking, guiding her forward with a firm grip on her arm.

She jerked away, but he yanked her back effortlessly. "Now, now, don’t start throwin’ a fit. You ain’t makin’ this harder than it needs to be."

Raylay clenched her jaw. "You son of a bitch—"

"Yeah, yeah," Merle cut her off, sighing. "I get it. Ain't personal, sweetheart. Just the way things are."

She glared up at him, and that’s when she saw it; the way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes. The tension in his shoulders, the way he held onto her, like he hated it too.

"What the hell are you doing?" she hissed.

Merle exhaled, like he didn’t even want to say it out loud. "Governor offered a deal. You for their peace."

Everything inside her turned ice cold. Raylay stopped walking and Merle stopped with her.

She stared at him, barely breathing, barely thinking, just processing those words. "You’re handing me over to him?"

Merle finally looked at her then. His expression was unreadable, something like regret flickering behind his eyes.

"Better you than all of ‘em, huh?"

Raylay’s blood boiled. She agreed with him to a point but she didn't want to go back, not to that room.

Her hands were bound, her knife gone, but she still swung at him. Merle dodged it easily, barely stumbling. She went to kick him next, but he shoved her back, gripping her shoulders.

"Enough," he snapped.

"Ain’t gotta like it, but it’s done."

Raylay’s breath was ragged, her eyes prickled with tears. "You know what he’ll do to me."

She wasn’t sure who she was talking about.

Merle hesitated. That moment of doubt. Then he shoved her forward again, back onto the path.

"Yeah," he muttered. "I do."

Raylay glared, shaking her head as they walked. "The Governor is crazy, Merle. You know that."

Merle let out a low chuckle, scratching at his scruffy beard. "Yeah? Well, crazy ain't always a bad thing, sweetheart. I seen plenty of folks lose their minds since all this started. But him?" He clicked his tongue. "He ain't lost. He’s just... focused."

Raylay clenched her jaw. "Focused on what? Torturing people? Killing anyone who doesn’t follow his orders?"

Merle gave her a sideways look, something almost amused. "You say that like it ain't exactly what you’d do to keep your own people safe."

Raylay stiffened.

"Face it, girl," Merle went on. "You and him? You ain't that different."

Her stomach twisted. "That’s bullshit."

Merle chuckled again. "Is it? He sees it too, y’know. That’s why he likes you."

Raylay frowned, scrunching her nose in distaste "Likes me?"

Merle sighed, snorting. "Shit, woman, you blind or somethin’? He’s got a whole damn town under his thumb, plenty of folks who'd kill for his approval. But you? You fight him. And he likes it."

Raylay’s skin crawled. She thought back to the nights locked in that room. The way the Governor would come in, talk to her for hours. How he’d watch her, study her, like she was a puzzle he was determined to figure out. She didn’t miss it, not at all.

She glared, kicking the dirt with her boots like a child, "That’s not like. That’s obsession."

Merle shrugged. "Call it what ya want. All I know is, if I let you walk back to that prison, he’s sendin’ hell their way. You’re the one thing keepin’ ‘em from burnin’."

Raylay’s hands balled into fists behind her back. "So you’re just gonna hand me over? Let him do whatever he wants?"

Merle didn’t answer right away. His grip tightened on her arm, and for the first time, Raylay saw something uncertain in his face. "Governor’s a lot of things," he muttered. "But he don’t break his toys."

Raylay’s stomach churned. She yanked her arm away, her heart hammering in her chest. "I am not his toy."

Merle just sighed. "Tell him that yourself, then."

And with that, he kept walking, dragging her forward toward whatever hell was waiting.

-

Raylay gritted her teeth, yanking against the rough rope biting into her wrists. Merle had secured her to a rusted metal pole outside an old gas station while he worked on hotwiring a car.

"Son of a bitch," she muttered, her pulse pounding as the distant growls of the dead started closing in. Merle, crouched under the car’s steering column, barely spared her a glance. "Relax, darlin'. Almost got it."

The car alarm suddenly blared to life. A shrill, ear-splitting noise that might as well have been a dinner bell for the walkers lurking in the streets.

Raylay whipped her head around. Shadows moved between the broken-down vehicles, bodies shuffling, drawn to the noise.

"Merle!" she barked, her voice sharp with panic.

"Yeah, yeah, I hear it!" he snapped, yanking at the wires. "Ain’t exactly a smooth operation!"

Raylay twisted her wrists again, trying to loosen the knot, but Merle knew what he was doing, but the rope held firm.

The first walker staggered into the open, a decayed man in a shredded jacket, mouth gnashing as he stumbled toward her. Then another. And another. Too many.

Her chest tightened. "Merle, goddammit—"

"Workin' on it!"

The walkers lurched closer, their soulless eyes locked on her.
She had one option.

Sucking in a breath, she lifted both legs and kicked out, slamming her boot into the first walker’s chest. It reeled back, but the force of the hit sent her swinging against the pole.

Another one came at her from the side, reaching, fingers clawing at her jacket. She twisted her body and swung her legs again, catching it in the knee and sending it toppling.

More kept coming.

She yanked at the rope roughly, it's grip tightening against her reddening wrist, but it wouldn’t give. A walker lunged, its rotting teeth snapping inches from her face. Raylay reacted on instinct, jerking her head forward and smashing her forehead into its skull.

It reeled back, stunned. She didn’t stop to think; she grabbed onto the pole, hauled her legs up, and kicked down hard. Her boot connected with its face, caving it in. Blood and rotten flesh splattered her as the walker collapsed just for another to take it's place immediately, and she had nothing left to fight with.

"MERLE!" she screamed.

"Shit, woman, you got lungs!" The engine finally roared to life.
Raylay barely heard him. She saw the walker’s teeth coming for her throat.

Then a gunshot rang out.

The walker’s head exploded, and Raylay flinched as blood spattered across her cheek. She turned her head, chest heaving, as Merle leaned out of the car window with his pistol still raised.

"Goddamn," he muttered, lowering the gun. "You’re a stubborn one."

"Untie me," she growled. Merle smirked but hopped out of the car, moving fast to cut the rope. As soon as her hands were free, Raylay shoved him hard in the chest.

"Don’t you ever do that again," she spat, her whole body shaking. Merle just chuckled, stepping back toward the car. "Next time, I’ll leave ya the knife."

Raylay clenched her fists, breathing hard, then stormed toward the car and yanked open the door. "Drive," she snapped.

Merle, still grinning, slid into the driver’s seat and slammed on the gas, leaving the walkers shambling behind as they sped off into the night.

-

The car rumbled to a stop on the side of an empty road, the headlights cutting through the darkness. Merle killed the engine, leaving only the distant sound of insects and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

Raylay sat stiffly in the passenger seat, hands still trembling from earlier. The adrenaline was gone now, leaving exhaustion in its place.

Merle reached over and unlatched her door.

"Alright, sweetheart," he said, voice lighter than it should’ve been. "Time for you to get out."

Raylay turned to him, studying his face in the dim light. His usual cocky grin was missing. There was something settled about him, like a man who had already made peace with whatever came next.

"You’re not coming back." She stated, it wasn't a question; it was a fact.

Merle snorted, but it lacked any real humor. "Got some things I gotta do." He glanced at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Go on back. Get ready for what’s comin’ next."

Raylay didn’t move. She knew who he was. Knew what kind of man he’d been, what he’d done. She should hate him.

She should hate many people.

"Don’t be an idiot, Merle," she said, her voice rough.

Merle chuckled. "Too late for that, darlin’."

A silence stretched between them, thick and unspoken.
Raylay swallowed hard, then pushed open the door and stepped out onto the cracked pavement.

She hesitated, fingers tightening around the doorframe.

"Merle."

He looked at her, waiting.

"…Don’t go out like a dumbass."

His smirk returned, just for a second. "No promises."

And with that, he pulled the door shut, shifted gears, and hit the gas. Raylay stood there, watching as the car sped down the road, disappearing into the dark. She stayed until the sound of the engine faded completely, leaving her alone beneath the vast, empty sky.

The road stretched ahead of her, empty and silent. The wind whispered through the trees, carrying the distant groans of the dead. Raylay stood there for a moment, staring down the path that led back to the prison.

She should go back. That’s what Merle wanted, right? He let her go, gave her a chance.

And yet, she couldn’t move.

The thought of walking back through those gates, seeing the faces of the people who trusted her, who needed her; it made her stomach twist. Because what did she have to offer them?

What could she do against the Governor, against his army, against all of this?

She’d spent weeks locked in that room, listening to him talk, watching the way he studied her, learning her like she was a puzzle he was determined to solve.

Now Merle was gone, and she had nothing but a choice.

Go back.

Or fight and lose.

Her fists clenched. She turned, slowly, deliberately, and started walking in the opposite direction; toward Woodbury.

Toward the Governor.

Chapter Text

- August 21st 2012 -

Raylay stood at the gates of Woodbury, her heart hammering in her chest. She hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but she also hadn’t expected this.

Silence.

The streets were empty. The watchtowers unmanned. The walls still stood, but there was no one guarding them. No voices, no footsteps, no sign of life.

It was a ghost town.

Her hands twitched at her sides as she stepped forward, her boots scuffing against the pavement. She passed abandoned stalls, homes with doors left slightly open, and the Governor’s office standing untouched in the distance.

Where was everyone?

She turned in a slow circle, her breathing shallow. It didn’t make sense.

Had Rick and the others already been here? Had they wiped the place out? Or had the Governor abandoned it himself, taking his people with him?

SHE stood in the middle of Woodbury’s empty streets, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. She had come all this way, prepared to hand herself over, prepared to face whatever the Governor had planned for her. But he wasn’t here.

No one was, and that thought alone terrified her.

If he had abandoned Woodbury, then where was he? Had he already gone to the prison? Was it too late?

Her stomach twisted at the thought of returning only to find the prison overrun, the fences knocked down, her people -Gabriel, Sasha, Tyresse- gone. She had already lost them once, she couldn’t do it again.

So she turned away from Woodbury.

She needed time. Needed to think. Needed to prepare herself for whatever she was about to walk into.

With nothing but the weight of exhaustion pressing down on her, Raylay headed for the nearest town, she couldn't go straight back to the prison, not yet.

-

Raylay moved cautiously through the abandoned apartment building, her knife gripped tightly in her hand. It had been two days since she left Woodbury behind, and she was running on fumes. No food. No rest. Just the overwhelming dread of what she might find if she went back to the prison.

The apartment was eerily quiet, dust hanging in the air, furniture overturned as if people had left in a hurry. She rummaged through the kitchen, shoving a can of beans and a half-empty water bottle into her bag.

Her shoulders tensed at the unmistakable click of a gun being cocked.

Raylay froze.

"Drop the bag," a voice ordered, sharp and unwavering.
She turned slowly, raising her hands. A young woman stood in the doorway, gun aimed directly at her chest. She looked to be in her late twenties, dirty brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, eyes filled with a hardness that only came from surviving too long in this world.

"You alone?" the girl asked, her finger steady on the trigger.
Raylay didn’t answer immediately. She scanned the girl’s stance, her grip on the gun. Inexperienced but not weak.

"Yeah," Raylay finally said.

The girl studied her, expression unreadable. Then, she gestured with the gun.

"Good. Then you won’t be missed."

Raylay’s body moved on instinct. She lunged, swinging her fist hard into the girl's face, sending her stumbling backward. The gun clattered to the floor, and Raylay was on her in an instant, ready to strike again—

Then she paused.

A small, trembling voice.

“Mama?”

Raylay froze, her breath caught in her throat. She turned her head slightly, just enough to see a little girl standing in the hallway, clutching the doorway with wide, terrified eyes. She couldn’t have been older than six or seven, her dark curls a mess, her face smudged with dirt.

“Mama?” the girl whimpered again, voice cracking. The woman beneath Raylay groaned, wiping blood from her lip.
“Go back inside, Meghan,” she said, her voice thick with pain but firm.

Raylay’s pulse pounded. She let out a slow breath and stepped off the girl. She didn’t lower her guard completely, but she took a step back, hands slightly raised. The woman wiped her mouth and glared at Raylay, then at the gun on the floor between them.

“You gonna kill me now?” she asked, voice bitter.

Raylay’s jaw tightened. She glanced at Meghan, still peering nervously from the doorway, then back at the woman.

“…No.”

The woman rubbed her bleeding lip and motioned toward the apartment door. "Come inside."

It was a dumb move, to let someone who just beat the crap out of you into your home, but Raylay was used to being around dumb people. Raylay hesitated, glancing at the little girl, Meghan, who was still watching her with wide, fearful eyes.

Raylay had seen that look before.

On Sophia.

She sighed and stepped inside.

The apartment was small and smelled of dust and old fabric. A few candles flickered in the corners, casting long shadows on the walls. There was a couch pushed against the wall, a pile of blankets in one corner that must’ve been a makeshift bed. On the coffee table sat a few cans of food, a nearly empty water jug, and a hunting knife.

She paused at the sight of an older man sat in an armchair, his hands trembling slightly as he lifted his head. His hair was graying, his face gaunt, tired. But his eyes; his sharp, wary eyes, landed on Raylay immediately.

"Lily," he rasped, his voice rough with age. "Who is this?"

"I found her outside, baba." Lily muttered, touching her sore lip again. Raylay clenched her jaw but said nothing.

Meghan, still clinging to the doorway, pressed herself closer to her grandfather’s chair. Her tiny hands gripped the fabric of his sleeve, and she peeked out at Raylay with open terror.

Like she was a monster.

Raylay swallowed hard. She hadn’t realized how she must look; filthy, blood-stained, exhausted. Her hands were scraped and bruised, her clothes torn from the days of travel.
She took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I’ll leave," she muttered. "I didn’t know anyone was here."

Lily narrowed her eyes. "You came here for a reason. What was it?"

Raylay exhaled slowly, keeping her voice level. "Food. Water. A place to rest." She glanced at the door. "But I can find that somewhere else."

Meghan pressed her face into her grandfather’s side, her small voice barely above a whisper.

"I don’t want her here."

Raylay’s stomach twisted, but she said nothing. The old man studied Raylay, his gaze unreadable. Then, finally, he sighed and looked at Lily.

"We can spare a little," he murmured, "But just for tonight." Lily frowned, "Baba-"

"Just for tonight," he repeated. Then, to Raylay, he added, "You touch anything you're not supposed to, you’re out. Understood?"

Raylay nodded, slowly. "Understood."

Lily didn’t look happy, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she crossed the room, grabbed a half-full water bottle, and tossed it to Raylay.

"Drink. Then we’ll talk."

Raylay caught it, hesitating just for a second. Then she twisted off the cap and took a long sip, feeling the cold water rush down her throat.

She was too tired to fight. For now.

Raylay followed Lily into the kitchen, the dim candlelight barely reaching the far corners of the room. It was small, cluttered with dishes and empty cans, but it smelled of something warm; like someone had tried to make an actual meal recently.

Raylay hadn’t had that in a long time.

Lily leaned against the counter, arms crossed, still watching her like she was waiting for an excuse to throw her out.

"You got a name?" she asked. Raylay hesitated before answering. "Raylay."

Lily nodded slowly. "I'm Lily. The little girl out there, Meghan, she's my daughter. The old man is my dad. And—"

A door creaked open before she could finish. A younger woman walked in, her dark hair tied back, wearing a shirt two sizes too big for her. She stopped when she saw Raylay, her brows furrowing.

"Uh… who’s this?"

Lily sighed, "This is Raylay. She's staying the night."

The young woman brightened a little, "Oh, Cool! I'm Tara." she gave Raylay a once-over before grinning. "You look like hell."

Raylay huffed a quiet laugh, more out of exhaustion than amusement. "Yeah. Thanks for that."

Tara grabbed an apple from the counter and took a bite, still eyeing Raylay curiously. "So, where'd you come from?"

Raylay didn't answer right away. She could still feel Lily watching her, wary and guarded. It was a fair question, but Raylay wasn’t sure how much she wanted to say.

"Nowhere," she muttered. "Doesn’t matter."

Tara raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, she leaned against the counter next to Lily and glanced toward the living room.

"So, Meg's terrified of you."

Raylay tensed, the words hitting harder than they should have.
Lily shot Tara a look. "Tara."

"What? She is!" Tara shrugged. "Not her fault. We don’t exactly get strangers knocking on our door every day."

Raylay exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "Yeah. I get it."

Tara’s gaze lingered on Raylay’s face longer than it should have. She chewed the inside of her cheek, debating whether to ask, then finally just blurted it out.

“So, uh… what happened to your eye?”

Raylay tensed, fingers twitching at her side. She could still feel the sting of it sometimes, like a phantom ache beneath the faded scar. Lily shot Tara an exasperated look. “Jesus, Tara. Maybe don’t interrogate the woman five minutes after she walks in.”

“What?” Tara lifted her hands in defense. “It’s a valid question! It’s a cool scar.”

Raylay exhaled through her nose, “Yeah. Real cool.”

Tara leaned against the counter, still watching her. “C’mon, humor me. Knife fight? Exploding car? Crazy ex?”

Raylay’s jaw tightened. None of those were right. None of them even came close.

“It was a person,” she said finally. Tara’s smirk faltered.

Raylay looked away, flexing her fingers. The memory was still sharp; hands pinning her down, the burn of a blade cutting too close, the laughter. The way it felt to wake up and still be there. Lily shifted uncomfortably, probably catching the way Raylay’s expression darkened.

“Sorry,” Tara muttered, suddenly a lot less amused.

Raylay shrugged, but it was forced. “Don’t be.”

An awkward silence settled between them. Tara, for once, seemed unsure of what to say. Lily cleared her throat, breaking the tension. “Let’s just focus on getting through the night. You can stay here. Just… don’t scare Meghan too much.”

Raylay nodded stiffly. Tara hesitated, then gave a small nod too. “Yeah. And, uh… if you ever do wanna talk about it—”

“I don’t.”

Tara raised her hands again. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

The conversation was over, but Raylay could still feel Tara watching her, like she was trying to piece something together. Like she wanted to understand but wasn’t sure how.

It was better if she didn't.

- August 22nd 2012 -

Raylay woke before the sun fully rose, the dim light seeping through the cracks in the boarded-up windows. The apartment was still and quiet, the air thick with the scent of old furniture and dust. She sat up on the worn-out couch, stretching out the stiffness in her muscles.

She had to move. She had to go.

She adjusted the straps on her bag and moved toward the door as quietly as she could. No goodbyes. No explanations.

She had already stayed too long.

But as she reached for the handle, a voice stopped her.
"You leaving already?"

Raylay turned, finding Tara standing in the hallway, arms crossed, sleep still heavy in her eyes. "Yeah," Raylay said simply.

Tara glanced toward the kitchen. "Lily's probably gonna make something for breakfast soon. You should stay."

Raylay shook her head, "I don't do breakfast."

Tara huffed a small laugh. "Everyone does breakfast. It’s, like, a human thing."

Raylay didn’t answer, just turned back to the door.
Tara sighed, rubbing the back of her head. "Alright, look, I get it. You're solo, too cool to sit at a table and eat pancakes or whatever. But—" She hesitated, her tone losing some of its usual lightness. "You could use a place to rest. Just for a little while."

Raylay finally looked at her. "You and your family shouldn't be so trusting."

Tara snorted, "Yeah, I trust you so much after you punched my sister in the face."

Raylay gave her a look. Tara sighed again. "Fine. Whatever. Just don’t get yourself killed out there."

Raylay opened the door, stepping out into the cold morning air.

She didn’t look back.

She never did.

Chapter Text

- August 24th 1981 -

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the trees as the young girl made her way down the familiar dirt path. The creek murmured softly ahead, its water glinting between the rocks. She stepped carefully over a fallen log and through a patch of tall grass, her heart skipping a little when she saw him.

The boy who had saved her from the bullies.

He sat near the edge of the creek, one knee drawn up, his arm resting lazily over it. His other hand idly traced shapes in the dirt. But what caught her attention most was the bruise blooming across his left eye; dark and swollen.

"You got in a fight again," she said, her voice quiet but not questioning.

He grinned, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah."

She didn't ask for details; she figured he wouldn't give them anyway. Instead, she dropped down beside him, brushing dirt off her knees. The water rippled beside them, the breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.

Without a word, he drew a line in the dirt between them with his finger. She knew the game immediately.

"Tic-tac-toe?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Unless you’re scared to lose." His smirk was more real this time.

She snorted and used her finger to make an "X" in the upper left corner. He followed with an "O" in the center.

The game went on, quiet laughter slipping between them as they played round after round. The sun continued its slow descent, painting the sky in soft oranges and pinks. The bruises, the fights, the bullies; none of it mattered here, in this little space by the creek where the world felt simple.

Just a boy, a girl, and a game in the dirt.

- August 24th 2012 -

Raylay had been walking for hours.

The road stretched endlessly before her, cracked pavement covered in weeds. The wind howled through the empty trees, sending brittle leaves scraping across the ground. Each step was heavy, her body sore from exhaustion, her mind heavier still.

She told herself she was heading back to the prison, but she didn’t know what she’d find when she got there. If there was anything to find.

Her boot caught on a root.

She stumbled forward, tried to catch herself, but the ground gave way beneath her.

She was falling.

The world spun as she tumbled down a steep hill, dirt and dry grass catching on her clothes. Her head smacked against something hard, and everything went white.

When she blinked her eyes open, the sky above her was blurred, shifting. Dark silhouettes danced at the edges of her vision.

“Mommy?”

Her blood went cold. Raylay turned her head, and there she was.

Avery. Her Avery.

Her little girl stood just a few feet away, her blonde curls bouncing, her big brown eyes wide with something Raylay couldn’t name.

Raylay’s breath hitched. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, ignoring the pounding in her skull. “Avery?” Her voice cracked, raw and desperate.

Avery smiled. “You fell.”

Raylay stared, unblinking.

No. This wasn’t real… but Avery was right there.
Raylay scrambled to her knees, reaching out, but her fingers passed through empty air. Her daughter giggled, stepping back. “You’re not real,” Raylay whispered, her throat tightening.

Avery tilted her head, that same curious look she always had when she didn’t understand something. “Why do you look so sad, Mommy?”

Raylay’s throat closed. She couldn’t breathe.

Avery took a step closer. “You left me.”

Raylay’s heart stopped. “No.”

“You let me die.”

Raylay shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. “I didn’t—I tried, baby, I tried—”

Avery frowned, disappointment darkening her little face. “You don’t love me anymore.”

Raylay gasped, shaking, pressing her hands to her ears like she could block them out. “Stop it.”

Avery’s voice was softer now.

“Why did you let me go?”

“I didn’t,” Raylay choked. “I never wanted to.”

Avery just looked at her, like she was waiting for an answer Raylay didn’t have. Then she was gone, just as fast as she came. Raylay blinked, her breath ragged, her hands gripping the dirt beneath her. Nothing. Just empty woods.

She let out a broken sob, curling in on herself, pressing her forehead to the cold ground. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that. When she finally pushed herself up, the sun was lower in the sky, the world quiet again. She had to keep moving, even if she didn’t know why anymore.

Her feet wandered aimlessly through the trees, her legs aching, her mind still raw from the hallucination. The forest stretched around her, endless and empty, the only sound the crunch of dead leaves beneath her boots.

She should’ve kept going. Should’ve headed straight for the prison. But the thought of seeing him there made her stomach turn.

Nathan.

It had been years since she’d last seen him, and even now, after everything, the memories still had claws. She could feel them digging into her ribs, threatening to pull her back under.
She wasn’t ready to face him again.

Not yet. So she kept walking.

By the time she spotted the cabin through the trees, the sun had dipped below the horizon, the sky bruised with fading light.

It was small, worn-down, the windows boarded up, but it was shelter. Raylay pushed the door open cautiously, her knife gripped tight in her hand. The air inside was thick with dust and old wood, but it was empty. Safe enough.

She bolted the door behind her and dropped her pack on the floor. Her whole body ached.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there in the dark, staring at nothing. Her mind kept drifting, looping back to Avery’s voice.

'You let me die.'

Raylay swallowed hard and shut her eyes.

She needed sleep.

She dragged a chair against the door and sank onto the creaky old couch, her knife still in hand. The wind howled outside. Somewhere in the distance, a branch snapped. She forced herself to breathe.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she’d figure out what to do next.

- August 25th 2012 -

She lay curled on the couch, her grip still tight around the knife even in sleep. Her dreams were restless; whispers of Avery’s voice, echoes of the past, memories shadows that clung to her mind like cobwebs, never fading.

The soft groan of wood shifting beneath weight. Her eyelids fluttered, but she barely stirred. It wasn’t real. Just another dream, another hallucination, another trick of her exhausted mind.

The door shut with a quiet click. Boots scraped against the floor, Raylay’s breath hitched.

A shape loomed over her, dark against the faint moonlight slipping through the boarded-up windows. The air felt thick, suffocating. Her body tensed instinctively, but her mind barely registered the presence.

"Not real," she mumbled, voice hoarse, rolling onto her side. A hand grabbed her by the throat. Her eyes shot open.

The Governor’s face was inches from hers, twisted in rage, his one good eye wild with something feral. His grip was crushing, fingers digging into her windpipe, cutting off air.
Raylay gasped, her limbs jolting awake, clawing at his wrist. Her mind spun, caught between reality and the feverish belief that this was just another nightmare.

"I should’ve killed you the moment I laid eyes on you," he growled.

Her lungs burned, her instincts finally kicked in.

She drove her knee up into his stomach. His grip loosened just enough for her to twist free, rolling off the couch onto the floor. He recovered quickly, lunging at her again.

Raylay scrambled back, her hands grasping desperately for her knife, but he kicked it out of reach.

"You think you can just walk away from me?" he snarled, dragging her up by her shirt.

Raylay’s breath heaved. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

And he was going to kill her.

The Governor’s grip tightened again, slamming her back against the wall, rattling the old wood of the cabin. "I lost everything because of you," he spat. "Woodbury. My people. Penny—"

Raylay barely heard him. She was too busy fumbling at her belt, fingers slipping over the handle of the small knife she kept tucked there.

"Should’ve killed you when I had the chance," he said.

"Should’ve—"

Raylay drove the knife straight into his side.
The Governor roared in pain, stumbling back. She didn’t wait. She grabbed a rusted lamp off the table and smashed it across his face. He crumpled to the floor with a pained grunt. Blood seeped from his side, dark and sluggish.

Raylay stood over him, her breath ragged, the knife clutched tight in her shaking hand. His good eye flickered up at her.

"Go ahead," he taunted, voice thick with pain. "Do it."

Raylay’s grip trembled. Her heart pounded in her ears. She could kill him. She should kill him.

'But you? You fight him. And he likes it.'

'You and him? You ain't that different.'

She didn’t, she couldn't.

Instead, she turned and ran.

-

Raylay had been walking for hours.

Her legs ached, her breath was ragged, and her mind was a fog of exhaustion and panic. She didn’t know where she was going; just away. Away from the cabin, away from him, away from everything that had nearly killed her that night.

When she stumbled into a small town, she barely registered it at first. The streets were eerily empty, cars rusted and long abandoned. Windows were shattered, doors left hanging open, the remnants of old lives frozen in time.

She moved through the town like a ghost, searching for shelter.

She stopped at the sight, a house.

It was small, just a single-story home with chipped white paint and a porch swing that creaked slightly in the wind. Something about it felt… familiar. Raylay pushed open the front door, stepping inside cautiously. Dust covered the furniture, but otherwise, it looked untouched. A family had lived here once.

There were still pictures on the walls; smiling faces, moments of happiness now long gone. It reminded her of the farmhouse. She moved further in, past the living room, past the kitchen. Her eyes landed on a door at the end of the hall.

It was painted pink.

Something heavy settled in her chest.

Slowly, she reached for the handle and pushed it open.

It was a little girl’s bedroom.

Tiny shoes were neatly placed by the dresser. The bed was unmade, a stuffed bear resting against the pillows. Dolls sat on a shelf, their plastic eyes staring blankly at nothing. A stack of books lay beside a small rocking chair, as if waiting for someone to come back and read them.

Raylay felt something crack inside her.

Her knees buckled.

She collapsed onto the floor, pressing a hand over her mouth as a sob tore its way out of her throat. She wasn’t sure why this room hit her so hard.

Maybe it was because it reminded her of Avery’s.

Maybe because it reminded her of Sophia.

Maybe it was because somewhere, once upon a time, a little girl had lived here. Had played here. Had been safe here.
And now, she was gone.

Just like Avery.

Just like Sophia.

Raylay buried her face in her hands, her whole body shaking. She hadn’t cried like this in months. Not since that day. Not since she had finally found the strength to put Avery down.
But now, in this abandoned bedroom, surrounded by the ghost of a child she never knew, the grief came crashing down on her all over again.

She curled up on the floor, gasping for breath between the sobs.

There was no one left.

Not Avery.

Not Sophia.

Not Gabriel.

She was alone.

And she wasn’t going back.

Chapter Text

- August 26th 2012 -

Sophia stood by the gate, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she watched Jesus sling his pack over his shoulder. The sun had barely risen, casting a golden hue over the Hilltop, but she had been awake for hours. Sleep didn’t come easy anymore.

Not when her mind was constantly screaming at her to do something.

“You’re not coming,” Jesus said, not even bothering to look at her as he tightened the strap on his shoulder. Sophia clenched her jaw. “Why not?”

“Because,” he sighed, finally meeting her gaze. “You’re still just a kid.”

That made her blood boil. “I’m not a kid,” she snapped and she was right, she had through so much more then an average kid and she knew that, she knew how to defend herself, its how she lived so long.

Jesus raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Really? ‘Cause you’re acting like one right now.”

Sophia took a step closer, fists tightening. “I can hunt. I can fight. I can survive. What’s the point of being here if I don’t do anything?”

“The point,” Jesus said evenly, “is staying alive.”

“I have been alive,” she shot back. “For years. Out there. On my own.”

Jesus tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “You weren’t alone. You had Duane and Morgan.”

Sophia's glare hardened.

Morgan wasn’t the same. Not since he got sick. Not since she suggested putting him down like a rabid dog. He was recovering, but it didn’t change what she said. What she meant. And Duane… He looked at her differently now.
Like she was someone else entirely.

Like he didn’t know her anymore.

Maybe he didn’t.

She wondered if this was how Raylay felt about her.

Jesus sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I get it. You feel trapped, but Hilltop is safe. You don’t have to be out there anymore.”

“That’s the problem,” she muttered.

Jesus studied her for a moment, then shook his head. “Not today, Sophia.” He turned and started toward the gates. “Maybe not ever.”

She watched him go, her nails digging into her palms.

If he wasn’t going to let her leave, she’d just have to find another way.

-

Sophia sat on the worn wooden surface of the picnic table, her boot scuffing against the bench as she leaned back on her palms. The morning air was crisp, and the scent of damp earth clung to the wind. From her vantage point, she had a clear view of the Hilltop’s gates, the watchtowers, the movement of the guards.

She had been watching them for weeks now.

Every shift change. Every blind spot. Every moment when the walls were left just vulnerable enough.

People here were comfortable. Too comfortable. They didn’t understand what it was like out there; not really. Sure, they had seen the world fall apart, but they hadn’t been swallowed by it. Not the way she had. Not the way Raylay had.

Her fingers curled into fists at the thought. Sophia pulled her bag onto her lap, pretending to rummage through it while she palmed the folded map tucked deep inside. She had been careful. So careful. Morgan and Duane didn’t know. They thought she had finally settled. That she had accepted things here.

They were wrong.

Every night, when the world was quiet, she traced the map with her fingertips, crossing out the places she had been. The towns. The wreckage. The empty houses filled with dust and silence.

Places where Ray wasn’t.

She had to keep looking.

She had to.

A voice called out, pulling her from her thoughts.
"You're up early," Duane said, dropping down onto the bench beside her. His tone was casual, but his eyes wary.

Watching.

Always watching.

She shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"Liar," he muttered, nudging her bag with his elbow. "You're planning something."

Sophia tensed, gripping the strap of her bag tighter. "I'm just sitting here."

"Yeah. Watching the gates."

She said nothing. Duane sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, "Soph, come on. You don’t have to—"

"I do." Her voice was sharper than she intended, but she didn't care. She turned to face him fully, her eyes burning with something fierce.

"She's out there, Duane. I know she is."

Duane looked away, jaw clenched. "It's been a year."

"And?"

"And what if she’s dead?"

Sophia sucked in a sharp breath, her stomach twisting. Duane hesitated, like he regretted saying it. Maybe he did, but that was the thing; Sophia didn’t care if it had been a year, or ten, or however long it took. She wasn’t stopping. Not until she knew for sure. Not until she found Claire. Dead or Alive.

- August 27th 2012 -

The tension in the air was thick as the Saviors strolled through the gates of the Hilltop, their presence like a storm cloud ready to break. Sophia stood near the crowd, her body tight with barely restrained fury. She had seen these people before. She knew what they did.

They took.

They acted like the world belonged to them, like they had the right to walk into someone’s home and claim whatever they wanted. She watched as one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a scruffy beard, grinned while kicking over a crate of supplies. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Keep your head down, she reminded herself. Don't start shit.

One of them, a tall, lanky bastard with sunken eyes, reached down and snatched up her bag. Her eybrows furrowed, "Hey!" she snapped, stepping forward before she could stop herself. The Savior barely spared her a glance as he unzipped the bag and started rifling through it. And then he pulled out the doll.

It was old, worn from years of love and loss. A small rag doll with faded stitching, its once-bright dress dulled with time. Raylay had given it to her. It had belonged to Ray's daughter. The world around her blurred. Her breath came shallow and sharp, her pulse hammering in her ears like war drums.

The Savior scoffed, holding the doll up by its arm like it was trash, "The hell is this?"

Something inside Sophia snapped. She didn’t think. She moved. Jesus would have killed her if he was there.

Before the man could react, she was on him, her knife flashing as she drove it deep into his gut. A strangled noise tore from his throat, his eyes wide with shock. Gasps rang out around her. Someone screamed. The man staggered back, clutching his stomach, blood pouring between his fingers. His mouth opened and closed like a dying fish, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.

The doll hit the ground. Sophia didn’t stop.

She lunged again, fury overtaking reason, her knife slicing into his side. She could hear people shouting, voices blurring together, but all she could see was him.

Him and the doll he had dared to touch.

Hands grabbed her, yanking her backward. "Let me go!" she snarled, thrashing violently. The Savior crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath him as the others scrambled to react. Guns were raised. Shouts filled the air. A heavy hand clamped onto her shoulder, forcing her still.

"Sophia!"

Duane’s voice cut through the chaos.

She blinked, her vision clearing just enough to see him standing in front of her, breathless, eyes wild with fear.
And then, a man with a mustache stepped forward.

The lead Savior.

His lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes were ice. "Well, well," he drawled, looking between Sophia and the bleeding man on the ground. "That was stupid."

Sophia didn’t care.

Her chest heaved, her hands still clenched around the bloodied knife. The man tilted his head, studying her like she was a wild animal. Then he turned to one of his men. "Get him patched up. He dies, it'll be a waste."

He took another step forward, his boots stopping just inches from the doll on the dirt. Then, slowly, he crouched down and picked it up. Sophia’s breath caught. Fuck, that was so stupid of her.

She was so dead.

The man turned the doll over in his hands, his smirk deepening. "This why you lost your shit, kid?" He held it up.

"This little thing?"

Sophia didn’t answer, her eyes narrowed. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

-

The world tilted as Sophia was shoved forward, her hands bound, her knees scraping against the rough ground. The air was thick with dust and sweat, the scent of blood still sharp in her nose.

The Saviors had her now.

She barely registered the shouting behind her until she heard his voice.

“Let her go!”

Duane.

She twisted in time to see him lunging forward, desperation all over his face. He barely made it a few steps before one of the Saviors intercepted him, slamming a rifle butt into his stomach. Duane let out a choked gasp, doubling over.

"Duane!" she screamed, fighting against the grip on her arms.
Another blow came, this time to his back, sending him sprawling to the dirt. “STOP!” Sophia thrashed violently, kicking out at the man who held her, but the man just sighed, gripping her arm like a vice.

“Relax, kid,” he said, dragging her towards the truck. “He ain't gonna die. Just needs to learn when to back the hell off.”
Sophia kicked harder, rage clawing at her chest. "Leave him alone!"

He sighed again, "I was gonna keep this clean, but you’re starting to piss me off."

He nodded to one of his men. Before she could process what was happening, the Savior standing over Duane reared back and kicked him hard in the ribs. Duane cried out, his body jerking from the impact. Sophia’s scream caught in her throat. She struggled wildly, her vision red with fury. “I’ll kill you!”

The man just yanked her back. “Yeah? With what, exactly?”

Another kick landed against Duane’s side, sending him rolling onto his back, his face twisted in pain. He tried to get up—tried to reach for her—but the man above him stomped down on his chest, pinning him. Sophia couldn't breathe. This was all her fault.

"Duane!"

His head lolled slightly, his mouth opening, but no words came out. The man grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You got two options, sweetheart. Get in the truck, or we make an example outta your little boyfriend here.”

Her heart pounded. Duane struggled weakly beneath the boot pressed against his ribs. His breaths came in ragged gasps. He was going to die. Because of her. She clenched her jaw, hands trembling at her sides.

The man's grin widened. "Smart girl." And just like that, she was dragged forward, her feet stumbling as they threw open the truck door. The last thing she saw before they shoved her inside was Duane, barely moving, blood trickling from his mouth.

And then the doors slammed shut, sealing her fate.

-

The truck rumbled beneath Sophia as it came to a stop. The metal walls around her vibrated with the sound of voices outside, muffled laughter, the clang of heavy boots on pavement. She sat stiffly, wrists bound, her mind racing.

Duane.

She could still see him on the ground, gasping for air, blood on his lips. She wanted to believe he was okay. Had to believe it.

The door swung open.

"Alright, kid," The man's voice was light, casual, like they hadn't just beaten her best friend half to death. "Time to meet the big man."

Rough hands grabbed her, pulling her out of the truck. The air smelled like oil and smoke, meat cooking somewhere in the distance. She barely had time to take it in before she was dragged forward, past rows of people watching her with guarded, tired expressions.

The Sanctuary.

She knew of it. Knew what it was, and she knew who waited for her inside.

The hallways were dimly lit, lined with doors she didn’t want to know the purpose of. The man whistled as he led her up a flight of stairs, his grip never loosening on her arm. Finally, he stopped in front of a large set of doors and knocked twice.

A voice called out from the other side.

The doors swung open, and Sophia was shoved inside.
The office was nicer than she expected; tidy, well-furnished, even comfortable. A long leather couch sat against the wall, a desk stacked with papers and old knick-knacks near the back. And there, leaning against it, grinning like he already owned her, was him.

Negan.

He was taller than she remembered, broad-shouldered, dressed in a leather jacket that looked damn near pristine compared to every other peace of clothing nowadays.

The man cleared his throught as he shoved Sophia further into the room, making her stumble. "Well, boss," he started, his tone casual, "this little hellcat shivved one of our guys over a damn doll."

Negan raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He pushed off the desk, stepping toward her with slow, deliberate movements, his presence filling the room. In his gloved hands, he twirled a barbed-wire-covered baseball bat like it was just another Tuesday for him.

“A doll?” he repeated, his voice dragging over the words like he was tasting them. “Now, Simon, did you just say this scrawny little thing tried to murder a full-grown man over a fucking toy?”

Sophia stayed silent, breathing hard, fists clenched. The man- Simon chuckled. “Damn right she did. Kid went feral the second Jared touched it. I mean, you should’ve seen it, boss. No hesitation, no second-guessing—just bam, knife in the gut.”

Negan let out a low whistle. “Well, shit. That is something.”
He stepped closer, looking Sophia up and down like she was an animal in a cage.

“Now, I gotta ask,” he said, crouching slightly to get on her level. “That doll… special to you, sweetheart?”

Sophia glared at him, her lips pressing into a tight, thin line. She wasn’t going to give him a damn thing. Sure what she did was dumb but she had a right to her things. They were hers, not theirs.

Negan smirked at her silence, eyes gleaming. “Oh-ho, I like you,” he muttered, straightening back up.

“You got fire.”

He turned to Simon, waving a hand. “Get the kid some food. I wanna have a little chat with her once she cools off.”

Simon scoffed but nodded, grabbing Sophia’s arm again.
Negan’s voice followed them as they left the room.

“Don’t you worry, sweetheart—we’re gonna get along just fine.”

-

Sophia sat in the chair across from Negan, arms crossed, glaring at him like a feral cat backed into a corner. The dimly lit office smelled of liquor and cigar smoke, and the sound of distant chatter from outside the door barely registered in her ears.

Negan leaned against his desk, Lucille resting lazily in his grip. He studied her in silence for a moment, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You know," he finally said, tilting his head, "I like you, kid. You got guts. Real mean streak, too. Not a lot of people got the balls to pull a knife on one of my guys and still sit there looking like they’d do it again."

Sophia stayed quiet, her jaw tight.

Negan chuckled. "Oh, don't go all moody teenager on me now. This ain't a bad thing." He set Lucille down, dragging a chair across from her and dropping into it, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Here's the deal, sweetheart. I could kill you. I should kill you after all the shit you've pulled. But you? You're useful. You got that fire, that drive—and I could use someone like that."

She narrowed her eyes, her fingers twitching where they rested on the arms of the chair.

"You wanna survive, right?" Negan continued. "You wanna live? ’Cause trust me, out there? It’s a whole lot shittier than it is in here." He gestured around. "This is safety. This is power. You walk out that door and try to go it alone? You’re gonna get yourself killed."

Sophia glared, "And what, staying here means I’m safe? That I’m one of you?" Her voice dripped with venom.

Negan grinned, leaning back. "It means you get to be on the winning team. You get a bed, food, protection. You wanna keep fighting like you did today? Fine. Do it for me."

She clenched her fists, her mind racing. She hated this man. Hated his smugness, his power, his men, his control. But he was right about one thing; she had nowhere else to go. She couldn't go back, not to Duane; not after what she pulled, she couldn'tgo back to Morgan whose son nearly died because of her, she couldn'tgo back to Jesus who had already told her not to pull shit like that again.

"You don’t have to answer right now," Negan said, standing up, stretching his arms like this was just another casual conversation.

"Take the night. Think about it." He stepped toward her, lowering his voice just enough to make her skin crawl. "But I know what kind of person you are, kid. You wanna survive. And you and me? We're the same. We do what it takes."

"It's either them or us."

She didn't respond, just stared down at her hands, mind whirling.

Negan turned toward the door. "Simon, show our little guest to a room, and make sure she gets a hot meal. Girl’s earned it."

The door opened, and Simon grabbed her by the arm, but this time, it wasn’t rough. It wasn’t hostile. It was like she was already one of them.

And that scared her more than anything.

Chapter Text

Raylay sat on the wooden floor of the cabin, her back against the wall, staring blankly at the flickering candle in front of her. The flame danced, casting long, twisted shadows against the walls, moving like memories. The silence was suffocating, pressing against her ears until she swore she could hear her own blood rushing through her veins.

It had been weeks. Maybe a month. She wasn’t counting anymore.

The world outside the cabin was still the same.

Cold.

Rotting.

Hostile.

She went out to hunt, checked her traps, scavenged what she could. But she always came back here. To this empty shell of a home where the wind howled through the cracks like whispers, where the silence felt more alive than the world outside.

She should leave. She should go back to the prison. But every time she thought about it, her stomach twisted into knots.

What if they were all dead?

What if Nathan was still there?

What if Gabriel was gone?

She couldn’t face that. Instead, she stayed. Alone. At first, she thought the solitude would help. That being alone meant being safe. No one to hurt her. No one to lose. But as the days bled together, she started to feel it-

It started small. A voice in the back of her head, whispering. The soft sound of Avery’s laugh when she closed her eyes. Then came the footsteps, light, barely there, like someone was walking through the cabin at night. She’d wake up gripping her knife, heart hammering, only to find nothing.

She was losing it. She knew it.

Raylay rubbed her hands over her face, groaning. When she pulled them away, she swore she saw Avery sitting across from her, legs crossed, watching her with those big, dark eyes.

“You should go back,” the hallucination said softly.

Raylay clenched her jaw, looking away. “You’re not real.”

Avery smiled, tilting her head. “Neither are you.”

Her breath hitched. She pressed her fingers against her temples, squeezing her eyes shut. When she opened them, Avery was gone.

Just shadows.

Just her own rotting mind.

She exhaled shakily, grabbing her knife. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t sit here and wait for her own thoughts to eat her alive. Raylay stood up, grip tightening around the handle of her blade.

Tomorrow, she’d leave.

Go back.

Face whatever was left.

Because if she didn’t… she knew she’d never leave this place at all.

-

Raylay crouched low behind a rusted-out car, her breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps. The prison was a graveyard.
Walkers swarmed the yard, their decayed bodies pressing against the fences, their moans blending into a sickening chorus. Smoke still clung to the air, the last remnants of a battle long lost.

Raylay’s stomach twisted.

She was too late.

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself forward. She needed to know if anyone was left- if Gabriel, Sasha, any of them had survived. Her boots crunched against shattered glass as she moved between abandoned vehicles, keeping low, silent.
And then she heard it.

A cry.

Soft. Fragile.

A baby?

Raylay froze. For a second, she thought she imagined it, another hallucination trying to drag her under. But then it came again; muffled, weak.

Shit.

She moved quickly, following the sound toward what used to be the cell block. The door hung open, swaying in the wind. She slipped inside, stepping over bloodstains and bullet casings.

The sound led her to a small room, a supply closet maybe, its door barely hanging onto its hinges. Inside, tucked away in a battered cradle, was a baby.

Raylay stared.

Dark eyes blinked up at her, tiny fists waving in the air.

Who the hell left you here?

She glanced around the room, searching for any sign of a parent, a body (someone) but there was nothing. Just old blankets and an empty bottle.

The baby whimpered again, little legs kicking.Raylay’s throat tightened.

She should leave.

She should turn around and get out before she got herself killed. But instead, she reached down, scooping the baby into her arms.

It was so small.

Too small to be out here alone.

Raylay swallowed hard, holding the baby against her chest. “Shit,” she muttered, backing out of the room. The walkers outside weren’t going anywhere, and now she had an infant to deal with. She adjusted her grip, pressing a hand against the back of the baby’s head. “Be quiet, okay?”

The baby cooed softly, as if agreeing. Raylay exhaled.

She needed to get the hell out of here.

So, Raylay ran.

The baby was pressed tightly to her chest, its soft whimpers barely audible over the deafening growls behind her. Walkers stumbled from the trees, drawn by the scent of blood, their rotting hands grasping at nothing as she ducked and weaved through the chaos.

Her knife sank into skulls, her boots cracked bone, but there were too many. She could feel their presence like a weight, pressing down on her, suffocating her. By the time she broke free of the prison grounds, her lungs were burning, her arms aching from holding the baby so close. She didn’t stop running until the moans had faded into the distance, replaced only by the rustling of the trees.

She collapsed to her knees in the middle of the woods, and she sobbed.

She rocked back and forth, the baby still held tight against her, her body shaking with the force of it.

They were gone.

Gabriel. Sasha. Nathan.

Every last one of them.

If she had been earlier, just a few hours, maybe she could have helped, maybe she could have stopped it; maybe they would still be alive. She choked on a breath, squeezing her eyes shut.

This was her fault.

She had left. She had abandoned them, and now all she had left was this tiny, helpless baby in her arms. She let out a ragged breath, looking down at the infant, who had gone quiet, watching her with dark, unknowing eyes.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” she whispered.

The baby made a soft noise, a small, innocent sound that somehow hurt more than anything else. Raylay clenched her jaw and wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand.

She had no one left.

No one but this.

She didn’t even know why she had taken the baby; she wasn’t fit for this. She had failed before, hadn’t she? She had failed Avery. And she hadn't only failed once but twice, she had failed Sophia.

So why the hell would this be any different?

But as she stared down at the small life in her hands, something twisted inside of her. She had nothing.

Nothing.

Except for this one, tiny, breathing reason to keep moving. So she sucked in a shaky breath, adjusted her grip on the baby, and forced herself to stand. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t know what the hell she was supposed to do. But she couldn’t stay here.

And for once she would keep this kid alive if it meant the end of her.

-

Raylay trudged through the woods, exhaustion weighing down her every step. The baby stirred in her arms, letting out a tiny whimper, and Raylay tightened her grip, her heartbeat steadying at the small warmth against her chest.
She had been walking for hours, searching for anything; food, shelter, people. But all she found was more silence, more emptiness.

The baby let out another soft cry, and Raylay sighed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're hungry. Me too, kid."

She adjusted her hold and glanced down at the infant's face, studying her. She was so small, barely more than a few months old. The apocalypse had been cruel to all of them, but especially to the ones who never even had a chance.
Raylay swallowed, her mind turning back to the prison, to the desperate fight, to Rick.

This was his kid, wasn't it?

She tried to remember.

He had a baby; a daughter. She remembered seeing her once, back when everything was normal (or as normal as things could be now).

She racked her brain for the name, her brows furrowing. Joanne? Joselene? No, that didn’t sound right. She knew it started with a J.

"Jude?" she muttered, testing it out. Close, but still not right.

The baby made a small sound in response, and Raylay huffed.
"Judy, then," she said, nodding to herself. "You look like a Judy."

The baby blinked up at her, unbothered by the decision.

"Judy it is," Raylay murmured, shifting her weight and looking out toward the empty road ahead.She exhaled slowly.

"Alright, kid. Let's get moving."

And with that, she kept walking, carrying Judy with her into a small town.

-

Raylay pushed open the rusted door of the convenience store, wincing as it let out a loud creak. The place was ransacked, shelves overturned, glass shattered across the floor. But it was shelter, and right now, that was enough.

She set Judy down on the counter, her tiny body wrapped in a too-big, dirty blanket. The baby whined, small fists waving in the air.

“I know, I know,” Raylay muttered, rummaging through her bag. She pulled out the bottle she’d found in an abandoned house earlier that day, half-filled with formula. It wasn’t much, but it’d keep the baby from going hungry for now.

Judy latched onto the bottle the moment Raylay brought it to her lips, suckling greedily. Raylay let out a breath, brushing a hand over the baby's soft, barely-there hair.

The store was eerily quiet, the world outside just as still. Raylay felt the loneliness pressing in on her, curling around her like thick smoke. She swallowed.

She needed to keep moving.

She needed a plan.

But right now, she had nothing.

Judy’s tiny eyes drooped as she drank, and Raylay sighed, leaning back against the counter. Softly, almost unconsciously, she started to hum.

"Hey, Jude, don’t make it bad… Take a sad song and make it better…"

Her voice was quiet, rough from disuse, but steady.

"Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

Judy’s little body relaxed, her breathing slowing. Raylay kept singing, her voice barely above a whisper, but it filled the empty space around them.

"And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain… Don’t carry the world upon your shoulders…"

Raylay closed her eyes, exhaustion settling deep into her bones. For the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn’t completely alone.

Raylay held Judy close, rocking her gently as the baby’s tiny fingers curled into her shirt. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the warmth of her small body; it all felt so familiar. She tried to push the memories away, but they crept in like ghosts.

Avery had been this small once.

She remembered the sleepless nights, the way her tiny daughter would cry until Raylay held her close, the way she used to hum softly to calm her.

"Shh, shh, it’s okay, baby…" Raylay’s voice cracked as the words left her lips.

She pressed her forehead against Judy’s, her breath shaky.
She thought of Avery’s giggle, the way she’d reach for Raylay’s hair with chubby little hands, the way she’d nuzzle into her chest and sigh, safe and sound.

She thought of Avery’s blood.

The way it stained her hands. The way she had held her daughter’s broken body, whispering apologies that would never mean anything. A choked sob tore out of her throat, her grip tightening around Judy as she buried her face into the baby’s soft blanket.

"I’m so sorry."

She wasn’t sure if she was saying it to Avery or to Judy or to herself. Her body shook as she cried, silent and raw, in the middle of a ruined world with nothing left but a baby that wasn’t hers.

She might have just doomed them both.

Chapter Text

Raylay walked along the abandoned train tracks, her boots scuffing against the old wooden planks. The sky was an endless gray, the kind that made everything feel heavier, like the world was pressing down on her shoulders. Judy stirred in her arms, letting out a soft whimper.

Raylay pulled the baby closer, adjusting the blanket around her tiny body. The wind had picked up, chilling the air. She paused when she saw it.

The sign.

TERMINUS—Sanctuary for All.

Raylay stopped dead in her tracks.

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, she just stared. Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else. She could still hear the screams, the gunfire, the smell of blood thick in the air. She could see Gabriel's terrified face, the man dragging her away, Evelyn crying— Run, just run.

And she had been left behind.

Her fingers twitched, knuckles going white as she reached for the sign. With a sudden burst of rage, she tore it down, ripping it apart with shaking hands.

It wasn’t real. None of it was real.

Sanctuary for all.

That was a lie.

That was a goddamn joke.

Judy started crying. Raylay flinched, realizing her grip had tightened around her. She took a shaky breath, forcing her muscles to relax before gently rocking the baby in her arms.

"Shh, shh, I know, baby, I know…"

Judy’s cries softened into little hiccups as Raylay pressed a kiss against her forehead. She looked at the ruined sign at her feet.

Terminus was gone.

Everyone she loved was gone.

But Judy was here, and that meant she had to keep moving.

-

The days blurred together into weeks, then months.

The road stretched endlessly ahead of them, an unforgiving path of cracked asphalt and faded yellow lines. Towns came and went, most of them empty husks, stripped of anything useful long before Raylay and Judy ever got there.

Judy was growing.

Her baby fat had thinned out just a little, her legs stronger as she toddled around camp whenever Raylay let her. She babbled constantly, pointing at things with wide, curious eyes.
One evening, as they sat by a small fire, Raylay tore a piece of bread and handed it to her.

"Here, Jude." Judy took it, stuffing it into her mouth before looking up at Raylay with her big, sleepy eyes.

"Ray."

Raylay blinked. "What?"

Judy chewed, then swallowed. She reached up, little fingers grabbing at Raylay’s sleeve. "Ray."

Raylay’s breath caught in her throat. She had never told Judy her full name. She never saw a reason to. Names felt pointless now. She was just Ray.

"Yeah," Raylay murmured, stroking Judy’s wild curls. "That’s me."

Judy grinned, leaning against her side. "RayRay."

Raylay let out a breath, staring at the little girl pressed against her side.

"RayRay," Judy said again, grinning up at her, her tiny teeth showing.

Raylay hadn’t laughed in months, but something about the way Judy said it, so sure of herself, like she’d known it all along, made her let out a sharp chuckle. Then another. Until she was full-on laughing, real and deep, from somewhere she thought had died inside her. Judy giggled too, even though she probably didn’t know why.

Raylay cupped the back of Judy’s head, pressing a kiss to her tangled curls.

"You’re my beautiful girl, you know that?" she whispered, voice thick. Judy clapped her hands, rocking excitedly.

"Bootiful!"

Raylay laughed again, shaking her head. "Yeah, that’s right. Beautiful girl."

For just a moment, it was easy to forget the world had ended.

-

Raylay stood in the middle of the road, staring at the rusted green sign ahead.

WELCOME TO VIRGINIA.

She blinked,"No way," she muttered under her breath. She shifted Judy on her hip, adjusting the worn blanket wrapped around her tiny body. The baby was getting heavier by the day, her little fingers clinging to Raylay’s jacket, her head resting against her shoulder.

Virginia.

They had walked all the way to Virginia.

She had known they'd been traveling for months, but seeing the sign made it real in a way she hadn’t expected. She thought about all the towns they had passed, all the empty houses, the long nights huddled together for warmth. The hunger. The fear.

Winter was coming. The cold was already creeping into her bones, the trees around them bare, the wind cutting sharp against her face. She needed to find shelter before the real frost set in. She took a deep breath and adjusted Judy again.

"Alright, sweet girl," she murmured. "Let’s find somewhere to stay."

And with that, she stepped into Virginia, searching for a place to spend the night.

-

Raylay stood in the doorway of the house, breath heavy, heart pounding. The knife in her hand dripped with fresh blood; not human, but close enough. The kid was still pressed against the wall, his wide brown eyes staring at her in shock. His twin stood frozen a few feet away, holding a metal baseball bat.

The front door had been unlocked. Stupid. Careless.

Raylay had pushed inside, Judy clinging to her, and when the boy had come sprinting around the corner, she hadn’t hesitated. She moved like a cornered animal, knife swinging before she even registered that he wasn’t a threat.

Before she could get to him a walker did, coming from behind him, she killed it with ease. If she wasn't there the boy would have died.

Now, his mother, Aaliyah, was between them, hands raised. "You're real jumpy," Aaliyah said, voice careful. Raylay’s fingers clenched around the knife handle.

"Your kid ran at me," she muttered.

"He was checking the damn door," Malik, the father, snapped from the kitchen. His gaze flickered down to Judy, who was squirming in Raylay’s arms, her tiny hands grasping at Raylay’s jacket. His face softened just a little. "You got a baby."

Raylay didn't respond, her body tensing. Aaliyah sighed, rubbing a hand down her face before looking at her sons.

“Eli, Lou, go upstairs.”

"But Mom—"

“Upstairs.”

The twins hesitated before finally backing up, disappearing up the staircase. Malik stayed near the kitchen, watching Raylay like a hawk. Aaliyah exhaled and looked at Raylay.
“Look, I get it. You’re scared. You’re used to fighting first, asking questions later.” Her gaze flickered to Judy. “But you’re carrying a baby. That means something, right? You’re trying to keep her safe.”

Raylay was silent, her body still tense. Aaliyah crossed her arms. “It’s freezing out there. You can stay for the night.”

Raylay narrowed her eyes, it had been a while since she had seen or spoken to another person other then Judy, “Why?”

Aaliyah tilted her head. “Because of the baby.”

Judy let out a small, tired whimper against Raylay’s chest.
Raylay wanted to say no. She wanted to turn and leave, to find somewhere else, anywhere else. But it was too cold, and Judy was too small, too young.

Finally, she muttered, “Just one night.”

Aaliyah nodded. "Just one night."

-

Raylay sat stiffly on the couch, cradling Judy against her chest. The baby had finally fallen asleep, tiny fingers curled into Raylay’s shirt. Even in sleep, Judy’s grip was tight, as if she could sense Raylay’s fear.

Aaliyah sat down beside her, slow and deliberate, like she was trying not to spook a wild animal. Raylay tensed but didn’t move.

“You should get some sleep,” Aaliyah said after a moment. “You look like you haven’t closed your eyes in days.”

Raylay didn’t respond. She just ran a hand over Judy’s back, feeling the slow, steady rhythm of her breathing.

Aaliyah hesitated, then held out her arms. “I can hold her for a bit, if you want. Just so you can rest."

Raylay’s grip on Judy tightened immediately. “No.”

Aaliyah didn’t look offended, just nodded like she expected that answer. “Alright.” She leaned back against the couch.

“You don’t trust me.”

“No, I don’t.”

Aaliyah hummed, looking toward the fireplace. “Probably smart.”

Raylay glanced at her, surprised. Most people would have tried to convince her otherwise, tried to say something like you don’t have to be scared or we’re good people. But Aaliyah didn’t. That soothed something in her.

Instead, Aaliyah just sat there, silent. Not pushing, not prying. Just letting Raylay breathe. Raylay was glad she didn’t feel the immediate urge to run.

Raylay's eyes flickered to the walls of the living room. Among the faded wallpaper and the dust-covered frames, she noticed photos of a boy; older than the twins, maybe sixteen or seventeen. He had the same dark eyes as Aaliyah, the same sharp jawline as Malik. In one picture, he had his arm slung around one of the younger boys, laughing.

Raylay nodded toward the photos. “Who’s the older kid?”

Aaliyah stiffened. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and for a long time, she didn’t answer. When she finally did, her voice was hoarse. “That’s Noah. My oldest.”

Raylay frowned, sensing the shift in the air. “Where is he?”

It was dumb because Raylay already knew.

Aaliyah let out a shaky breath, wiping at her eyes as she tried to keep herself together. “Gone,” she whispered. “Malik went out on a run with Noah. They—” Her breath hitched. “They got ambushed. Some people took Noah. Malik barely made it back alive.”

Raylay’s stomach twisted. Kidnapped? It was confusingin this world, people died, they didn't get Kidnapped, but hey, what did she know? She recognized the grief in Aaliyah’s voice, the kind that came from losing someone you loved and knowing you might never get them back.

Aaliyah sniffed, wiping at her face again, clearly trying to compose herself. “I—I don’t know if he’s alive. I don’t know if he’s dead. I just—” She shook her head. “I should’ve never let him go.”

Raylay hesitated, then shifted slightly closer. “It’s not your fault,” she murmured. “You did what any mother would. You trusted the world wouldn’t take him from you.”

Aaliyah let out a choked laugh, watery and bitter. “And it did.” Raylay swallowed, tightening her grip on Judy. She didn’t know how to say 'I know how that feels' without breaking apart herself.

Instead, she just sat there, letting Aaliyah cry. Letting her grieve. Raylay knew better than anyone; sometimes, that was the only thing you could do.

-

Raylay tightened the straps on her pack as the first light of dawn crept through the windows. Judy was snuggled against her chest in a makeshift sling, still sleeping. The house was quiet, but she wasn’t surprised when she spotted Aaliyah and Malik in the kitchen, waiting for her.

Aaliyah held out a small bag. “Food, some baby stuff, and clothes for Judy,” she said softly. “They were Eli and Lou’s when they were little.”

Raylay hesitated before taking it. “You sure?”

Aaliyah nodded, “She needs them more than we do.”

Malik didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms and watched Raylay carefully. He still didn’t trust her, she could tell, but he wasn’t stopping Aaliyah from helping.

Aaliyah reached behind her and pulled out a small stuffed giraffe. It was worn, the fabric faded from years of love. “This was Noah’s,” she said. “He loved it when he was a baby. Maybe Judy will, too.”

Raylay stared at the toy before taking it, running her fingers over the soft fabric. It felt like too much, like she shouldn’t be accepting something so personal. But Aaliyah had already made up her mind.

“…Thank you,” Raylay said. Aaliyah just smiled, tired and sad. Raylay adjusted her pack, then glanced at Malik. “You should train Eli and Lou more. Teach them how to fight, how to protect themselves.”

Malik’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t respond. Aaliyah’s expression flickered, as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Raylay didn’t push it. She just nodded once, adjusting Judy in her sling.

And then she turned and walked out the door before either of them could say goodbye.

-

The woods were familiar, it seemed when Raylay never knew where to go it was where she found herself.

Raylay sat cross-legged in the cool grass, the sound of her knife scraping against the whetstone steady and familiar. Judy sat a few feet away, completely engrossed in her new stuffed giraffe.

"Blellow," Judy babbled, clutching the toy to her chest. She wobbled as she tried to stand, her little fingers gripping the giraffe’s head for balance. Raylay raised an eyebrow. "Blellow?"

Judy grinned and held up the plush. "Blellow!"

Raylay huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she turned the knife over, sharpening the other side. "You mean yellow?"

Judy ignored her, too busy pressing the giraffe's soft nose to her own. Raylay watched her for a moment, the warmth in her chest unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

"Alright, Blellow it is," she muttered.

Judy plopped down onto the grass and started babbling nonsense to her stuffed friend, occasionally glancing at Raylay with wide, curious eyes. Raylay just kept sharpening her knife, stealing glances at the little girl who somehow made the world feel a little less dark.

The rustling in the bushes made Raylay tense instantly.

She dropped her whetstone, flipping the knife in her hand, and sprang up in front of Judy. The baby let out a startled noise, clutching Blellow tightly as Raylay positioned herself between her and whatever was coming.

A low growl.

Raylay’s grip on the knife tightened as a dog emerged from the brush; lean, fur matted with dirt, and eyes locked onto her. It bared its teeth slightly, but then—

Raylay froze.

The dog stopped growling. Its ears perked up, its tail gave a small uncertain wag.

"Lula?" Raylay whispered.

The Doberman’s body went stiff at the sound of her voice. Then, as if something in her snapped into place, Lula let out a sharp bark and lunged—

Raylay barely had time to react before she was tackled to the ground, a warm, familiar weight pressing against her. She gasped as Lula's rough tongue swiped across her cheek, her tail whipping back and forth like mad.

"Lula!" Raylay exhaled, almost laughing, almost crying. She pushed at the dog weakly, but Lula only shoved her head harder into Raylay’s chest, whining desperately. Judy, still sitting on the grass, clapped her hands together. "Buppy!"

Raylay sat up, running her hands through Lula’s fur, feeling the bones beneath. "You're so damn skinny… what happened to you, girl?"

Lula just whined again, pressing her face into Raylay’s shoulder, as if afraid she'd disappear if she let go. Raylay’s throat tightened. "You found me," she murmured. She hadn't let herself hope, hadn't even let herself think that maybe, just maybe, someone she lost might still be out there.

But Lula was here.

Did that mean Sophia was close?

Or that Sophia was dead?

-

The town was quiet, eerily so. Raylay had been through enough abandoned places to know that silence never meant safety. She kept a firm grip on Judy’s tiny hand as the girl wobbled along beside her, taking careful, clumsy steps.

"Good girl," Raylay murmured, her eyes scanning the broken windows and sun-bleached signs. Lula padded behind them, her body tense, ears flicking at every stray noise.

Judy giggled, pointing at something; a faded, overturned shopping cart. "Rayray! Wheee!"

Raylay huffed softly, shaking her head. "Yeah, real fun."

They neared a pharmacy, its glass doors shattered, the inside ransacked. Raylay hesitated before stepping in, eyes sweeping the dusty shelves. Maybe there was still something left.

She didn’t get the chance to look.

A noise; barely more than the shift of a shoe against the floor, made her spin. Instinct took over. She let go of Judy, surged forward, and before the man could react, she had him pinned against the counter, knife pressed flush against his throat.

Lula’s growl was low and threatening as she stood between Judy and the stranger, body stiff, teeth bared. Judy, unfazed, just blinked up at him, clutching Blellow close.

The man held his hands up, eyes wide but weirdly calm. He had long, unkempt hair, a beard, and a sharp, assessing gaze.

"Whoa," he said. "Didn’t mean to startle you."

Raylay narrowed her eyes, "Who the hell are you?"

The man swallowed against the knife but didn’t flinch. "Most people call me Jesus."

Raylay pressed the knife more to his throat, "You got five seconds to tell me why you're sneaking around before I slit your fucking throat."

Jesus sighed, glancing down at the blade.

"I really wish people would stop threatening to kill me the second we meet."

Chapter Text

Jesus kept his hands up, his expression neutral despite the knife at his throat. "Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. But I’m telling you—there’s a place, a real community. It’s safe. It’s got walls, food, medicine." His eyes flicked toward Judy, then back to Raylay. "It’d be good for the baby."

Raylay’s grip on the knife tightened. "I’ve heard that before," she muttered, pushing off him and stepping back.

Jesus lowered his arms but didn’t move any closer. "I’m not lying. Hilltop’s real. Good people, strong defenses. You and the kid wouldn’t have to keep running."

Raylay sighed, "Every place says they’re ‘good people’—until they aren’t."

Jesus studied her for a moment. "You’ve been through a lot." Raylay just stared at him. He had no idea.

She sheathed her knife, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. "I’m done with communities," she said flatly.

"Every single one falls apart or turns to shit. I’m not putting her"—she nodded toward Judy, who was now gnawing on Blellow’s ear—"through that."

Jesus sighed, rubbing his jaw. "I get it. But just think about it. You can’t keep surviving out here forever. Especially not with a baby."

Raylay knew he was right, but that didn’t mean she was going to listen. She reached down, picking up Judy, who babbled nonsense as she leaned against Raylay’s chest.

"We’re leaving."

Jesus didn’t try to stop her.

He just watched as she turned and walked away, Lula trotting at her side.

"Be careful out there," he called after her.

She just kept walking.

-

Raylay had been on the road long enough to know when she was being followed.

Jesus thought he was being subtle, but she could hear the faint rustle of branches behind her, the soft crunch of footsteps that weren’t hers or Lula’s. She shifted Judy on her hip, adjusting her grip on her knife with her free hand. She’d been ignoring him for the past half hour, hoping he’d get bored and leave.

He didn’t.

Finally, she had enough. Raylay spun around, drawing her knife in a single fluid motion. "Come out." Her voice was low, steady, but laced with warning.

The trees were still for a moment, then a shadow shifted behind an old oak. Jesus stepped out, his hands raised, that same damn unreadable expression on his face.

"Not bad," he admitted. "Most people don’t notice me."

Raylay narrowed her eyes, "I’m not most people."

Judy cooed in her arms, playing with a loose thread on Raylay’s jacket, completely unaware of the tension in the air.

Jesus nodded toward the baby. "I figured that much."

Raylay didn’t lower the knife, "Why the fuck are you following me?"

Jesus sighed, shifting his weight. "Look, I get it. You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you. But I meant what I said back at the pharmacy. Hilltop is a good place. And like it or not, you and the kid need somewhere safe."

"I don’t need shit from you," Raylay snapped. "And I sure as hell don’t need another community pretending they’re safe until it all goes to hell."

Jesus frowned, "Hilltop’s different."

"That’s what you think," she muttered, taking a step closer, her knife still raised. "I don’t know you. And I don’t trust people who follow me through the woods."

Lula let out a low growl beside her, hackles raised, her stance protective. Judy, oblivious, reached out toward Jesus with a curious little noise. Jesus gave a small, disarming smile.

"She seems to like me."

Raylay clenched her jaw.

"She doesn’t know better."

Jesus exhaled, lowering his hands slightly but keeping them where she could see. "Look, I don’t want to fight. You’ve got a baby and a dog. I’m not about to start something over this. But I’m telling you—if you keep running, you’re going to run out of road."

Raylay tilted her head. "I always find another road."

Jesus studied her for a long moment, "You’re scared."

Raylay’s grip on the knife tightened, she narrowed her eyes, she really needed to find a gun. "You don’t know a single thing about me, I could kill you right now, I should."

Jesus didn’t flinch. "I know people. And I know that whatever happened to you before, whatever made you this way; it’s still eating at you."

Something inside her twisted at his words.

She lunged forward, closing the space between them, pressing the blade right under his chin. Jesus stiffened, but he didn’t fight back.

"You don’t know me," she repeated, her voice a quiet fury.
"And if you follow me again, I will kill you."

Jesus held her gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Then do it."

Raylay’s grip faltered for just a second. He wasn’t afraid. Not like the others. It's not like she hadn't killed a man before, what made him any different?

Lula barked beside them, snapping the tension. Judy let out a small whimper at the sudden noise, burying her face in Raylay’s shoulder. Raylay let out a slow breath and stepped back, lowering the knife but keeping it ready.

Jesus didn’t move. He just studied her for a long moment before nodding, "Alright. I’ll back off."

Raylay didn’t trust that for a second.

Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Jesus standing there in the woods. She kept her ears sharp, listening for any sign of him following.

For a long while, there was nothing but silence.

-

The fire had burned down to embers, casting a dim glow over the small clearing where Raylay had set up camp. Lula was curled at her feet, her warm body a comfort against the cold earth. Judy lay nestled in Raylay’s jacket, her tiny face relaxed in sleep, her fingers loosely curled around Blellow, the worn plush giraffe.

Raylay was exhausted.

She had been running on fumes for days, pushing herself to keep moving, to keep finding food, to keep Judy warm. Every night was a battle between sleep and survival, and tonight, for the first time in a long time, sleep won.

It wasn’t deep sleep, nothing ever was, but it was enough.

Enough for her body to relax, enough for her grip on her knife to loosen.

Enough for her to make a mistake.

She woke to the sound of Lula’s growl; low, dangerous, vibrating against the ground.

Then Judy cried.

Raylay’s eyes snapped open, instincts roaring to life as she reached for her knife. The moment she turned, she saw it.

A walker. Crawling.

Its body was mangled, its legs useless, dragging itself across the dirt with rotting fingers, its milky eyes locked onto Judy. Raylay’s heart stopped.

It was so close.

If she had woken up a second later—

She didn’t let herself finish the thought. She moved without hesitation, lunging forward, shoving the walker back with one hand while driving her knife into its skull with the other. The blade sank deep, the walker’s body going limp beneath her.
She panted, staring down at the corpse, her fingers trembling around the hilt of her knife.

Judy wailed, her tiny arms flailing, her face scrunched up in fear. Lula barked, still on edge, her stance rigid as she glared at the dead walker.

Raylay dropped her knife, her hands going straight to Judy, pulling the baby into her arms. She ran her fingers through Judy’s curls, whispering, “Shh, shh, it’s okay. I got you. You’re safe.”

But she wasn’t.

She wasn’t safe.

None of this was safe.

Raylay squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her forehead against Judy’s.

She had been so careful. She had done everything right, and still, it hadn’t been enough.

If Lula hadn’t growled, if she had slept just a second longer…

She felt sick.

She had been so damn focused on surviving that she hadn’t stopped to think, really think, about what it meant for Judy.
She wasn’t just keeping herself alive anymore. Judy wasn’t a hardened survivor. She wasn’t like Raylay.

She was a baby.

And she was depending on Raylay for everything, now. Raylay sat there for a long time, rocking Judy, trying to calm her, but really trying to calm herself. She stared at the walker’s body. She thought about what would have happened if she had failed.

She thought about Avery.

She thought about what she would have done if Avery had been in Judy’s place.

And she knew, she couldn’t do this anymore.

Judy couldn’t live like this.

She couldn’t keep taking the risk that one day, she would be too late.

She needed help.

She needed a home.

She needed a community.

Even if Raylay hated the idea.

Even if it meant trusting people again.

Raylay closed her eyes, exhaling shakily.

Tomorrow, she would go find Jesus.

Because he was right, she couldn’t do this alone.

Because of what was right for Judy.

-

The walk back to the pharmacy was long, her body aching with exhaustion, but Raylay never stopped. Judy rested against her chest, snug in the wrap she’d tied around her to keep her close. Lula padded beside them, ears perked, always on alert. The night’s events still clawed at Raylay’s mind, the image of that walker crawling toward Judy replaying in her head over and over again.

It had been too close.

Too fucking close.

She had almost lost her.

The thought made her stomach churn, made her grip on Judy tighten as she walked.

She hated this.

She hated needing someone.

Relying on somebody else.

Hated that she was walking toward a man she barely knew, that she was forcing herself to take a risk after all the hell she had been through. But what choice did she have?

Judy couldn’t live in the woods.

She deserved more.

So much more.

Raylay spotted the pharmacy in the distance, the glass windows cracked but still mostly intact, the entrance propped open just enough to make an easy escape if needed. She slowed her pace, heart thudding.
Jesus had been persistent.

She had threatened him, told him to leave her alone, and yet—
He was here.

Raylay stepped cautiously toward the entrance, knife in hand, pressing her back against the wall before peering inside. And there he was.

Still here.

Still waiting.

He sat on the counter, legs crossed, flipping through a book with a casual ease, as if he weren’t sitting in the middle of an abandoned pharmacy during the end of the world. His expression was relaxed, though his sharp eyes flicked up the moment he sensed her presence.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well,” he said, closing the book with a soft thud. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

Raylay tightened her grip on the knife, “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”

Jesus shrugged, “Figured you might change your mind.” He hopped off the counter, hands raised in a show of peace.

“And look at that, I was right.”

Raylay scowled, “Don’t push it.”

He grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Lula let out a low growl, still not trusting the man, but Judy—Judy, who had spent months only ever seeing Raylay and the occasional threat—stared at Jesus with wide, curious eyes. Her small hand reached outward, grabbing at the air.

"It's Raylay,"

Jesus paused, "Raylay?"

"My name."

Jesus tilted his head, amused. “And who’s this?”

Raylay hesitated, then, reluctantly, said, “Judy.”

“Judy.” He tested the name on his tongue before nodding. “Cute kid.” He glanced down at Lula. “Mean dog, though.”

Raylay hummed, “She doesn’t like men.”

“Fair.” Jesus took a careful step forward, keeping his movements slow, measured. “I meant what I said before. You don’t have to do this alone. My people; they’re good people. The Hilltop is safe. And if nothing else…” His eyes flickered to Judy.

“She deserves a real home, doesn’t she?”

Raylay hated that he was right.

Hated that it stung to hear someone else say it.

But she nodded.

Just once.

And Jesus; he didn’t gloat, didn’t smirk, didn’t make some sarcastic remark.

He just smiled.

“Alright,” he said gently. “Let’s get you two home.”