Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The walls were breathing again.

Eden squeezed her eyes shut. Not real. Not real. Not real. She pressed her hands to her ears, but it didn’t help. The voices were still there, whispering over each other, a constant tide of noise she could never escape.

"They’re coming."
"It’s happening."
"You deserve this."

“No,” she whispered, curling tighter on her cot. “Shut up. Just shut the fuck up.”

Then came the scream.

Eden flinched. The hospital was never quiet, but this was different. It wasn’t the usual sobs or the angry shouts of the patients down the hall. It was… panic.

Another scream. Something heavy crashed against the floor.

A new voice hissed in her ear, low and urgent. "Get up."

The door rattled.

Eden’s breath hitched. Someone was pounding against it, hard enough to shake the frame. She scooted back against the wall, hands clenched in her lap, fingers digging into her own skin.

It’s happening again.

Her stomach turned. The last time she heard pounding like that, it was her father, trying to break down her bedroom door. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push the memory away, but the past and present blurred, bleeding into each other.

"Not him, not him, not him—"

The lock snapped.

The door swung open, and a man stumbled inside. His gown was soaked in something dark, his hands trembling. His eyes—God, his eyes—were pale, empty. His lips were peeled back over his teeth, his jaw working like he was chewing on nothing.

Eden pressed herself harder against the wall, her entire body rigid. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"

"Run," one of the voices whispered.

She couldn’t.

Her body wouldn’t move.

The man lunged.

At the last second, instinct kicked in. She grabbed the lamp from her nightstand and swung. The base cracked against his temple, but he didn’t stop. He just turned his head, his neck bending too far, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Not real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

His fingers brushed her arm. Eden screamed. She didn’t think. She just acted. She swung again—once, twice, three times—until his body crumpled to the floor. His skull was cracked open, dark blood pooling beneath him, and he still twitched.

Eden dropped the lamp, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Her hands were shaking so hard she thought she might come apart.

She stared down at the body, at the blood soaking into the tile.

Then, outside, more footsteps.

Eden inhaled sharply. The silence in her head was already cracking, the whispers slithering back in. They were going to lock her in solitary again, she had done a bad thing.

"More of them."
"You have to move."
"You don’t want to die here."

Tears burned her eyes.

The voices wouldn’t stop.

They never stopped.

"It’s real."
"No, it’s not."
"You’re dead."
"They’re dead."
"You deserve this."

Eden sat on the floor, her back pressed against the corner of her room, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her fingernails dragged across the skin of her arms, over and over, deep enough to sting, deep enough to feel something.

The pain kept her anchored. It reminded her that she was here, that she was real. That the world wasn’t just a cruel hallucination playing tricks on her.

The pounding had stopped.

Her door hung open now, a jagged dent in the metal from where something, someone, had slammed into it. The fluorescent light flickered, casting the hallway in erratic flashes of white.

Blood. There was so much blood.

Eden’s breath hitched, her nails raking deeper into her forearm, splitting the skin. Not real. It’s not real. The floor was streaked in red, smeared footprints and shaking handprints.

Someone had crawled.

Someone had begged.

She pressed her forehead to her knees, her fingers trembling.

Wet. Shuffling.

Eden slowly lifted her head.

There was someone at the end of the hall. A patient—barefoot, hair matted with blood. Their head tilted to the side, the bones in their neck wrong, too loose. Their jaw hung open, blood smeared across their chin.

The voices in her head hissed.

"Look at them."
"That’s not a person anymore."
"You know what this is."

Eden's fingers curled into fists, nails digging into the open wounds on her arms. The patient took a step toward her. Another.

More movement. More figures stepping into the flickering light, their gowns torn, their bodies wrong. Their eyes—always the eyes—were pale and lifeless, but their hunger was real.

Eden’s chest tightened. No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening. This was a psychotic break. A full-blown hallucination. It had to be. it happened before, just never this bad.

She stumbled to her feet, her bare toes pressing into the cold tile. Her hospital gown was thin, sticking to her skin where sweat and blood had soaked through. She looked down at herself, at the crimson streaks along her arms, at the way her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Maybe she wasn’t real.

Maybe none of this was.

But then—then one of the bodies ran.

A nurse. Or what used to be a nurse. Her ID badge still dangled from her scrubs, but her stomach was gone, a hollow cavity of glistening organs and gnawed bone.

She ran straight at Eden.

Eden didn’t think. She turned and ran.

The hospital was wrong.

The halls stretched too long, the lights stuttered in and out, everything felt tilted. There were bodies everywhere. Some slumped against walls, their throats torn out. Some were moving, dragging themselves forward with shredded fingers.

Eden kept running. Past the nurses’ station, past the common room, past the wreckage of chairs and overturned gurneys. Her feet slapped against the floor, the tile slick with things she didn’t want to think about.

"Keep going," the voices urged.

She hit the doors at full speed, shoving through them, stumbling out into the open air.

The world outside was quiet.

The streetlights buzzed. The wind whispered through the trees. And the dead were walking.

Not just in the hospital.

Everywhere.

Figures lurched through the parking lot, silhouettes staggering between abandoned cars. Some dragged broken legs behind them. Some knelt over still bodies, their jaws working, their hands slick with red.

Eden’s breath came in ragged gasps, her pulse hammering against her ribs.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She backed up, shaking her head. "No," she whispered, her hands gripping her arms, pressing against the torn skin. "No."

A man on the ground twitched. His fingers flexed against the pavement. Slowly, his head lifted. His mouth opened, a wet, ragged moan escaping his throat.

Eden stepped back. Then again.

Then she turned and ran.

Barefoot, bleeding, her hospital gown fluttering behind her.

Everything was wrong, or maybe it was just her.

-

She didn’t remember how long she’d been running.

The city swallowed her whole, towering buildings stretching high into the sky, their windows shattered, their streets littered with abandoned cars and bodies that didn’t know they were supposed to stay dead.

Eden’s bare feet ached. Her skin burned, her arms sticky with drying blood, her own, she thought, but she couldn’t be sure. The hospital gown clung to her, torn and stained, the thin fabric useless against the cold air.

She hugged herself and kept walking.

"Where are we going?"
"Nowhere."
"Everywhere."
"You should’ve died back there."

Eden’s fingers dug into the torn fabric of her gown. Shut up, shut up, shut up—

A rustling sound. She froze.

Something moved near an overturned trash bin, hidden in the shadow of a half-collapsed awning. Eden tensed, fingers twitching toward a broken pipe sticking out of a nearby car.

Then—a sneeze.

A tiny, high-pitched sneeze. Eden blinked. Slowly, she stepped forward, peering into the debris.

A cat.

A small, scruffy, orange tabby sat beside the trash bin, one paw raised like he’d been about to move but forgot how. She hadn’t seen a cat in a while. His fur was patchy, his ribs slightly visible beneath the fluff. His nose twitched, and he sneezed again.

Eden crouched, watching him. He watched her back.

She tilted her head. “Mr. Sneezy.”

The cat blinked.

“That’s your name now,” she murmured. “Mr. Sneezy.”

The voices in her head whispered—useless, stupid, why are you wasting time—but for once, she ignored them. Slowly, she reached out a hand.

Mr. Sneezy stared at it. Then, after a long moment, he stepped forward, rubbing his head against her fingers.

Eden exhaled, her chest tight. She scooped him up, feeling his bony little body shiver against hers.

"Guess it's just us now."

He sneezed again, tucking his face against her collarbone.

She carried him as she walked, weaving through the wreckage of the city. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t care. The streets stretched ahead, cracked pavement and shattered glass glinting in the dying light.
Then she saw it.

A clothing store. The windows were broken, the mannequins inside slumped over like corpses.

Eden slipped inside, setting Mr. Sneezy down gently. He sniffed at the floor, tail twitching. The store smelled like dust and perfume, like something that had been abandoned for just a little too long. Eden ignored the racks of dresses and skirts, heading straight for the back, where the sturdier clothes were.

Her fingers brushed over the fabric, over colors and textures that didn’t belong to her, didn’t feel real. Finally, she settled on a navy blue sweatshirt, soft, just a little big. Jeans. A belt. And then, by the door, a pair of brown cowboy boots.

They fit almost perfectly.

Eden caught her reflection in the cracked mirror near the counter. She barely recognized herself. The blood was still on her skin, dark against the paleness of her arms. Her eyes were wide, shadowed.

Mr. Sneezy sneezed again.

She looked down at him, then at herself.

She didn’t look like a patient anymore.

She didn’t look like a victim.

Eden adjusted the sweatshirt, rolling her shoulders, feeling the weight of it settle around her like armor.

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe this was all some delusion, some psychotic break she’d never wake up from.

But she wasn’t going back, not now, not ever.

She scooped up Mr. Sneezy and stepped out into the ruined city. Whatever came next, she’d face it.

-

"You ever think maybe you’re the hallucination?"

Eden muttered to herself as she climbed the stairs, her boots scuffing against the dust-covered steps. Mr. Sneezy was perched on her shoulder, his tiny claws digging into the fabric of her sweatshirt.

"Maybe I died back at the hospital," she continued, her voice bouncing off the peeling walls. "Maybe I’m a ghost. A ghost with a cat. Ghost Cat Eden. Sounds like a shitty comic book."

Mr. Sneezy sneezed in response.

Eden paused, one hand gripping the rusted railing. The office building smelled like mildew and old paper, the air stale from disuse. The windows lining the stairwell were cracked, some shattered completely, letting in the cold wind and the distant moans of the dead down below.

"You hear that?" she whispered. "The world’s ending, Mr. Sneezy." She swallowed, her throat dry.

"Or maybe it ended a long time ago and no one told me."

The cat sneezed again.

"Real helpful."

She kept climbing, boots heavy against the steps. She didn’t know why she was going up. Maybe she wanted a better view. Maybe she just wanted to get away from the ground, from the things shuffling through the streets. Or maybe the voices in her head were leading her somewhere.

"Go higher."
"There's something waiting."
"Or someone."

Eden reached the top floor and pushed open a door, stepping into a wide, open office space. The cubicles were overturned, papers scattered across the floor like someone had left in a hurry. The smell of old coffee lingered beneath the metallic tang of something else.

Blood.

Eden stopped. Mr. Sneezy let out a tiny mrrp of displeasure, his tail twitching.

A body lay slumped against the far wall.

A man.

He was big—bigger than her, with broad shoulders and a scruffy, dirt-streaked face. A trucker cap lay beside him, its brim stained dark with sweat and blood. His plaid shirt was soaked through, his jeans torn, his boots scuffed.

His left arm, or just half of it, was gone.

The stump ended just above the elbow, wrapped hastily in a blood-soaked bandage. Eden took a slow step forward.

He wasn’t moving. He looked dead.

But he’s still breathing.

She saw it now—his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven movements. His lips were cracked, his face slack, his skin deathly pale. He was burning up, his forehead glistening with sweat.

Eden crouched in front of him, staring. "You're a mess," she murmured. "Big, dumb redneck, bleeding out in an office building. What were you even doing here?"

He didn’t answer, obviously. Eden pressed her lips together.

She should leave.

This wasn’t her problem. He was probably dying anyway. She had barely managed to keep herself alive, and now she was supposed to save some half-dead stranger?

"He’ll slow you down."
"He’s already dead."
"You can’t save anyone."

Eden shut her eyes for a second, inhaling sharply. "Shut up." Then she moved.

She pulled her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands and pressed them against his wound, trying to slow the bleeding.

"This is stupid," she muttered. "So fucking stupid."

Mr. Sneezy hopped off her shoulder and sat beside them, licking a paw like none of this concerned him. Eden glanced around, her heart hammering. She needed supplies. Clean bandages. Water. Something to keep this dumbass from bleeding out completely.

She looked down at him again. His breath rattled in his chest, his eyelashes twitching slightly.

She stood and started searching the office.

-

"Don’t die while I’m gone," Eden muttered, standing in the doorway of the office.

The redneck didn’t answer. Obviously. He was still slumped against the wall, unconscious, feverish, his stump of an arm wrapped in a fresh bandage from the pathetic first-aid kit she had found in one of the desks. It wasn’t enough. He needed antibiotics, real bandages, maybe some painkillers if he ever woke up.

Mr. Sneezy sat beside him, licking his paw.

"You either," she told the cat. "No dying, no running away, no deciding you like his company better than mine."

Mr. Sneezy sneezed.

Eden rolled her shoulders, gripping the rusted pipe she had found earlier as a makeshift weapon. She took one last look at the half-dead redneck and her tiny, sneezy companion, then slipped out the door.

The city was quieter now. Or maybe Eden had just gotten used to the noise.

The dead shuffled aimlessly between the abandoned cars, groaning, dragging themselves forward with stiff limbs and broken jaws. The smell of rot clung to the air. Eden moved carefully, keeping low, slipping between alleyways and broken storefronts.

"Left."
"No, right."
"Stop. Wait. One’s close."

She gritted her teeth, ignoring the whispers in her head. They weren’t always wrong, but she hated listening to them.

The pharmacy was a mess.

The front windows were shattered, glass crunching under her boots as she stepped inside. Shelves were overturned, pill bottles scattered everywhere. Someone had looted it already, but they hadn’t been thorough.

Eden moved fast, sweeping her arm across the shelves, shoving whatever she could into her bag. Bandages, alcohol wipes, antibiotics, a few crumpled packs of painkillers.

A half-empty bottle of antipsychotics, wedged between a fallen shelf and the wall.

Her fingers twitched.

She hesitated.

She hadn't taken her meds in days. Maybe weeks. She had lost track.

"You don’t need them."
"They make you weak."
"Take them. Before it gets worse."

Eden clenched her jaw and grabbed the bottle, shoving it into her pocket. Then she heard it.

A wet, gurgling snarl.

She spun, barely lifting her pipe in time as a walker lunged at her from behind the counter. Its teeth snapped inches from her face, its rotting fingers clawing at her sweatshirt. The stench hit her like a wall, thick and putrid.

Eden drove the pipe into its skull.

It didn’t go in all the way.

The walker twitched, gurgled, fingers still reaching— She shoved harder, her hands slipping, her breath coming fast and sharp. The pipe finally cracked through the skull, and the walker went limp, sliding to the floor.

Eden staggered back, panting.

Then she heard more.

Footsteps. Shuffling. Groaning.

She looked up.

Three more walkers were pushing through the broken doorway, their cloudy eyes locking onto her, jaws snapping hungrily.

Eden tightened her grip on the pipe, her pulse hammering. She ran. She darted past the shelves, knocking over a display rack, sending old pill bottles spilling across the floor. The walkers followed, slow but relentless, their moans growing louder.

Eden reached the back door and slammed her shoulder against it. It didn’t budge.

"Fucking—MOVE!"

She threw her full weight into it, and the door finally gave, sending her stumbling out into the alley. The cold air hit her lungs like a slap.

She didn’t stop running until she was halfway back to the office.

Finally, she skidded to a stop behind an overturned truck, gasping for breath, her hands shaking. Blood, hers or the walker’s, she didn’t know, dripped from her fingers.

She reached into her pocket, pulled out the bottle of antipsychotics, and dry-swallowed a pill.

Then she got up and kept moving. The redneck was waiting. Mr. Sneezy, too.

-

Eden stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

Mr. Sneezy was still on the desk, tail curled around his body. That was good. The cat stayed. The man stayed too. He was awake now. Staring at her. Breathing heavy.

Eden blinked.

"Eden went to find things. Eden came back."

The redneck’s eyes flicked to her bag, then back to her. His face was pale, jaw clenched. His arm, or what was left of it, was held close to his chest.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" His voice was rough. Accusing.

Eden just stared. Her fingers twitched.

"You were broken," she said slowly. "Bleeding. Eden fixed it."

The redneck’s breathing hitched. His good hand clenched into a fist. "You touched me?"

Eden tilted her head. The room was too loud. His voice was too loud. The whispers pressed against her skull, curling around her ears.

"Ungrateful."
"Kill him."
"No. No, no, no."

Eden twitched again. She opened her bag and pulled out a bottle of antibiotics, shaking it once. "Eden found medicine," she murmured. "You should take it. Or you’ll rot. While still breathing."

The redneck just glared.

Eden crouched in front of him, moving slow, real slow. If she moved too fast, things got worse.

"Arm is sick," she whispered. "Eden can fix. But it will burn."
.

The redneck didn’t move at first. Just kept staring, muscles tight, like a wound-up spring ready to snap. Then, finally, his shoulders sagged. Not in relief. Just… exhaustion.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just—just get it over with."

Eden nodded once. Popped the cap off the alcohol. Then she poured it over the wound. The redneck’s whole body jerked, a strangled yell tearing from his throat. He bit down on another curse, breathing hard through clenched teeth.

Eden didn’t react. She just kept working, wrapping the bandage around his arm, slow and steady.

Mr. Sneezy sneezed from the desk.

"Eden thinks you’ll live."

The redneck’s breathing was rough, labored. His whole body was shaking, like he was barely holding himself together. Then his gaze flicked up to her face. He squinted, eyes glassy, feverish.

"Why… are your eyes so goddamn big?" he muttered. His words slurred together, like his tongue was too heavy in his mouth.

Eden blinked.

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared, unblinking, hands still hovering near his bandaged arm.

"Too much seeing," she murmured finally. "Too much hearing. Eden’s head is full. It doesn’t stop."

The redneck grunted, shifting against the wall. His eyelids drooped, like he was fighting to stay awake.

"Feels like a fuckin’ fever dream," he muttered. "This. You."

Eden tilted her head, slow, too slow.

"Eden left. Eden came back. You didn’t die."

Her fingers twitched.

"Maybe you should have."

-

The redneck groaned, shifting slightly. His head lolled to the side, sweat clinging to his forehead. His fever was high. Too high. His bleary eyes darted around the room, unfocused, before settling on the desk.

Mr. Sneezy was sitting there. Watching him.

The redneck blinked slowly. Then squinted.

"That a cat?" His voice was hoarse, thick with exhaustion. Eden didn’t look. She already knew.

"Yes."

The redneck let out a rough laugh, barely more than a breath. His eyelids fluttered. He looked at the cat again. Mr. Sneezy licked his paw, then sneezed. The redneck flinched.

"Shit," he muttered. "I’m dreamin’."

Eden twitched. Her fingers flexed against her knee. "No," she whispered. "You’re awake."

The redneck shook his head, sluggish and slow. His gaze flicked back to her. "Not real," he mumbled. "You. The cat. All of it."

Eden stared. Mr. Sneezy sneezed again.

The redneck flinched harder. His good hand curled into a fist. "Fuck," he groaned. "Why does it keep lookin’ at me?"

Eden tilted her head, wide eyes unblinking.

"Maybe it thinks you’re not real," she murmured.

Chapter Text

Eden dragged him. It wasn’t easy. He was heavy, dead weight in her arms, fever making him weak. He muttered curses under his breath, slurring together, but he didn’t fight. Maybe he couldn’t.

She needed to leave. The city was too loud. The voices pressed against her skull, whispering, screaming, writhing. The buildings groaned, the dead moaned, and the sirens—sirens that shouldn’t be ringing anymore—echoed in her head.

Eden found a car.

She dumped the redneck into the passenger seat. He slumped against the door, blinking slow, pupils blown.
Eden climbed in. Hands on the wheel. Fingers twitching.
She turned the key. The car sputtered, then roared to life.

The redneck groaned, head lolling toward her. "Oh, hell," he muttered.

Eden pressed her foot down. The car lurched forward.
The street blurred past. Too many shapes, too many shadows, the dead moving in slow, stumbling clusters. She swerved. The tires screeched.

The redneck let out a weak grunt as he was thrown against the door.

Eden blinked. The road split. Flickered. She saw things that weren’t there—figures shifting, crawling, whispering her name. Eden, Eden, Eden—

She swerved again. Almost hit a pole. The car jerked, tires skidding over cracked pavement. The redneck groaned louder, gripping his head. "Jesus Christ—"

Eden didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Had to go, had to leave, had to—

Another sharp turn. A lamppost loomed—too close, too fast—
Eden jerked the wheel. The car barely missed it. The redneck was breathing heavy now. He turned his head toward her, face pale, sweat clinging to his skin.

"Hey," he rasped. "Can you drive?"

Eden didn’t look at him.

"Eden is driving now," she whispered.

The redneck was breathing hard now, his good hand braced against the dashboard. His eyes darted between her and the road, wide and wild with something between rage and panic.

"Holy shit," he rasped. "You’re fucking crazy."

Eden didn’t blink. She just gripped the wheel tighter, fingers twitching, knuckles white. The road twisted. Flickered. The dead were moving slow, but not slow enough. The whispers in her head were louder now, clawing at the edges of her mind. Left, right, crash, crash, crash—

The car swerved again. The redneck let out a strangled sound, barely catching himself before his head slammed into the window.

"We’re gonna fucking die!"

Eden tilted her head, "Maybe."

The redneck groaned, then reached over with his good arm and grabbed the wheel. The car veered sharply. Eden’s vision snapped into focus just in time to see a fire hydrant rushing toward them.

"FUCK—"

The redneck yanked the wheel. The tires screeched. The car spun, fishtailing wildly before skidding to a stop in the middle of the road.

Silence.

Eden blinked.

The redneck was panting now, eyes wide, face pale. He turned to her, voice shaking. "Get out."

Eden twitched, "Eden—"

"Out. Now."

His voice was sharp, cutting through the static in her head.
Eden stared for a long moment. Then, slowly, she let go of the wheel. She climbed out.

The redneck gritted his teeth and slid across the seat, groaning as he settled behind the wheel. He looked half-dead, fever still burning in his eyes, but his hands were steady when they gripped the wheel.

Eden climbed into the passenger seat, pulling her knees to her chest. Mr. Sneezy sneezed from the back. The redneck let out a shuddering breath.

Then he put the car in drive.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. "I’d rather take my chances with the dead."

-

They stopped when the city was nothing but a jagged shape in the distance, swallowed by smoke and shadows. The dead were still behind them. Always behind them. But here, out here, there was space. The noise was quieter.

The redneck killed the engine and slumped back, head resting against the seat. His breathing was rough, shallow.
Eden sat still. Hands twitching. Knees pulled to her chest. Mr. Sneezy curled up in the backseat, tail flicking.

The redneck groaned. "Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his face with his good hand.

"What a goddamn day."

Eden blinked, "The sun is gone."

He side-eyed her. "Yeah. That’s how nights work."

Eden stared ahead. The world shifted in the edges of her vision, things that weren’t there flickering in and out. Her fingers twitched against her arm, nails scraping, scraping, scraping—

The redneck sighed. "Okay, nope." He reached over and caught her wrist, stopping her. "You keep scratchin’ like that, you’ll tear your own damn skin off."

Eden’s muscles went tense.

The redneck groaned again, shifting in his seat. His face was slick with sweat, eyes half-lidded. "Christ, my arm hurts like a bitch."

Eden tilted her head, "Because it isn’t there."

He shot her a look, "Thanks for that, sweetheart."

Eden didn’t react. Just blinked. The redneck let out a tired sigh and leaned his head back. "We’re campin’ here for the night," he muttered. "I ain’t drivin’ in the dark. And you sure as hell ain’t either."

Eden said nothing. Mr. Sneezy sneezed.

The redneck let out a breathless laugh. "That cat’s real, right? Tell me I ain’t lost my damn mind."

Eden stared.

"Maybe."

She paused, "do you have a name?"

"Do I have a na- who the fuck doesn't have a name?"

Silence.

He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

"Merle, it's Merle."

-

Merle let out a long breath, rubbing his face with his good hand. "Alright, crazy girl. Make a fire."

"Eden doesn’t know how."
Merle groaned. "Of course you don’t." He flexed his fingers, glaring at the stump where his other hand used to be. His lips curled in frustration. "Well, I sure as shit ain’t doin’ it one-handed."

Eden twitched. She stared at the ground, the darkness pressing in, thick and heavy. There were shadows that weren’t shadows. Shapes that weren’t real.

She shifted, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Eden doesn’t like the dark."

Merle huffed. "Yeah? Well, sucks to be you." He leaned back against the car, eyes slipping shut. "Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it, so quit your yappin’."

Eden twitched again. The night was too quiet. Too loud.

The voices whispered. Crawled against her skull.

She opened her mouth, "Eden—"

"Shut up."

His voice was sharp. Heavy. It cut through the whispers like a knife.

Eden flinched.

She curled up tighter. Silent.

The dark settled around them.

-

Merle woke up with a sharp inhale, heart pounding in his chest. For a second, he didn’t know where he was. His whole body ached, his head was pounding, and his arm—his missing arm—burned like hellfire.

Then he felt it.

Eyes.

Watching him.

His stomach turned, a deep unease creeping up his spine. Slowly, he turned his head. Eden was sitting cross-legged on the dirt, barely a foot away. Wide eyes locked onto him, unblinking.

Silent.

Just staring.

Merle’s skin crawled. "What the fuck?" His voice was rough with sleep, but laced with sharp-edged irritation. Eden didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just kept staring.

Merle groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Christ. You watch people sleep like that often, sweetheart?"

Eden tilted her head, "Eden wanted to make sure you didn’t disappear."

Merle let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah? Well, I wish I would’ve. Maybe I’d wake up somewhere nicer." He shifted against the car, wincing at the pain in his shoulder.

Merle let out another sigh, looking away. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. "I swear, I’m gonna die out here with a goddamn lunatic."

Eden blinked again.

"Maybe."

-

The road stretched ahead, cracked and endless. The car rattled over the uneven pavement, the sound of tires crunching dirt the only thing filling the silence.

Merle kept one hand on the wheel, his jaw tight, his whole body sore as hell. The fever had settled into a dull, nagging ache, but his missing arm still throbbed. Like it was still there. Like his fingers were curling into a fist he couldn’t make anymore.

Eden sat beside him, curled up with her arms around her knees, staring out the window. Silent.

Too silent.

Merle gritted his teeth. His patience was thin.

"What’s your deal?" His voice was rough, cutting through the quiet.

Eden didn’t react. Merle side-eyed her. "You slow or somethin’?"

Eden blinked, "Eden doesn’t know."

That made Merle pause. He expected a yes, a no, maybe a glare or a curse, something normal. But she just sat there, looking out at the dead world with those big-ass eyes, her voice slow, her expression unreadable.

Jesus Christ.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "You ain’t right in the head, that’s for damn sure."

Eden blinked again. "Nobody is anymore."

Merle snorted. "Ain’t that the truth."

Merle tapped his fingers against the wheel, deep in thought. The world outside was nothing but dead fields and broken roads, stretching on forever. No real destination. No real plan.
His head was pounding. His arm, what was left of it, ached something fierce. And sitting in silence with her sure as hell wasn’t helping his mood.

The quarry.

His lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t know if the camp was still there. Didn’t know if his brother was still there. But it was something.

He glanced at Eden. She was still curled up, staring at the road ahead, quiet as a ghost.

He huffed, "Where you wanna go, crazy girl?"

"Eden doesn’t care."

Of course, she didn’t.

Merle shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Quarry it is."

He pressed down on the gas.

-

The quarry was empty.

Merle stood by the car, scanning the abandoned campsite, his face hard. It had been picked clean, no tents, no fires, no signs of life. Just old tracks in the dirt, long faded.

"Gone," he muttered. His throat was tight. He wasn’t sure if it was relief or something else.

Eden stood beside him, arms loose at her sides, staring with those big, unblinking eyes. She didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask who he was looking for.

Merle exhaled sharply. "Guess we’re campin’ here, then."

He dropped his bag onto the dirt and crouched down.

"Alright, crazy girl, time to learn somethin’ useful." He grabbed some sticks and dry leaves, setting them into a little pile.
Eden watched. Silent.

Merle rolled his eyes, "Pay attention." He struck a match with his good hand before dropping it into the pile. The dry leaves curled, smoke rising, then—whoosh—a small fire flickered to life.

Eden blinked, "Fire."

"No shit." Merle sat back, stretching his legs out. "Keep it fed. Don’t smother it. And don’t go settin’ yourself on fire, either."
Eden crouched by the flames, watching them flicker. The glow danced in her wide eyes, making them look even bigger.

Merle leaned his head back against the car and sighed.

Eden poked at the fire with a stick.

He was so fucked.

-

Mr. Sneezy stretched out and rubbed his head against Merle’s side, purring.

Merle tensed. "The hell?" He looked down at the cat with a scowl. "I ain’t your damn pillow, furball."

Mr. Sneezy sneezed.

Merle groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. "Christ." First, a crazy girl, now a clingy cat. This apocalypse was a goddamn joke.

He side-eyed Eden, who was still watching the fire, poking at it every now and then.

"Alright, I gotta ask," Merle muttered, shifting to get comfortable. "Why the third-person thing?"

Eden blinked slowly. "Because there is more than one Eden in here." She tapped a single finger against her temple.

Merle stared. "…The fuck?"

Eden didn’t react. Just kept staring at the fire like she’d said something completely normal.

Merle let out a slow, long exhale. He shifted, stretched his legs out, and muttered, "Damn, girl. You really are off your rocker."

Eden tilted her head slightly.

-

Merle shifted where he sat, digging into his pocket with his good hand. He pulled out a crumpled pack of smokes, shook one loose, and stuck it between his lips.

No lighter.

He cursed under his breath and leaned forward, lighting it off the small fire. The ember flared, smoke curling up into the night. He took a deep drag, letting the burn settle in his lungs before exhaling slow.

Beside him, Eden mumbled something under her breath.
Merle’s eyes flicked to her. She was still watching the fire, her lips barely moving, her fingers twitching against her knee.

He frowned.

She did that a lot; talking to herself, muttering things too quiet to hear. He would’ve called her out on it, but… he didn’t. Not tonight.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the way she sat so still, like she was barely there.

Merle took another drag and looked away.

Let the crazy girl mumble.

Didn’t matter none to him.

-

The flames had died down to embers. Soft crackles, a dim orange glow. The night was still, heavy with silence. Even the wind barely stirred the trees.

Merle slept slumped against the car, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee. His hand rested near his knife, just in case.

Eden sat cross-legged by the fire, staring at the glowing coals. Her breathing was slow. Even. But her fingers twitched against her knee. Her lips parted slightly as if whispering to something unseen.

The night was too loud.

The shadows in the trees weren’t shadows. They moved. Shifted, slithered, stretched into things they shouldn’t be.
Figures stood at the edge of the fire’s glow. Just out of reach.

Watching.

Whispers crawled under her skin. Soft at first, then sharp.

"You shouldn’t be here."
"You should’ve stayed in the hospital."
"You can’t run from us, Eden."

Her breath hitched. She gripped her arms, nails digging into her skin. No. No. No.

She wasn’t there. She wasn’t locked away. The hospital was gone. The walls were gone. The whispers pressed closer. Eden’s breath turned shallow. Her hands clawed at her sleeves.

The fire flickered—and the figures stepped forward.
A woman. Dressed in white, blood smeared across her mouth. Her eyes were empty pits.

A man. His fingers were too long, stretching toward her.

A child. Hollow-cheeked, with no lips—just teeth, sharp and grinning.

Eden’s breath caught in her throat. Her vision tunneled. The fire wavered, and they stepped closer.

"Eden, come back."
"Come home."

Her chest tightened. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
Her hands shot to her head, pressing against her skull, her nails digging into her scalp. "No—no, no, no, no—"

Her body rocked. The shadows twisted around her, stretching longer, reaching for her—

She screamed. A raw, piercing sound that shattered the silence.

Merle woke with a jerk.

The scream tore through his skull, dragging him out of sleep so fast his heart nearly stopped.

"Jesus fuckin’ Christ!"

His knife was in his hand before his brain even caught up. His eyes snapped to Eden—

She was losing her goddamn mind.

She was on her knees, clawing at her head, her body jerking like something inside her was trying to escape. Her breath was ragged, her nails raking down her arms, leaving red streaks in their wake. Her eyes—wide, wild, empty—stared at nothing.

"Shit."

Merle pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest. His stump throbbed, but he ignored it.

"Eden!"

She didn’t react. Didn’t even hear him.

Her mumbling turned into frantic whispers, her hands gripping her hair, tugging—hard. Merle cursed under his breath. He moved fast, grabbing her wrists, yanking them away before she tore her own scalp open.

"Hey! Snap out of it!"

She fought him. Weak, but desperate, her whole body trembling.

"Let Eden go—let Eden go—let Eden go—"

"Jesus fuckin’—I ain’t lettin’ you do this shit!"

She bucked against him, her nails scratching at his arms, her breath coming in sharp, choked gasps.

Merle gritted his teeth and did the only thing he could think of—he shook her.

Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to jolt her back.

"Hey!" His voice was sharp, snapping through the chaos.

"Ain’t nothin’ there! Look at me!"

Eden froze. Her breath hitched.

The tension in her limbs held for a long, heavy second—then collapsed. She slumped forward, her breathing ragged. Her fingers twitched. Her wide, vacant eyes finally focused—landing on him.

Merle didn’t let go.

"That’s right," he muttered. "Back in the real world, sweetheart?"

Eden’s lips parted. Her throat worked like she wanted to say something. But nothing came out.

Merle exhaled through his nose. His grip on her wrists loosened, but he didn’t fully let go. He could still feel the tremors running through her.

Eden sat there, staring at the ground, her breath still uneven.

Merle sighed and ran a hand down his face. His whole body ached, his mind was still half-fogged from sleep, and his patience was wearing thin.

But…

He didn’t let go of her completely. Not yet.

The fire crackled. The embers glowed. The night pressed in around them.

Merle sighed again. "You good, crazy girl?"

Eden blinked. Slow.

"Maybe."

Chapter Text

Merle Dixon was a lot of things. A redneck. A fighter. A man who could take a punch and give one right back. A survivor.

What he wasn’t was a goddamn babysitter. Yet here he was.

Two months on the road with a crazy girl who didn’t know how to hunt for shit and a damn cat that had no business surviving the apocalypse. They were a sorry excuse for a group.

Eden was legit fucking insane. Not the fun kind, not the kind you could drink with and get into bar fights with. No, she was the kind that talked to herself like there were a dozen people living in her damn skull, staring off into space like she was seeing ghosts. She spoke in third person like she was narrating her own life.

It was unsettling at first, but now?

Now it was just normal.

She still couldn’t hunt worth a damn, no matter how many times he tried to teach her. Couldn’t hold the bow right, couldn’t stay quiet enough, couldn’t aim for shit.

So, he had to learn how to do things one-handed.

Merle had been a lot of things in his life, but a goddamn hunter wasn’t one of them, not like his brother was. And trying to do it all one-handed? A nightmare. It had taken him weeks to figure out how to set traps properly, longer to actually catch anything.

He was used to fighting people, not animals, but hunger made a man learn real fast.

Eden, though? Useless. She tried. She really did. She was quiet when she needed to be, she watched him carefully, but the minute she had to kill something—she hesitated.

Hesitation got you killed. He told her that. Didn’t help.

So, instead of hunting, Eden foraged. She could find things, at least. Berries, edible plants, nuts—stuff Merle never would’ve bothered looking for. If they ate well one day, it was because she found something, not because he caught anything.

And then there was the damn cat.

Mr. Sneezy.

The useless bastard.

A scruffy black-and-white thing with too much personality and no goddamn survival skills. He should’ve been dead by now. But he wasn’t. Because Merle was feeding him.

Jesus Christ.

If his past self could see him now, taking care of a crazy girl and her dumb cat, he’d probably shoot himself just to put himself out of his misery. But the dumb girl and the dumb cat were still here.

And so was he.

It was late. The fire was down to embers, just enough warmth to keep the cold from biting too hard. Merle sat against the tree, cigarette between his lips, watching the smoke curl up into the night.

Eden was asleep, curled up in her tattered old sleeping bag, one arm wrapped around Mr. Sneezy. The cat was dead to the world, nestled against her chest, purring even in sleep.
Merle exhaled slowly, watching them.

She looked small when she slept. Fragile. The way her fingers curled in the fabric of her sweatshirt, the way her breathing hitched every now and then, like her dreams weren’t any better than the shit they were living through.
Her hair was a goddamn mess. Matted, tangled, probably hadn’t been brushed in months.

Merle looked away.

He could leave.

It’d be so easy. She slept deep, barely stirred when he moved. If he just got up, if he took what little supplies they had left and walked off into the woods, she wouldn’t wake up in time to stop him.

She’d be alone. She wouldn’t last long.

But that wasn’t his problem, was it?

Merle took another drag, let the smoke sit in his lungs before blowing it out slow.He stared out into the trees, listening to the night.

He thought about leaving.

Really thought about it.

But then he glanced at Eden again.

The way her hair was all tangled, the way she mumbled in her sleep sometimes, the way she curled around that useless cat like he was the only thing keeping her grounded.

He sighed.

He stayed.

Didn’t know why.

Didn’t know when he started giving a shit.

But he stayed, and this? This was his goddamn life now.

-

Merle had never been good at giving a damn about anyone but himself. People? People were temporary. Disposable. Didn’t matter if they were family, friends, or some dumb crazy girl with a cat—everyone left, eventually.

But here he was, leaving her at camp while he went hunting.
That meant trust, right?

Hell if he knew.

She’d found them a cabin. Not much; one room, half falling apart, smelled like mold, but it had a door that locked, a roof that kept the rain out, and a fireplace that actually worked. Luxury in this new world.

It was the first time in two months that he’d left her alone.

She could handle herself.

Probably.

She wasn’t completely helpless. Crazy, yeah. Unstable, definitely. But she wasn’t dumb. She knew how to stay put, how to keep quiet, how to run if she had to. She wasn’t like most people; didn’t panic, didn’t cry, didn’t do anything normal, but she was steady in her own weird, fucked-up way.

Still, it felt wrong walking away.

He shook the thought off.

He needed to get food.

The woods were quiet. Not a good kind of quiet, but that eerie, unnatural stillness that settled when something wasn’t right.

Merle adjusted his grip on the knife, rolling his shoulders, ears twitching at every little snap of a twig, every distant rustle of branches. His crossbow was back at camp—he hadn’t found any goddamn bolts for it, so it was useless for now.

The knife would have to do.

He moved carefully, picking his way through the undergrowth, scanning the trees for anything worth killing. Rabbit, deer, even a damn squirrel; anything that wouldn’t take a whole day to catch.

Then he saw it. Not an animal. A walker.

It was shambling between the trees, slow, dragging one leg like it had been busted up before it turned. Looked like it had been a woman once, medium height, scrawny, ragged clothes.

Merle wasn’t interested in its life story.

He was about to put it down when he saw it.

The necklace. An eye necklace.

A dozen little glass eyes, strung together like some kinda sick-ass trophy. One green, two blue, the rest brown.

Merle stared.

It was dumb as hell, but for some reason, it reminded him of her.

Of Eden.

Of her big, unblinking, crazy-ass eyes.

She never blinked enough. It was unnatural. Made him uneasy at first.

He snorted.

“Bet you’d like this dumb thing, huh, Pet Detective?”

The walker groaned, reaching for him, but Merle was faster. He grabbed its head, twisted hard, and felt the sickening crunch of its neck snapping under his grip. It collapsed, still twitching, mouth moving but no sound coming out.

Merle stabbed it through the skull.

It stopped moving.

He crouched down, fingers working at the clasp of the necklace. Blood had crusted over the chain, making it stiff, but he yanked it free and shoved it into his pocket without thinking.

He’d give it to her later.

Hell, maybe she’d actually smile for once.

Not that he’d ever seen her smile before. Not once.

She just stared.

Like she was waiting for the world to end all over again.

Merle shook himself, wiping his knife clean against his pants.

He still needed to find food. Couldn’t go back empty-handed. Not if he wanted to keep that weird little makeshift family of theirs alive.

-

The fire crackled low in the cabin, casting flickering shadows against the rotting wood. It was warm—warmer than anywhere Eden had been in a long time.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, wide eyes staring at nothing. Her fingers drummed against her knees. Tap tap tap.

Merle was gone. He went hunting. Said she’d be fine on her own. She wasn’t sure if that was true. Mr. Sneezy sat on the table, tail flicking, watching her like he knew what was coming before she did.

“Eden is alone,” she whispered.

The cat sneezed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, something stirred.

A voice. Soft. Cruel.

Eden twitched, her hands tightening in her lap.

The voice was wrong. Merle was gone. She was alone.

The cat sneezed again.

Footsteps. Outside. Her breath hitched. No. No, that was wrong. That wasn’t real.

She pressed her hands against her ears. Not real. Not real. Not real. The footsteps got closer.

Eden started rocking, slow and steady. The voices whispered—soft at first, then louder, all at once, overlapping, breaking apart, drowning her.

It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not—

The door opened. A gust of cold air rushed in.

Eden froze.

Three men stepped inside.

Her whole body locked up, too stiff, too tense, as if she were made of glass and about to break.

They were dirty. Stinking of sweat and blood and something worse. They grinned.

The tallest one shut the door behind him.

“You all alone in here, sweetheart?”

Eden didn’t move.

Her eyes were too wide. She could feel it. Could feel how big and stretched out they were, like her skin had been peeled back, like someone had carved her open and left her to dry in the sun.

The second man stepped forward.

He had a beard, patchy and greasy. His eyes slid up and down her body, slow, like he was picking her apart piece by piece.

“Little thing like you,” he murmured. “How’d you survive this long?”

She still didn’t move.

They reminded her of him. Her father.

That feeling. That look.

Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat, choking her.

The third man leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. He wasn’t smiling, but the look in his eyes was worse than a grin.

Like he was waiting. Like he knew.

The first man squatted down in front of her, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You deaf or something, girl?”

Mr. Sneezy hissed.

The man’s eyes flicked to the cat. His smile widened.

“Well, would you look at that,” he drawled. “Ain’t that just the cutest little thing?”

His hand shot out, too fast. The cat yowled, fur bristling, twisting in his grip.

Eden’s body jerked forward before she even realized she’d moved.

“Let go,” she said.

The man blinked. Eden didn’t blink.

The voices were screaming in her head. Too loud. Too much.

She didn’t know if they were real anymore. The second man snorted.

“Aw, come on now,” he said. “No need to get all upset, sweetheart. We’re just gettin’ to know each other.”

Eden’s fingers twitched.

Something in her stomach was twisting.

Crawling. Biting.

The man still had the cat. The cat was hers.

“Eden said let go,” she whispered. The first man raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Eden said let go.”

His grip tightened around the cat’s scruff.

She heard a small, strangled noise.

Pain.

Eden’s head tilted. The third man pushed off the doorframe.

“She’s crazy,” he muttered. The first man laughed. “That right?” he said. “You crazy, sweetheart?”

Eden didn’t answer.

The voices were too loud.

Her father used to call her crazy.

Her father used to—

Something snapped. She lunged. Faster than she thought she could move.

Her nails raked across his face, deep, sharp—she was clawing, she was tearing, she was biting—

He shouted, jerking back, dropping the cat.

Mr. Sneezy bolted under the table.

The second man grabbed her from behind. Eden thrashed.

He was strong. Too strong.

Her father was strong too.

The voices screamed inside her head.

RUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUNRUN

She sank her teeth into the man’s wrist.

He howled, letting go just enough for her to move. She scrambled backward, knocking over the chair, chest heaving.

Her father was in the room.

She could see him. Standing behind them.

Watching.

He was dead. He was dead.

But she could see him.

He was smiling.

No no no no no no no no no no no—

The first man wiped blood from his cheek, looking at her like she was something feral.

“She fucking bit me,” the second man snarled.

The first man’s face twisted. The third man sighed, reaching for the gun at his waist.

“This ain’t worth it, man,” he said. “She’s nuts.”

Eden stood there, staring at them, staring through them, breathing too fast, too shallow.

Her father was whispering in her ear.

Told you, little girl. No one will ever save you.

The first man wiped his face again. Then he stepped toward her.

Eden didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

She saw something over his shoulder. Through the broken window.

A shape.

Fast.

Familiar.

The door crashed open behind them.

“GET YOUR GODDAMN HANDS OFF HER.”

Merle. A gunshot exploded through the cabin.

The first man’s head jerked back.

Blood.

The second man reached for his knife. Another shot.

He dropped.

The third man bolted out the door. Merle didn’t chase him.

Didn’t need to.

His gun was still raised, but his hand was shaking.

His eyes flicked to Eden.

To the scratches on her arms.
To the way she wasn’t moving.
To the blood dripping from her lips.

His mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

“You alright, Pet Detective?”

Eden blinked. Her father was gone. She swallowed. Nodded.

Merle exhaled sharply.

“C’mon,” he muttered. “We gotta go.”

He grabbed her wrist, dragging her forward.

Mr. Sneezy darted out from under the table, leaping onto her shoulder.

Merle didn’t let go.

He pulled her through the door, through the trees, toward the truck.

He didn’t say a word. Eden didn’t either.

The voices were still whispering, but this time, they weren’t screaming.

-

The fire crackled low, throwing long, jagged shadows across the dirt.

Merle sat on a log, arms resting on his knees, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He wasn’t smoking it. Just watching the ember eat through the paper, glowing red-hot, then dulling to black. He could hear the damn cat. Purring. Pressed up against Eden’s side like nothing had happened.

Like she wasn’t sitting there staring into the fire, not blinking.

She hadn’t said a goddamn word since they left the cabin.

Merle clenched his jaw, flicking the cigarette into the dirt.

“Did they do somethin’ to you?”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. He felt his stomach twist. He didn’t like that feeling. Didn’t like caring.

Didn’t like sitting here in the middle of the goddamn woods, staring at this crazy girl, and feeling like—like—

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.

“Eden.”

Nothing. The fire popped. The cat stretched, rubbing its face against her arm. She didn’t move. Merle leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Look, I ain’t good at this shit, alright?” he muttered. “But you gotta talk to me. Just—just tell me what happened.”

Nothing. His fingers curled into fists. “Goddamn it,” he snapped, shoving up from the log.

He started pacing. Back and forth. Back and forth. He wanted to hit something.

Break something.
Shoot something.

He thought about that last guy, the one who ran. Maybe he was still out there. Maybe Merle could track him down. Maybe he could press a knife to his throat and hear the bastard beg.

He stopped pacing, turning back toward Eden. She was still staring into the fire, wide-eyed, pale. Something in his chest tightened.

He sat back down, rubbing a hand over his face.

“They’re dead,” he said, voice rough. “All of ‘em. Ain’t comin’ back.”

Nothing.

“Do I gotta spell it out for you? They’re dead, girl. I put ‘em down like dogs.”

Her fingers twitched. The first sign of life she’d shown in hours. Merle leaned forward.

“Did they touch you?” he asked, voice low.

No answer. His heart slammed against his ribs, cold and sharp and mean.

He knew what men like that did.
Had seen it before.
Had almost—
He clenched his teeth.
He thought about his little brother.
If it had been Daryl sitting there, quiet like that—if it had been Daryl, too young and too small and too—

Merle grabbed another cigarette, lighting it with shaking fingers. “They ain’t gonna hurt nobody else,” he muttered. “I made sure of it.”

Still nothing.She was gone. Her body was here, but she was somewhere else.

He exhaled, watching the smoke curl up into the night. “You want me to go back?” he asked. “Find that last one? Make him suffer?”

Eden blinked. Slow. Distant.

She shook her head.

Merle watched her.

She could talk.
She wouldn’t.

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders. Shake her until something inside her snapped back into place. But he didn’t. Didn’t even move.

Just sat there, watching the fire burn low.

She was still breathing.

Still here. And maybe that was enough.

Chapter Text

Four months.

Somehow, he was still breathing. Somehow, she was too.
The woods had become their home. The road their curse. And the damn cat, Mr. Sneezy,was still alive, even though he had no survival instincts to speak of.

Merle sat by the fire, sharpening his knife, (he had learnt to do it one handed)watching Eden out of the corner of his eye. She was messing with a snare she’d set earlier. She was getting better at it. Not good, but better. A few months ago, she couldn’t catch a damn thing. Now? Every once in a while, she’d bring back a rabbit.

Progress.

Mr. Sneezy stretched beside her, yawning wide before pressing up against her side. She didn’t notice. Too focused. Her hands moved slow, deliberate, mumbling under her breath like always.

The knife scraped against the whetstone, slow and steady.

Merle exhaled sharply, placing the knife down and rubbing his beard with hsi good hand. She liked to touch it. Did it without asking. Didn’t matter where they were—sitting by the fire, walking through the woods, patching up their shitty camp. She’d just reach out, fingers brushing against his jaw, trailing down through the thick hair like she was checking to make sure it was real.

It was strange at first. Annoying, even. Now? Now he didn’t even flinch. Didn’t bother stopping her. Didn’t matter anymore.

Eden sat back on her heels, eyes darting over her snare like she was seeing it for the first time. She mumbled something to herself, nodding. Then she stood, walking over to where he sat, dropping down onto the dirt.

She reached for his hand without asking.

He let her. Didn’t even glance up.

She turned it over in hers, tracing the lines on his palm, her lips moving soundlessly. She did this sometimes. Reading his palm. Saying things he didn’t understand, talking about past lives and tangled fates.

It didn’t bother him.
Didn’t mean shit.
But it didn’t bother him.

Her fingers ghosted over his skin, pausing at his wrist. Wrapped around it—tied with a bit of frayed twine—was the necklace.

The one he’d taken from the walker.
The one with the eyes.
He didn’t know why he kept it.
Didn’t know why he wore it.
Maybe it reminded him of her.
Big, unblinking, too-wide eyes.

Or maybe it was just another piece of bullshit in this fucked-up world.

Eden let go of his hand, tucking her legs under herself.
Mr. Sneezy climbed onto her lap, purring. She scratched behind his ears, head tilting slightly, watching Merle with that same blank expression.

He watched her back. Neither of them spoke.

The fire crackled between them, throwing shadows into the trees. He shifted, rolling his shoulders, adjusting his knife on his belt.

Four months.

And somehow, this was his life now.

-

The water was clear, moving slow over smooth river stones, catching the light where the trees parted overhead.

It had been weeks since they’d seen a place like this. No blood in the water. No half-rotten bodies tangled in the shallows. Just a creek, clean and quiet, untouched by all the bullshit of the world.

Merle sat on the bank, arms resting on his knees, a cigarette hanging loose between his fingers. Eden stripped down without a word. Didn’t ask, didn’t hesitate.

She stepped out of her boots, peeled off her jeans, pulled her shirt over her head. Then she was in the water.

No pause. No shiver. No hesitation.

She sank under the surface, vanishing for a second, then broke through again, slicking her hair back, water trailing down her skin. Merle exhaled slow, eyes half-lidded, watching her float.

She didn’t move much.

Didn’t splash or kick like a normal person might. Just drifted, barely making ripples, her arms outstretched, her face tilted toward the sky.

Mr. Sneezy stretched out beside him, yawning wide before curling into a ball against his hip. Merle absently ran his hand over the cat’s back. The purring started almost instantly.

Soft. Steady.

It blended into the sound of the creek, the rustle of leaves, the world moving around them. Eden stopped floating. She lowered herself deeper into the water, just enough so that only her face was visible. And she stared at him.

Those big, unblinking eyes locked onto him, wide and dark, barely breaking the surface.

Merle shifted, rolling his shoulders. Eden blinked slow. Didn’t look away. Just watched. Merle looked back. It was hard not to.

Those fucking eyes.

The same ones he saw when he closed his own.

The same ones that followed him into sleep, into dreams that didn’t feel like dreams at all. Sometimes, in those dreams, she was standing over him, silent as ever. Sometimes, she was whispering, soft and slow, saying things he couldn’t understand.

Sometimes, she was covered in blood.

He swallowed, rubbing a hand down his face, shaking off the thought. He felt the necklace wrapped around his wrist pressing imprints into his skin.

The one with the eyes. He hadn’t taken it off since he found it.

Didn’t know why.
Didn’t want to know why.

Eden’s fingers broke the surface of the water, just barely, moving slow, deliberate. Like she was reaching for something that wasn’t there.

Merle flicked his cigarette into the dirt.

“Get your ass out before you catch cold,” he grumbled.

Eden didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
Just kept staring.

Like she was seeing something in him that he didn’t know was there.

-

The sound of water dripping onto the dirt made him glance up.

Eden stood at the edge of the creek, naked, water rolling down her skin in slow, glistening trails. Merle looked away.

Not out of politeness.
Not out of embarrassment.
Just… something else.

If she was anybody else, he might’ve whistled. Might’ve made some crude comment, smirked, teased, been that guy again. But he was too goddamn tired.

Too much had happened.
Too much had changed.

She walked over to him, bare feet pressing into damp earth, moving with that same eerie slowness, like she wasn’t even real. Then she sat. Right beside him.

Still naked, for some fucking reason.

Merle clenched his jaw, exhaling through his nose, staring at the fire instead of the bare, wet woman next to him. She smelled like creek water and pine. Like something clean, something untouched. Her hair, still heavy with water, wasn’t as matted as usual. Her face wasn’t streaked with dirt for once.

She looked…

Shit.

He reached for his leather jacket without thinking. Unfolded it. Dropped it over her shoulders.

Eden blinked, tilting her head slightly, but didn’t say a word as she pulled it closer around herself, hiding the pale expanse of her skin beneath worn leather.

Merle grunted, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw, letting the silence stretch between them.

Mr. Sneezy yawned, stretched, and climbed onto Eden’s lap, curling against the jacket’s folds.

The fire crackled. The water rushed behind them.

-

Merle never thought he’d be sitting in the middle of the woods brushing a girl’s hair. Yet here he was.

He ran his fingers through the damp strands first, working out the knots, the worst of the tangles. Eden sat still, cross-legged by the fire, wrapped in his leather jacket, staring at the flames with those too-big eyes.

She didn’t ask for this. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react at all. Just let him do it.

If his old self could see him now, he’d call him all kinds of slurs. Would’ve laughed his ass off, made some nasty comment about how soft he’d gone.

But his old self was dead.
Or at least, it felt that way.

Merle pulled the brush through her hair, slow and careful, untangling the last of the knots.

The fire crackled.

Mr. Sneezy purred in Eden’s lap.
The world, for once, was quiet.

-

The fire in the wood stove burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls of the tiny cabin. The place was nothing special; four walls, a roof that didn’t leak too much, and a single goddamn bed.

It wasn’t the first time they’d had to share one.

Hell, at this point, it wasn’t even weird.

They’d slept in worse places, curled up under cars, in abandoned sheds, pressed against each other for warmth in the dead of winter.

Merle laid on his side, back to her, staring at the cracks in the wooden wall. His good hand rested on his stomach, thumb brushing over the edge of the eye necklace wrapped around his wrist. The firewood popped, the wind howled outside, and Mr. Sneezy made himself comfortable at their feet, curled into a little ball of fur.

He should’ve been sleeping.

Should’ve been passed the hell out after the long-ass day they’d had.

But something made him turn over.

Maybe it was the silence.

Maybe it was instinct.

Or maybe it was just Eden.

She was awake.
Of course, she was.

Lying on her side, facing him, those big, bug-eyed crazy eyes wide open and locked onto him. Merle stopped breathing for a second.

They stared at each other.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.

Just… staring.

The firelight flickered against her face, shadows dancing across sharp cheekbones, the slight hollow of her cheeks, the wild mess of her hair still slightly damp from the creek. She didn’t blink. Didn’t twitch. Just watched him, unblinking, like a predator tracking something through the dark.

His old self—the version of him that used to pick fights in bars and run his mouth just for the hell of it—would’ve made some crude comment.

Something to break the tension, to put things back into normal, comfortable places.

But that version of him was dead. Burned out of him by hunger and exhaustion, by the blood on his hands and the weight of surviving too goddamn long.

So he just stared back.

The fire popped. The wind rattled the cabin walls.

Eden’s breath was slow, steady, but her chest barely moved.
Merle swallowed, his throat dry, and exhaled through his nose.

“Y’ever sleep?” he muttered, voice low, rough from disuse.
She blinked, slow.

Still staring. Like she was thinking about the question.

“…Sometimes.” Her voice was soft, almost dreamy, but flat. Lacking something normal people had.

Merle huffed, shaking his head. “Shit,” he muttered. “Figures.”

He turned back over, away from her, facing the wall again, but he could still feel her eyes on him.

And somehow, that was worse.

-

The woods were quiet, the kind of quiet that settled heavy over the trees, broken only by the distant rustling of leaves and the soft crunch of their boots against the damp earth. Merle had been hunting all his life, knew when to move slow, when to stop breathing, when to let the world settle around him like he was part of it.

Eden… not so much.

She was better than she used to be—quieter, more patient—but she still had that offbeat way of moving, like she wasn’t all the way there, like she was listening to something nobody else could hear. But today, she was focused.

Today, she had his crossbow.

He let her carry it sometimes, let her shoot at cans when they had a minute, but this was the first time she was hunting something real. Something with weight. Something with a heartbeat.

Merle crouched low, peering through the trees.

The deer stood in the clearing, head raised, ears twitching. A young buck, not too big, but big enough. They needed this. Meat like this meant real food, meant they wouldn’t have to pick at scraps or set up snares for rabbits that might never come.

He shifted his gaze to Eden.

She had already raised the crossbow, slow and deliberate. Her hands were steady, her breathing even. She lined up the shot, finger curling around the trigger, and for a second, she was still. Perfectly still.

Thunk.

The bolt hit home, sinking deep into the buck’s chest. The deer let out a sharp, strangled noise, staggered, took a few faltering steps; then collapsed.

Dead.

Eden didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.

She just stared, eyes wide, lips parted slightly.

Merle felt the tension in his gut snap, replaced by something hot, something victorious. He let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head, grinning so wide his face hurt.

“Well, goddamn, girl!” he barked, clapping a hand against his thigh. “You got ‘im! Clean shot, right through the heart!”

Eden turned to look at him. Still silent, still staring.

A smile.

Small, barely there, but real.

Merle’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t think. Didn’t stop himself.

He just grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

Eden stiffened. Froze up completely, arms trapped between them. He felt her heartbeat, fast and fluttering, before she slowly relaxed, her fingers curling slightly against his ribs.
Merle exhaled, loosening his grip.

“Good job, Pet Detective,” he muttered, voice rough. “Real good job.”

She didn’t answer, just blinked up at him9, that tiny little smile still playing at the corner of her lips. His chest ached;

Like something inside him needed fixing.

-

The house was old but not ruined. Some of the windows were busted, the door had been hanging off its hinges before he kicked it the rest of the way open, but it wasn’t bad. Not like the places they’d been sleeping in the past few weeks. It even had a couch that wasn’t completely falling apart.

Merle dropped his pack onto the floor and let out a long sigh. His ribs ached, his legs were tired, and for the first time in too long, they had walls around them.

Eden didn’t say anything, just wandered through the house in that slow, deliberate way of hers, like she was half-dreaming. She touched the peeling wallpaper with the tips of her fingers, brushed dust off an old picture frame. It was like she was looking for something.

Merle didn’t ask what.

Instead, he pulled a half-empty bottle of whiskey from his bag, flopped onto the couch, and took a swig. It burned all the way down, but he welcomed it, let it settle deep in his bones.

It was quiet.

Mr. Sneezy hopped up next to him, curled into a ball, and started purring. He let his eyes slip shut.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about much of anything.

A soft creak from the stairs.
Merle cracked one eye open.

Eden stood at the top of the staircase. Wearing a dress.

It was pale yellow, delicate, lace along the hem. Looked like something some housewife would’ve worn back in the good old days, like something that should’ve belonged to a girl without blood on her hands and voices in her head.

Merle’s breath hitched.

She looked…
Soft.

Not like the crazy little thing he’d been surviving with for the past four months. Not like the girl who spoke in riddles and saw things that weren’t there. Not like the one who had nearly clawed her own skin off the first time he met her.

Just soft.

She took a step down. Then another.

She wasn’t smiling, but there was something… expectant in her expression. Like she was waiting.

Merle’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. He took another drink, but it didn’t help. His stomach was doing something weird. Clenching up in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.

She stopped in front of him.
Tilted her head.
Merle swallowed thickly.

“The hell’s this?” he muttered, gesturing vaguely at her.

“Eden found it upstairs,” she said slowly, her voice as quiet as ever. “It is… pretty.”

She said it like she wasn’t sure. Like she was tasting the word for the first time.

Merle ran a hand down his face, trying to gather his thoughts, trying to put himself back together, but it was fucking impossible with her standing there like that, big bug eyes staring right through him.

He was in deep.
Real deep.

And before he could stop himself, before he could think about what a bad fucking idea this was—

He reached out, caught the fabric of the dress between his fingers, rubbing the soft material between his thumb and forefinger.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s real pretty.”

She blinked at him.

Then, after a long moment, she moved closer.

Sat beside him.
Didn’t say a word.
Didn’t have to.
Merle let out a slow breath.

This was a mistake.
A real bad one.
And he was already too far gone to care.

For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what to do.

Eden had leaned in slow, like she was testing something, like she wasn’t even sure what she was doing. And then—just like that—her lips brushed against his cheek.

Soft. Barely there.

It wasn’t much.
But it sure as hell felt like a lot.

His whole body went rigid, whiskey bottle still clutched tight in one hand. His heart did something stupid, lurching up into his throat, hammering like it had any damn reason to.

Eden didn’t move away immediately. She lingered for half a second, her breath warm against his skin.

Then she pulled back, tilting her head like she was studying him.

Merle forced out a rough chuckle, though it felt weak as hell. “What was that for, huh?”

Eden just blinked, “Eden wanted to.”

His fingers tightened around the bottle. She said it like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a thing.

Like she didn’t realize what she was doing to him.

Merle ran his tongue over his teeth, looking anywhere but at her. He felt her watching him, big bug eyes burning into the side of his face.

It was too much.
Too fucking much.

He took a swig of whiskey, letting it scorch all the way down.

Tried to ignore the feeling still burning on his cheek.

Tried to ignore the way his heartbeat hadn’t settled.

Tried to ignore the fact that, for the first time in longer than he could remember, somebody had touched him softly.

Chapter Text

The road stretched out ahead of them, cracked asphalt disappearing into the horizon. It was quiet—just the sound of their footsteps and the occasional rustling of wind through the trees. No moans, no footsteps that weren’t theirs, no distant gunshots.

Just silence.
Merle liked it that way.
Didn’t mean it wasn’t weird, though.

Eden walked beside him, arms curled around Mr. Sneezy, cradling him against her chest like he was the most precious thing in the world. The cat didn’t mind—hell, the damn thing had gotten as attached to her as she had to it.

Merle adjusted the strap of his crossbow, keeping his eyes on the road. It had been a while since they’d run into anything—walkers, people, trouble. He wasn’t stupid enough to let his guard down.

Then he felt it.
A small, delicate hand slipping into his own.
His fingers twitched.
His first instinct was to pull away.
But he didn’t.
Didn’t jerk back, didn’t shake her off, didn’t tell her to quit it. Just let it happen.

Eden’s grip was loose at first, like she half-expected him to pull away. When he didn’t, she held on tighter, fingers curling around his palm. Merle swallowed thickly, staring straight ahead.

It wasn’t like he’d never held hands with a woman before.

Hell, back in the day, he’d had plenty of ladies hanging off his arm. But this was different.

This wasn’t some drunk bar girl looking for a good time.
This wasn’t some flirtation, some cheap, meaningless thing.
This was Eden.

Crazy little Eden, with her big, haunted eyes and slow, deliberate way of speaking. The girl who barely talked but never shut up inside her own head. The girl who wasn’t right but somehow made this fucked-up world feel a little less empty.

Merle flexed his fingers, adjusting his grip slightly. Her hand was small compared to his, fingers slender and cool. She held on like she was afraid to let go, like she thought he might disappear if she did.

He almost laughed at the thought.

Hell, maybe she was the only reason he was still here at all.

Mr. Sneezy let out a soft meow, shifting in her arms. Eden barely acknowledged it, just kept walking, kept holding on.
Merle exhaled, long and slow.

Didn’t say anything.
Didn’t have to.

Just kept walking, hand in hers, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

-

Merle saw them before they saw him.

Six men. Armed. Moving like they had a purpose.

He tightened his grip on Eden’s hand instinctively, slowing his pace just a little. She didn't react much, just kept her big eyes on the men ahead, like she was watching a movie only she could see.

Mr. Sneezy let out a soft little huff from where he was curled in her arms. The damn cat finally getting some instincts—Merle trusted him more than these bastards already and thats saying something.

The men spotted them a moment later, stopping in their tracks.

Merle saw the shift—guns held a little looser, but not lowered. They weren’t hunting exactly, but they were looking for something. Or someone. One of them, a tall guy with dark skin and a short beard, lifted a hand.

“Hey there.” His voice was calm, friendly. “You folks alright?”

Merle didn’t answer right away. Just let his eyes rake over them, scanning for anything off. Their clothes weren’t too dirty. They looked fed. Well-armed. Too clean, too put-together for the usual road scum.

That didn’t mean they weren’t dangerous.

“Doin’ just fine,” Merle said finally. His voice was rough, lazy, like he wasn’t even thinking too hard about it. “Ain’t lookin’ for trouble.”

The man smiled, taking a slow step forward. His buddies stayed back, letting him do the talking. “Neither are we. Name’s Carter.” He nodded toward the others. “We’re from a place not too far from here. A community. You two been out here a while?”

Merle snorted, “Somethin’ like that.”

Carter glanced at Eden, taking her in. She hadn’t moved much, just stood there, holding the cat, staring at him. Wide-eyed and unreadable. Carter hesitated, maybe realizing there was something off about her, but didn’t comment on it.

“You got a place?” he asked instead. “Somewhere safe?”

Merle eyed him, “What’s it to you?”

Carter spread his hands, all easy charm. “We take people in. If they’re good people. We got walls, food, medical supplies. You’d be safer there.”

Merle let out a low chuckle. “That right?”

The offer sounded real nice. Too nice.
Places like that? They either got overrun, turned into some kind of dictatorship, or weren’t real to begin with.

He looked over at Eden, but she was still staring at Carter, expression blank.

Merle turned back, “Appreciate the offer, but we’re doin’ just fine.”

Carter didn’t drop his smile, but there was something sharp behind it now. “You sure? I don’t mean to push, but it’s rough out here.”

“Ain’t nothin’ we can’t handle.”

Carter exhaled, glancing at his group. One of the men, a guy with a scar down his jaw, looked like he wanted to say something, but Carter gave a small shake of his head.

“No problem,” Carter said finally. “We’ll be headin’ out soon. If you change your mind, we’re set up in a town a few miles east. Just follow the old highway. Someone’ll be keeping watch.”

Merle nodded once but didn’t say anything. Carter hesitated, then gave Eden one last look. “Take care of yourselves.”

Then they were gone.

Merle stood there, watching them disappear down the road.
Only when they were out of sight did he finally exhale, glancing down at Eden. “Don’t like it.”

Eden blinked slowly, “Eden does not like it either.”

Merle huffed, rubbing at his beard. He looked down at Mr. Sneezy, who flicked his tail, unimpressed.

Didn’t trust those guys. Didn’t trust places like that.

But maybe they oughta check it out anyway.

-

The town was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that meant danger. Not the eerie, walker-infested stillness Merle was used to. This was the kind of quiet that came from people. From walls, from security, from a world that hadn’t completely gone to shit.

Merle didn’t know how to feel about it.

They had arrived at the gates of the so-called community Carter had talked about. High steel barriers, watchtowers, and a couple of men keeping guard up top, rifles slung across their backs.

There was a damn gate system too—two sets of doors with a space in between, meant to keep any biters from waltzing in.

It looked legit.

And that was the problem.

Carter had greeted them at the entrance with that same easy smile. “Glad you decided to check it out.”

Merle had just grunted. Eden hadn’t said anything at all. Just stood there, holding Mr. Sneezy, staring at the walls like they were gonna start speaking to her.

Now, walking through the town itself, Merle couldn’t help but feel uneasy.

People were out. Real people. Not just survivors hiding in ruins, but folks living like this was still the old world;

Kids ran down the streets, playing some dumb little game. A woman sat on her porch, knitting like she didn’t have a care in the world. A couple of men were hauling bags of supplies into what looked like a storehouse.

It wasn’t normal.
It should’ve been normal, but that was the thing—normal didn’t exist anymore.

Eden was close to his side, eyes darting around like she was trying to process it all. Her grip on Mr. Sneezy was tight. The cat, for once, wasn’t fighting her hold. “You okay?” Merle muttered.

Eden didn’t answer right away. She just blinked, slow. Then, in that quiet, strange voice of hers, she said, “Eden does not like it.”

Merle looked down at her, frowning. “Why not?”

She didn’t respond. Just stared ahead, expression unreadable. Merle sighed, scratching at his beard. He got it, though. This place felt too clean. Too safe. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Carter led them to a small house near the center of town. “You two can stay here while you get settled,” he said. “We’ll talk to the governor tomorrow. See where you might fit in.”

Merle raised a brow, “Governor?”

Carter nodded, “He’s our leader of sorts, he makes all the decisions.”

“Get some rest,” Carter said. “I’ll check in later.”

With that, he left them alone. Merle pushed open the door to the house. It was nice. Too nice. A couch, a bed, shelves with books on them like people actually had time to read anymore.

There was even a damn lamp in the corner.

Eden didn’t move from the doorway.

Merle sighed, “C’mon, girl, ain’t like we got better options.”

She stepped inside slowly, eyes scanning every inch like she expected it to disappear. Mr. Sneezy jumped out of her arms, sniffing around.

Merle sat on the couch, running a hand down his face.
Maybe this was a good place. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, they were here now.

-

Carter led them through the heart of the community, past homes that looked like they belonged to another lifetime, past people who stared too long but said nothing.

Merle didn’t like it. He didn’t like any of it.

The Governor’s office was inside what used to be a municipal building. The place had been cleaned up, well-kept, like someone actually gave a damn about appearances.
Carter knocked once before opening the door.

Inside, behind a desk stacked with papers, sat a man in a crisp button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was neatly combed, beard trimmed. A glass of whiskey sat next to his hand.

The Governor.

Merle sized him up immediately. Too clean. Too pretty. Too in control.

The man smiled, standing up. “Carter,” he said smoothly, “thanks for bringing them in.” His eyes flickered to Merle.

“And you must be Merle Dixon.”

Merle snorted, “Didn’t realize I was famous.”

The Governor chuckled. “Small world.” Then, his gaze slid past Merle to Eden, lingering.

Eden stood just behind Merle’s shoulder, unmoving, wide eyes locked on the Governor but not really seeing him. She was holding Mr. Sneezy again, fingers curled tight in the cat’s fur.

The Governor smiled at her, then gestured to the chairs across from his desk, “Please. Have a seat.”

Merle didn’t move, “We ain’t staying long. Just figured we’d see what this place’s deal is.”

The Governor nodded like he understood. “Of course. It’s important to be cautious these days.” He leaned back against his desk, arms crossing over his chest.

“Tell me, where’ve you been before this?”

Merle shrugged, “Here, there.”

The Governor smirked, “Not much for conversation, huh?”

“Not much for answering questions.”

That earned a low chuckle. The Governor took a slow sip of his whiskey, then set the glass down, shifting his attention.

To Eden.

“And what about you?” he asked her, voice softer. “Where were you before all this?"

Eden didn’t respond. Didn’t blink.

The Governor tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Nothing.

Merle’s jaw tightened. He didn’t like the way the guy was looking at her. Not in a bad way, not like those men back at the cabin—but there was something else in his eyes.

Something curious.

“What’s her name?” the Governor asked. “Eden,” Merle answered before he could stop himself.

The Governor smiled again. “Eden,” he repeated, like he was testing the name out. “That’s a beautiful name.”

Eden still didn’t react. The Governor’s gaze flickered to Merle. “She always this quiet?”

Merle forced a smirk, “Talks my damn ear off.”

The Governor chuckled again, but he was still watching Eden, intrigued. Merle didn’t like it. Didn’t like him.

“You’ve got an interesting girl here, Merle.” The Governor’s voice was light, but something about it felt off.

Merle just grunted.

The Governor pushed off his desk, stepping closer. “I’d like to offer you both a place here,” he said. “A real home. Safety. Food. No more running.” His eyes flicked back to Eden. “I think she could use that, don’t you?”

Merle wasn’t sure if that was a question or a suggestion.

Eden finally blinked, slow. Then, in that same eerie, detached voice, she murmured, “Eden does not like it here.”

The Governor’s smile didn’t falter, but something flickered behind his eyes. Merle’s grip tightened on the armrest.

He had a bad feeling about this place.
About him.
And he’d learned to trust his gut.

And now the son of a bitch wanted to take her on a little tour.

“Why don’t I show Eden around myself?” the Governor said smoothly, still wearing that polite, practiced smile. “Let her see what we have to offer.”

Eden didn’t react. Just stood there with those bugged-out eyes, holding Mr. Sneezy against her chest. The cat sneezed, but she didn’t even blink.

Merle’s gut twisted. “She stays with me,” he said flatly.

The Governor let out a small chuckle, like Merle was some overprotective parent. “She’s safe here, Dixon. I promise you that.”

Merle didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He was good at this—staring a man down until he felt it in his bones that Merle wasn’t someone to push.

The Governor just smiled wider. “You don’t trust me yet. That’s fair.” He turned to Eden. “But what about you? Would you like to see the town?”

For a second, she said nothing. Then, in that slow, eerie voice of hers, she murmured, “Eden does not like it here.”

The Governor didn’t react, but Merle caught the slight tightening of his jaw. “Well,” the man said lightly, “maybe if you take a look around, you’ll change your mind.”

Merle was about to shut that down completely when Eden suddenly moved.

She stepped forward. Slowly.
Merle stiffened.

Eden never chose to be around people. She barely tolerated him after four months on the road, and now she was just—what? Following some smooth-talking asshole she just met?

She turned those big, unblinking eyes on Merle. “Eden will go.”

Merle clenched his teeth so hard it hurt.

The Governor smiled, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.

Merle nearly broke his damn fingers.
But Eden didn’t flinch. Didn’t seem to notice the touch at all. She just held onto Mr. Sneezy like a doll and stared up at the Governor.

“We won’t be long,” the Governor assured Merle. “You’re welcome to make yourself comfortable in the meantime.”

Comfortable.
Yeah. Right.

Merle forced a grin, the kind that showed more teeth than amusement, “She ain’t back in an hour, I’m tearin’ this whole fuckin’ place apart.”

The Governor’s smile didn’t falter. “Fair enough.”

Then he turned, leading Eden out of the office.

Merle stayed rooted to the spot, heart pounding in his chest.

That bad feeling in his gut?
It just got worse.

-

Merle was pacing. Had been for the last ten minutes. The Governor had said an hour. It had been longer. He was two seconds from raising hell when the door opened, and Eden stepped in.

She was quiet. Not that it was unusual, but there was something different about it this time. She wasn’t muttering to herself. Wasn’t looking around the room with those big, unblinking eyes. She just clutched Mr. Sneezy against her chest and stood there.

Merle exhaled hard through his nose. “We’re leaving.”

Eden didn’t argue. Just followed him out, her boots scuffing against the pavement.

They made it back to the house they’d been given for the night. Didn’t talk. Didn’t look at anyone. Just gathered their shit and got the hell out of there.

It was deep into the night when they made it back home—the abandoned cabin they’d found a couple of weeks back. Not much, but it was better than staying in that creepy-ass town with that creepy-ass Governor.

Merle threw his bag down, rubbing his face with his good hand before turning to Eden.

“All right,” he said. “What happened?”

Eden sat on the floor, cross-legged, petting Mr. Sneezy. Still too quiet. Merle crouched in front of her, frowning. “Eden.”

She blinked at him once. Then, finally, she spoke. “A snake in a man’s skin.”

The way she said it—slow, deliberate—it made the hair on his arms stand up. Merle frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Eden tilted her head, “He smiled too much. Said words that weren’t real.” She scratched at her wrist absentmindedly. “Eyes like glass.”

Merle’s gut twisted. He’d met men like that before. The kind who smiled while slipping a knife between your ribs. The kind who never meant what they said.

He sat back on his heels. “He do anything?”

Eden blinked slowly, “Asked questions.”

Merle clenched his jaw. Eden tilted her head the other way. “He wanted to keep Eden.”

Merle’s grip on his thigh tightened, “The fuck he did.”

She nodded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Eden did not like it.”

“Yeah,” Merle muttered, running a hand over his face. “No shit.”

Silence settled between them. Finally, Eden looked at him again, unblinking. “Merle does not like him either.”

Merle let out a sharp exhale, leaning back against the wall. “No. I really fuckin’ don’t.”

They didn’t say anything else after that.
Didn’t have to.

-

The house they were given wasn’t much.

Just another empty shell in a row of empty shells, filled with broken furniture and dust-covered memories of the people who used to live there. But it had a bed, and after weeks of sleeping on dirt, that was enough.

Merle wasn’t picky.

Eden didn’t seem to care either. She never did.

She sat on the edge of the bed, petting Mr. Sneezy, while Merle checked the windows one last time. Just a habit. A bad one, maybe, since they weren’t planning on staying.
But he was watching. The Governor. The way his eyes lingered on Eden, like she was some kinda puzzle he wanted to figure out.

Like he already had plans for her.
Merle scowled at the thought.

They were leaving tomorrow. No discussion. No second-guessing.

He turned back to the bed. Eden was already under the covers, lying on her side, staring at the wall. She always stared at things too long.

Merle sighed and sat on the other side, keeping his knife under the pillow. Just in case.

He laid down, facing her.
Her big, unblinking eyes were already on him.

He huffed, “You ever sleep, girl?”

Eden didn’t answer.
Didn’t blink either.

Just reached out, slow and careful, and took his hand in hers.
Merle tensed at first. Wasn’t used to people touching him like that—soft, like he wasn’t something broken. But Eden didn’t let go. Just held on, fingers curling around his like she was grounding herself.

She started whispering after that; soft words, too quiet to understand.

Merle listened anyway.
Didn’t ask. Didn’t interrupt.
Just let her say whatever the hell she needed to say.

Maybe she was talking to herself. Maybe she was talking to the voices in her head.

Didn’t matter.

Didn’t matter that she was crazy.
Didn’t matter that he was just as fucked up in different ways.

What mattered was this. This moment. This quiet.

Eden’s hand in his, warm and real.

The only thing in this whole goddamn world that felt real anymore.

Chapter Text

Merle woke up because Eden moved.

His body had learned not to sleep too deep—not with everything out there trying to rip him apart. So when she shifted, he was awake in an instant, knife still under the pillow, heart pounding before he even knew why.

The room was dark, only the moonlight slipping through the cracked blinds. Mr. Sneezy was curled up between them, a warm little lump of fur, his small body rising and falling with each breath.

Eden was sitting up, legs dangling over the side of the bed, staring at nothing.

Merle groaned, rubbing his face. “The hell are you doin’?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just ran her fingers over the scar on her wrist, slow, absentminded. “I’m going for a walk,” she finally said.

Merle blinked. Sat up.

Not Eden is going for a walk. Just I.

First time he’d ever heard her say it. The strangeness of it made his skin prickle.

Merle swung his legs over the bed, leaning his elbows on his knees. “That a good idea?”

Eden didn’t look at him. Just shrugged. “I won’t go far.”

Merle exhaled hard through his nose, watching her. She looked the same. Still had those wide, unblinking eyes. Still moved slow, like she was always half in a dream. But something was different.

She didn’t seem lost in her head. Didn’t seem like she was following some voice only she could hear. She just seemed… restless.

Like him.

Merle sighed, scratching his beard.

“Lemme grab my smokes,” he muttered. “I’ll come with.”

Eden finally looked at him then. Not wide-eyed. Not distant. Just… looking.

She gave the smallest shake of her head. “I’ll be fine.”

Merle stared at her.

For the first time since he’d met her, she sounded… clear.

Grounded.

Like she was waking up from whatever fog she’d been trapped in. Didn’t mean he liked the idea of her going alone, but…

He ran his tongue over his teeth, debating. Then, finally, he nodded.

“Yeah. All right.”

Eden stood up, heading for the door. Paused.
Turned her head slightly, just enough to glance back at him.

“Go back to sleep, Merle.”

Then she was gone, slipping into the night, bare feet silent against the old wooden floor. Merle sat there for a long time.

Didn’t sleep.
Didn’t move.

Just stared at the door, fingers absentmindedly curling around the necklace on his wrist, the little glass eye pressing against his skin.

-

For the first time in as long as she could remember, the voices were silent.

Eden didn’t know why.

She walked because she didn’t know what else to do. It felt strange, moving without the constant whispering in her head.

The air was thick with night sounds—crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, the wind shifting through the trees. But inside her skull? Nothing. Empty.

It should have scared her. But it didn’t.

She wandered through the quiet streets of the Governor’s town, barefoot, the pavement cool beneath her feet. The houses stood dark, only a few windows glowing faintly with candlelight. People were sleeping.

People who felt safe.
Eden didn’t feel safe.
She didn’t feel anything.

That was new, too.

She kept walking until she saw him. The Governor.

He was sitting on a bench under a streetlamp, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely together. His single eye caught the dim light, watching her as she approached.

Eden didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. She sat beside him, her hands resting in her lap, her gaze fixed ahead.

The silence stretched between them. Then, the Governor sighed.

“There’s a curfew, you know.” His voice was low, smooth. The kind of voice people listened to. The kind that convinced people to do things. Eden didn’t answer. Didn’t move.

She just breathed, slow and steady.

The Governor turned his head slightly, studying her. “You always so quiet, darlin’?”

Eden blinked. Her fingers twitched against the fabric of her dress.

She thought about saying Yes.
Thought about saying No.
Instead, she said nothing at all.

The Governor exhaled through his nose, like he was amused. “Merle’s real protective of you,” he mused. “You two a package deal?”

Eden tilted her head slightly. “He stays,” she murmured. “So I stay.”

The Governor hummed. Silence again.

Eden stared at the pavement, at the cracks in the concrete, the tiny ants moving in and out of them. “Do you like it here?” the Governor asked eventually.

Eden turned her head. Met his eye.

She thought of the walls. The armed guards. The people who smiled too easily.

She thought of the way Merle had seemed almost... comfortable here.

Then, she thought of the way the Governor looked at her.

Like she was something to figure out.
Like she was something to own.

Her fingers twitched again. She turned away. Looked back at the cracks in the pavement. “No,” she said simply.

The Governor chuckled. “Honest girl.”

Eden didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just sat there, listening to the silence in her head.

She missed the voices.

-

The knock on the door was soft. Almost hesitant.

Eden stood in the dim morning light, bare feet against the cool wooden floor. Mr. Sneezy sat curled up on the table, his tail twitching. He sneezed once.

She didn’t move right away. Just stared at the door.
Another knock.

Slowly, she stepped forward and opened it. A woman stood there, holding a package wrapped in brown paper. She had tired eyes, soft features. Blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.

“Morning,” the woman said with a small smile. “Brought you some food.”

Eden didn’t say anything.

Didn’t nod.
Didn’t blink.

She just reached out and took the package. The woman hesitated, shifting on her feet like she was waiting for something—a thank you, maybe. A word. She got nothing.

Eden shut the door on her fade.

She set the package on the counter and unwrapped it. Inside: eggs, bread, a small jar of honey, a slab of salted meat. Her fingers twitched. She turned toward the small stove, lighting it with careful movements. The hiss of the flame filled the silence. She cracked the eggs into a pan, watching them sizzle. The bread toasted on the side.

The meat cooked next, filling the air with a rich, greasy smell.
Mr. Sneezy stretched lazily, his paws kneading the table before he curled back up, uninterested in anything but warmth.

Eden moved on instinct. Slow. Careful.

She plated the food, dividing it evenly. One plate for her. One for Merle. She sat at the table and waited.

Waited for the sound of footsteps.
Waited for Merle to wake up.
Waited for another day in this strange place to begin.

-

Merle blinked the sleep out of his eyes as the smell of food hit him. For a second, he thought he was dreaming; some old memory of a life before everything went to hell.

Then he sat up and saw Eden sitting at the table, staring at him with those wide, unsettling eyes. Mr. Sneezy was curled on the table like he owned the place.

Merle ran a hand over his face, scratching at his beard. “The hell?” His voice was rough with sleep.

Eden said nothing. She just tilted her head slightly.

Merle’s eyes dropped to the plate in front of him. Eggs. Meat. Toast. His stomach growled loud enough to make the cat flick an ear. He hadn’t had a meal like this in… shit, how long?

He sat down, grabbed the fork, and dug in without a second thought. It was good. Really good.

He didn’t ask where the food came from. Didn’t really care.

Eden just watched him. Silent. Still. Always watching. Merle had gotten used to that by now, but today, something felt different.

She wasn’t mumbling under her breath. She wasn’t twitching. She was just… there. Thinking. That was almost worse.

“What?” he muttered, mouth half-full. She blinked slowly, then tilted her head the other way.

“What are we?”

Merle paused, chewing a little slower.

“The Governor,” she murmured, her voice soft. “Asked me. I didn’t know.”

Something twisted in his gut. Merle swallowed and licked his lips. “What’d you tell him?”

She just shook her head, “Didn’t.”

Merle set his fork down.

What were they?
Hell if he knew.

He looked at Eden—really looked at her. Messy hair, big haunted eyes, scars up and down her arms. She wasn’t right in the head. He knew that.

And yet—

Here they were. Four months later.
Breathing. Surviving.
Together.

He scratched at his beard, glancing at the cat. “Shit… I dunno, girl.”

Eden just nodded.
Like that was the answer she expected.

Mr. Sneezy looked at him like he was the dumbest men alive, hell, maybe he was.

What were they?

She was crazy. He was an asshole.

They watched each other’s backs. Slept in the same bed when there was only one.

She touched his face sometimes, tracing his beard with those small fingers like she was trying to make sure he was real.

And now here they were, eating breakfast like some married couple.

Shit.

-

The men took Merle away to get him working.

Eden watched him go, her fingers twitching at her sides. He didn’t look back, didn’t hesitate—just walked off with them like it didn’t matter. Like he belonged to them now.

Maybe he did. She turned away.

The Governor’s house wasn’t far. She knew the way. Eden walked slow, her bare feet barely making a sound on the pavement. Mr. Sneezy wasn’t with her this time. The cat didn’t like this place. Too many walls. Too many people.
The guards at the door stopped her before she could step inside.

“The Governor’s busy,” one of them said. Eden stared at them.

Didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
The men shifted, uncomfortable.

Then, from inside, a voice called out. “Let her in.”

The guards hesitated. But they listened. The door opened. Eden stepped inside.

Philip sat behind his desk, watching her with that little smile of his.

“You came to see me.”

Eden didn’t sit. Didn’t answer. Philip gestured to the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Eden.”

She didn’t.

He chuckled. “Still getting used to this place, huh?”

Eden just stared.

Philip leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I told you before, you don’t have to be so quiet around me. I don’t bite.”

Eden tilted her head slightly, “Snakes don’t bite.”

Philip raised an eyebrow. “No?”

“No.” Her voice was slow, deliberate. “Snakes sink their fangs in. They don’t let go.”

Philip’s smile widened just a little. “That what you think I am?”
Eden didn’t answer.

He hummed, tapping his fingers against the desk. “I like you, Eden. You’re different.”

Eden finally blinked.

Philip leaned back in his chair. “Most people, they walk in here all nervous. Or they try to act tough, like they’re not afraid of me.” He tilted his head. “But you? You don’t care, do you?”

Eden didn’t answer.

Philip chuckled again, “I like that.”

He stood up, walking around the desk. “You and Merle—” he stopped beside her, looking down. “I think you two could do well here. If you let yourselves.”

Eden still didn’t move. Philip sighed, like he was disappointed. “I’d like to get to know you better, Eden.”

Eden turned her head, finally meeting his gaze.

“You don’t have to be so quiet,” Philip said, smiling again. “I want to help you.”

Eden blinked slowly.

“Eden doesn’t need help.”

-

Eden walked back to the house, her steps slow, deliberate. The voices were quiet again. She didn’t know if that was a good thing.

When she opened the door, Merle was already there, sitting on the couch with a bottle of whiskey in his good hand. Mr. Sneezy was curled up on his lap, tail flicking.

He looked up the moment she stepped inside. “Where the hell were you?”

Eden blinked, “With the Governor.”

Merle’s jaw tensed. He put the bottle down. “We’re leavin’.”

Eden tilted her head.

She thought of Philip’s voice. Smooth like a snake in the grass.

'You and Merle could do well here, if you let yourselves.'

She thought of the way he looked at her.
She thought of his smile.

And then she thought of Merle. The roughness in his voice. The tension in his shoulders. The way he kept looking at the door, like he expected someone to come through it.

Merle stood, shaking the cat off his lap. Mr. Sneezy let out an indignant meow but padded off to the corner, curling back up.

“You hear me, Ede?” Merle grabbed his jacket off the chair.

“We’re leavin’. Tonight.”

Eden just stared.

“I’m staying.”

Merle froze, half-turning back toward her. Merle stared at her like she’d lost her damn mind.

“The hell you just say?”

Eden sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded in her lap, “I’m staying.”

She didn’t argue. Didn’t blink. Just sat there, still as a doll,

Eden sat on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, fingers twisting together. “I think I should stay.”

Merle scoffed, “That so? Thought you didn’t like this place.”
She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her hands.

“Maybe I was wrong.”

“Bullshit.” Merle stepped closer. “That snake say somethin’ to you?”

She still didn’t look at him. “Philip.”

His face twisted, “Philip?”

Eden nodded. Merle let out a bitter laugh. “Christ.” He turned away, pacing a little, muttering under his breath. “That’s what this is? He got in your head, huh?”

She didn’t respond. Merle stopped pacing, turned back to her. She met his gaze, her big, glassy eyes unreadable.

“You’re serious,” he said, like he didn’t quite believe it.

Eden nodded once, “I’m staying.”

Merle felt something twist in his gut. He’d been the one planning to leave. He figured she’d follow, just like she always did. But now—

Now she wasn’t.
His jaw clenched. “So that’s it?”
She didn’t answer.

Merle exhaled through his nose, looking away. “Shit.”

Eden just watched him, eyes unblinking, hands folded neatly in her lap like she had all the time in the world.

He looked at her again. Really looked at her. She wasn’t scared. Wasn’t happy, either. Just… there. Quiet. Still.

Merle shook his head, exhaling hard. “Well, hell.”

Eden tilted her head.

He sat down on the bed beside her, rubbing his bad wrist absentmindedly. “Guess I’m stayin’ too, then.”

She blinked once, slow. “Why?”

Merle scoffed, looking at her like she was stupid. “What kinda question is that?”

She didn’t answer.

He rolled his eyes, leaning back on his elbows. “Ain’t leavin’ you here with a buncha strangers. Ain’t leavin’ you, period.”

Eden stared at him a moment longer. Then, slowly, she nodded. Merle grunted, shifting to get comfortable. “Damn place better be worth it.”

-

Eden rubbed her eyes, the quiet hum of morning settling around her. The bed was cold beside her. Merle was gone.
She sat up slowly, brushing tangled hair from her face. Mr. Sneezy meowed at her feet, winding between her legs, tail flicking impatiently.

“I know,” she murmured, voice still thick with sleep. “Food.”
She stood and stretched, shuffling toward the small kitchen space, grabbing a can of food for the cat. But before she could open it, something caught her eye.

A neatly wrapped box sat on the table. White paper. A red ribbon.

Eden frowned.

She stepped closer, fingers ghosting over the bow. A small tag was attached.

'To: Eden. From: Philip.'

Philip.

Her head tilted.

She sat down, the chair creaking under her weight, and carefully unwrapped the package. Inside was a book. Old. Worn.

A Bible.

Eden blinked at it.

She flipped it open, fingers skimming the thin pages. They crinkled softly beneath her touch. And then she saw it.

The words Garden of Eden highlighted in faded yellow. She stilled.

Her lips parted slightly, just barely, as something long-buried curled warm in her chest.

Grandma.

Her grandma had named her after the Garden of Eden. Had called her her little garden.

Eden traced the words with a finger, lost in the memory.
People never noticed. Never cared.

But Philip had.

She exhaled slowly. The corners of her lips twitching upwards.

Chapter Text

Merle had been gone most of the morning, working his ass off for these people, just so he and Eden could have a warm bed and food in their stomachs.

The Governor, Philip, whatever the hell he wanted to be called, had given him a job fixing up some of the vehicles they had stored in the garage. He didn’t mind the work; kept his hands busy, kept his mind from wandering.

But something sat heavy in his gut the whole time.

Eden.

He didn’t like leaving her alone here. She was too quiet. Too weird. He’d seen the way Philip looked at her, the way his voice softened when he spoke to her, like she was some kind of puzzle he wanted to solve.

That didn’t sit right with Merle.

He made his way back to their house, boots crunching against the pavement, nodding to a few of the men as he passed. When he stepped inside, he expected to see Eden sitting on the floor, petting that damn cat, mumbling to herself, or staring at the wall like she usually did.

But she wasn’t.

She was sitting at the table, eyes glued to a book.
And not just any book.
A Bible.

Merle narrowed his eyes, shutting the door behind him. “The hell’s this?”

Eden barely looked up, “A gift.”

Merle tossed his work gloves onto the counter, stepping closer. “From who?”

Her lips twitched slightly, her fingers tracing the pages with eerie gentleness. “Philip.”

That didn’t sit right with him either.

Merle pulled out a chair and dropped into it, watching her carefully. She wasn’t rocking, she wasn’t mumbling, she wasn’t staring off into space with those big crazy eyes of hers. She looked… calm. Too calm. That wasn’t right.

His jaw clenched, “Since when were you religious?”

She tilted her head, blinking at him slowly, like a doll whose strings had just been pulled. “Since today.”

Merle scoffed. Eden didn’t react. She just turned another page, like she was really reading it, really soaking in the words.

Merle leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “What’s he been tellin’ you?”

She finally looked at him, eyes unreadable. “Nothing new.”

He could handle a lot of things. He could handle the dead walking around, he could handle losing his hand, he could handle living on the road, starving, freezing, fighting to survive.

But he didn’t know how to handle this.

This wasn’t her.

She was crazy. She was unpredictable. She was wide-eyed and strange and made no goddamn sense. And now she was acting like..

Like she belonged here.
Like she was one of them.
And that scared the hell out of him.

Merle exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Listen, we need to talk—”

Eden closed the Bible softly.

“I like it here.”

His heart sank. He didn’t know what Philip had done, what he had said, but Merle could see it now; this Eden was getting weak.

-

Merle didn’t like being summoned like some damn dog.

One of Philip’s guys had shown up at his door, told him the Governor wanted to see him. No explanation, no details; just a get your ass over there type of deal.

Eden had barely looked up from that damn Bible when he left. She was slipping further, he could feel it. And that made him pissed off and uneasy all at once.

He made his way across Woodbury, past the guards, past the people who looked at him like they weren’t sure if he was worth trusting yet. He didn’t give a shit what they thought. He didn’t plan on staying here long enough to care.

But Eden...

That was the problem.

The Governor’s office was in the town hall, one of the only places that still looked like it belonged in the old world. The walls were clean, the furniture wasn’t busted up, and it smelled like old books and cologne instead of blood and sweat.

Merle stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. Philip—the Governor—was standing near the window, looking out over his little kingdom like he owned the whole damn world.

“Merle,” he said smoothly, turning to face him with that politician smile of his. “Glad you could make it.”

“Didn’t seem like I had much of a choice,” Merle muttered.

Philip chuckled, motioning for him to sit. “I like a man with a little attitude. Shows backbone.”

Merle didn’t sit.

Philip didn’t seem bothered. He just leaned against his desk, arms crossed, like he had all the time in the world. “I’ve been watching you.”

Merle raised a brow. “Didn’t know I was so entertainin’.”

“You’re strong,” Philip continued, ignoring the sarcasm.

“Smart. A survivor. I'm starting to understand why Eden seems to like you.”

Merle clenched his jaw, “Ain’t much of a choice these days.”

Philip smirked. “No, I suppose not. But not everyone has what it takes to thrive in a place like this.” He tilted his head slightly. “You and I, though… we’re different.”

Merle wasn’t sure what the hell this guy was getting at, but he didn’t like it.

Philip pushed off the desk, stepping closer. “I need someone I can trust. Someone who can handle things when they get messy. Someone who understands that the world ain’t what it used to be.”

Merle stayed quiet.

Philip smiled. “I want you to be my right-hand man.”

Merle let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “That so?”

“You’ve got experience,” Philip said, unfazed. “You know how to fight, how to lead, how to make the tough calls.”

Merle glanced around the office, then back at Philip. “And what’s in it for me?”

Philip’s smile widened, “Loyalty has its rewards.”

Merle thought about Eden.

About the way she was slipping into this place like it had its hooks in her. If he was on the inside, if he was Philip’s right-hand man, maybe he could keep a better eye on her. Maybe he could figure out what the hell this guy was up to.

Maybe he could keep her safe.

Merle exhaled sharply, “Alright.”

Philip clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Welcome to the team.”

-

The sun had dipped behind the buildings by the time Merle made it back to the house. His boots crunched gravel with every step, and that damn creeping silence that came with Woodbury at night made his skin crawl.

Too quiet.
Too neat.
He didn’t trust it.

He stepped inside. The house was dim, shadows stretched long across the floor. The only sound was the soft flick of a page. Eden sat cross-legged on the floor beside the cold fireplace, Mr. Sneezy curled in her lap.

She had the Bible open again, running a finger slowly along the lines like she was trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense at all.

“Hey,” Merle said, shutting the door behind him.

She didn’t look up. Just kept reading. Her lips moved a little, silently.

He dropped his gear near the couch, shrugging off the thin jacket they’d given him.

Didn’t fit right.
Nothing about this place fit right.

“You eat today?” he asked, not really knowing why.

She nodded once, “There was fruit.”

He crossed the room, sat down near her but not too close. “Saw the Governor today.”

That got her attention. Slowly, her big bug eyes shifted to him. “He’s makin’ me his second-in-command or whatever bullshit title he’s usin’.”

Eden blinked, “Why?”

Merle chuckled dryly, “Beats me. Guess I got the kinda crazy he likes.”

She was quiet again.

“I know you talked to him.”

She looked down at the Bible, silent.

“You said you didn’t like it here,” Merle said, voice quieter now. “Back when we first came. You said it felt wrong. Now you’re readin’ scripture and talkin’ to him like you’re tryin’ to make friends.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Eden said.

Not Eden wants.
Not Eden stays.
Just I.

It knocked the breath from him a little, if he was honest.

He rubbed at his jaw, “You sure about that?”

She looked up. Her hair was cleaner now.

Her face calmer.

“Yes.”

Merle sighed, leaned back against the couch.

He’d never done this, this quiet, heart-to-heart bullshit. He was a fighter, a bastard most days. But Eden had drained that part right out of him, he guessed that's why most people tolerated him now.

“You know I’d get us outta here if you said the word, right?”

“I know.”

Merle watched her quietly, he always found himself watching her these days.

“You’re talkin’ normal lately.”

She blinked, confused.

“No more Eden says this, Eden thinks that. You’re just you now. Is that this place? Or him?”

Eden didn’t answer.

Merle leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You scared?”
“No.”
“You trust him?”
“No.”

He snorted, “Well, at least that makes one of us feel better.”

They sat in silence for a while. Mr. Sneezy yawned and stretched in her lap, unbothered by the world.

Merle glanced over, “Alright then. If you wanna stay, we’ll stay.”

Eden turned her head, “Even if you hate it?”

He looked away, “I hate everythin, don't I?”

-

Knock.
Knock.
Knock.

Merle was on his feet in an instant, boots heavy on the hardwood as he crossed the room. He expected one of the Governor’s lackeys, maybe Carter, maybe that smug bastard Martinez.

Instead, there stood the man himself—Philip, with that polite-ass smile that never quite reached his eyes. Clean-shaven, hair slicked back like a damn TV preacher. Merle felt the muscle in his jaw clench without meaning to.

“Evenin’, Merle,” Philip said, too damn casual. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Merle didn’t answer right away. Just leaned against the doorframe and stared him down. “Somethin’ you want?”

“I was hoping to speak with Eden,” the Governor said, glancing past Merle’s shoulder into the house like he owned it.

“She’s busy.” Merle didn’t move from the door.

Philip gave a patient little nod, still smiling. “It won’t take long. I wanted to invite her to dinner. Just a quiet conversation.”

Merle’s spine stiffened. He didn’t like the way he said her name, he hadn’t earned that right. He didn’t like that the man came here in person. He didn’t like the man in general.

Before Merle could say no, Eden stepped into view behind him, barefoot and quiet, her wide eyes focused on the Governor like she’d been listening the whole time, knowing Eden she probably was.

“Okay,” she said simply.

“What?” he turned, voice sharp. “The hell you will.”

Eden didn’t answer him. She walked past, like she hadn’t even heard. Mr. Sneezy was cradled in her arms, purring like the dumb useless cat he was.

The Governor didn’t say a damn word—just stepped aside to let her pass, like this was all normal. Merle’s fists clenched at his sides, but he didn’t stop her. Not yet.

“Eden,” he said low, rough. “You sure about this?”

She paused on the porch. Turned around and looked at him, eyes as unreadable as ever. Then, slowly, she handed Mr. Sneezy over.

The cat settled against his chest, purring loud enough to cover up the sound of Merle’s heart thundering in his ears.

She didn’t say anything else.

Then she turned and walked off beside Philip, the two of them heading down the quiet street like it was just any damn evening.

Merle stood in the doorway long after they were gone, the cat warm and alive in his arms. His eyes were fixed on the empty space where they’d disappeared.

That quiet hung in the air like a noose.

He shut the door harder than he meant to.

-

Philip’s apartment was nicer than anything left in the world should’ve been.

Clean. Quiet. Almost sterile.

The table was set for two with mismatched but polished silverware and tall white candles that burned too perfect for the chaos outside. He’d even found a wine bottle, half-full, and poured her a glass like this was some old-world date instead of a predator sizing up his prey, which it was.

Eden sat in the seat he offered without a word. Her eyes roamed the room like she was counting exits. She didn’t smile. She didn’t look grateful. She didn’t speak.

“You like fish?” Philip asked as he uncovered a plate. He'd gone all out—canned vegetables warmed just enough to steam, and something he tried to pass as grilled trout.
Eden just tilted her head.

Philip chuckled awkwardly. “Tough crowd.”

She reached for the fork. Ate slow. Eyes never left him.

Philip did most of the talking. Asked her about the road. About how long she’d been with Merle. About the cat. Casual on the surface, but the way he leaned in—there was that familiar hunger in his eyes.

Like he wanted to solve her. Or own her.

"You know," he said after a few minutes of quiet, “you’ve got a very… unique presence, Eden. Quiet. Mysterious. Most woman now fear and complain...” He reached for his wine, took a sip.

“You just are. Makes a man curious.”

Eden’s eyes never blinked.

Her hand moved slowly, deliberately, cutting the fish on her plate into small, precise pieces. The silver of the knife gleamed in the candlelight.

Philip didn’t seem to notice the way her hand tightened.

He reached forward, hand grazing the edge of hers. “You and Merle… is that real?”

Eden didn’t answer.

Philip leaned closer, voice lower. “Because if he’s just a protector, a bodyguard of sorts... You deserve better. Someone who can give you more.”

She tilted her head again.
A small twitch of movement.

“I could do that,” Philip whispered. “With me, you’d be safe.”

Her knife stopped moving.
He reached again.
His hand brushed her arm.

And just like that, the knife was at his throat.

He froze.

Eden didn’t raise her voice. Didn’t flinch. The silver blade kissed his skin, just enough to draw a bead of blood.

“I know what you are,” she said softly.

“You’re a snake in a man’s skin.”

The words hung in the room like smoke. Her wide, expressionless eyes bore into his, unblinking.

Kill him.

“You want to make people feel safe… while you rot ‘em from the inside. That’s what snakes do. That’s what you do.”

The edge of the blade pressed just a little harder.

KILL HIM.

Philip’s jaw tightened. “Eden,” he said calmly, though his voice shook beneath the surface. “This isn’t—”

“Someday,” she said, still soft. “Not tonight. Maybe not soon. But someday… I’m going to kill you.”

Silence.

The flames from the candles danced between them, casting strange shadows on the walls.

Philip didn’t move. His hands slowly rose, palms open.

“You’re confused,” he said, measured. “You’ve had a rough life. I understand. But you don’t have to be afraid here. I’m not your enemy.”

Eden blinked, just once. Then slowly, she lowered the knife.
She stood. Her chair scraped softly against the floor.

Philip didn’t stop her.

She walked out of the apartment without a word, footsteps light and ghost-like. The candlelight flickered behind her as the door clicked shut.

Philip sat frozen in his chair for a long time, one hand reaching for the cut on his neck.

Fascinating.

-

Merle sat at the kitchen table, the whetstone scraping against his blade in slow, steady strokes.

The rhythmic shhhk… shhhk… of metal on stone was the only sound in the house, aside from the occasional creak of the wind brushing against the siding. Mr. Sneezy was curled in a warm lump on the couch, tail flicking in his sleep.

He didn’t look up when he heard the front door open.
Didn’t stop sharpening the knife.
Didn’t say a word.

He just kept honing the blade, eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

She’d gone off with the Governor. Philip. Said yes right to his face. Handed him the damn cat like it was nothing, like she trusted that bastard enough to walk off into the night with him. And now she was back.

Eden walked in, coat pulled tight around her small frame, her eyes wider than usual—but not wild. Not scattered. Focused.
She crossed the room without a word, boots soft on the floorboards.

Merle finally glanced up, the blade still in his grip. “So?” he muttered, voice rough. “You have fun with your new friend?”

She didn’t answer.
She didn’t need to.

Instead, she leaned down, gently, almost like it was something sacred, and kissed him.

Right on the mouth.

Just a press of lips.
Not rushed.
Not hesitant.
Warm.
Grounded.

Her hand touched the side of his neck like she knew it was the only place on his body that wasn’t scarred or calloused.

Merle froze.
For half a second, he didn’t breathe.

She pulled back slowly. Looked at him with those huge bug eyes and then, without a word, she walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Merle blinked.

His knife clattered to the table.

He stared at the door like it had grown legs and walked off.

“What the hell…” he breathed.

Mr. Sneezy lifted his head from the couch, blinked at him like he was the idiot in the room, then curled back up.

Merle rubbed his face.
It was warm.
Burning, actually.

She kissed him.
Just kissed him.

Like it meant something.
Like he meant something.

He sat there for a while, fingers twitching, mind racing, and heart pounding in a way it hadn’t since he was maybe twenty and full of shit and piss and thought he’d live forever.

Eden.

Eden, who didn’t talk unless she had to.
Eden, who spoke in riddles or third person or not at all.
Eden, who talked to animals like they'd hear her.

He stood up slowly. His legs felt weird. Weak. The knife forgotten, he walked to the bedroom door and stood there a moment.

He could hear her breathing inside. Slow. Steady.

She wasn’t asleep yet.
He knew that.

He cracked the door open and peeked in, he felt like a kid.

The room was dim. Moonlight filtered in through the curtains, soft and blue. Eden lay on her side, curled up on top of the blanket, still in her coat, facing the wall.

“Eden,” he said quietly.

She didn’t answer.

He stepped in. Sat on the edge of the bed. Reached out and gently tugged her coat off her shoulders. She let him.

He folded it and set it aside, then pulled the blanket over her.

“Eden,” he said softly.

No response.

“Girl, what the hell was that?”

Still nothing.
She didn’t turn.
Didn’t speak.

He should’ve walked away.

Should’ve grabbed a beer or gone outside and screamed at the woods for a while.

But instead, Merle Dixon sighed, walked over, and laid down beside the girl who made no sense.

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist like they always did, like it was hers. Like he belonged there.

Merle looked down at her hand, small and pale and wrapped around his, and felt something behind his ribs ache like an old wound reopening.

He didn’t sleep for a long time.

Just stared at the ceiling, her breath warm on his shoulder, trying to make sense of everything she didn’t say.

Chapter Text

Merle woke with a start, like he always did.

No dreams. Or maybe just too many. They always slipped away the second his eyes opened.

The sun bled through the gaps in the boarded-up window. Pale and dusty. Light enough to see by. Light enough to notice that Eden was already awake.He stretched a little, shifting just enough to ease the pressure on his back.

Then he looked over.

Eden was awake.
Staring at him. Again.
Same damn way she always did.

She was lying on her side, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting lightly against her chest. Her bug-wide eyes were locked onto his face like she was waiting for something to move. Something to change.

She didn’t flinch when he met her gaze.
Didn’t even blink.
She just stared.

It should’ve creeped him out. Hell, six months ago it would’ve. That kind of stare, too focused, too quiet, too knowing, it would’ve made him snap something rude and roll over, maybe put some distance between them.

But now? He just looked back at her, brow slowly furrowing as he tried to piece her apart with his eyes.

He didn’t speak.
Neither did she.
They just... looked.
For a long while.

He wondered how long she’d been watching him. Minutes? Hours? All damn night?

She had a way of being still that didn’t feel natural. Like a cat watching a bird, predator and prey, patient, calm, but ready to move at any second.

He didn’t ask her what she was thinking.
He didn’t want to know.

There was something about Eden that always set his nerves on edge. Not the bad kind. Not danger. It wasn’t fear. Hell, he didn’t even know if it had a name. It was just the way she looked at people—like she saw through the meat and bone and straight into the place nobody wanted exposed.

His eyes dropped to the space between them. Their hands weren’t touching. Not this morning. No sleepy fingers wrapped around his wrist, no subconscious cling.

Just space.

“What?” he finally mumbled, his voice gravel and smoke, thick from sleep and the cigarettes he'd chain-smoked the night before.

She didn’t answer.
Of course she didn’t.
Just kept watching.

His eyes flicked to her mouth. Nothing there. No frown. No lift. Just lips pressed together, her breathing slow and even.

He thought of the kiss. That was what it was, wasn’t it? A kiss.

She kissed him.
She did that.

He hadn’t asked for it. Hadn’t earned it. And it wasn’t like those bar kisses from women who wanted to forget. This was something stranger. Softer. It scared him more than he’d ever admit.

Merle flexed his fingers against the mattress. His left hand, the good one, ached from how tight he'd been gripping that knife before she walked in. He could still feel the warmth of her lips. It wasn’t even sexual. Not really. It was something else.

Connection.

He wasn’t built for that. Didn’t know what to do with it.

He turned his head slightly.
She was still watching.
Still.

Like she hadn’t blinked all night.

“Do you sleep with your eyes open or somethin’?” he muttered, more to himself than her.

No answer.
Just breathing.
Soft and steady.

Mr. Sneezy shifted between them, tail flicking once. Eden’s hand moved automatically, petting him. Her nails were short and uneven. She always picked at them. He'd noticed that on day one.

“I don’t get you,” Merle said, quieter now. “I really don’t.”

Nothing.

He reached over and brushed a piece of hair from her forehead, more instinct than thought. Her eyes didn’t leave his. If anything, they looked wider. More open. Like she’d let something slip through the cracks and now he was looking at the real her.

“Don’t do that,” he said. Voice rough.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

She blinked. Slowly. Once.

He swallowed hard.

This wasn’t like him.

Lying in bed with a half-naked girl beside him, not even thinking about getting laid. Just watching. Feeling. He used to run from shit like this. Used to laugh it off or blow it up before it got close.

But here he was.

He sighed and rolled onto his back, arm flung over his forehead as he stared at the ceiling.

He felt her shift beside him.
Turn, maybe. Or just adjust her arm.

He didn’t look.
Didn’t want to meet those eyes again.

Not yet.

-

Three knocks.
Pause.
Three more.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Merle muttered under his breath, dragging himself upright. His muscles ached. The stiffness in his stump was worse in the mornings, like the ghost of his arm refused to sleep.

He pulled on his boots slowly, methodically. The Governor’s goons never came for him unless it was something important.

By the time he got the door open, two of them stood outside. Martinez and some other guy. Big. Neck like a tree trunk. Both armed.

“Supply run,” Martinez said without ceremony, eyes flicking past Merle’s shoulder like he was checking to see if anyone else was awake.

Merle blocked the view instinctively.

“Now?” he asked.

“Now.”

The tree-neck guy grunted something about “orders from the top,” then turned and started walking back down the street. Martinez stayed where he was, staring at Merle like he was waiting for a reaction.

Merle didn’t give him one.

He just nodded once, slow and tired.

“Give me five,” he said, and shut the door.

Eden hadn’t moved.
Or maybe she had.
Hard to tell with her sometimes.

She was still turned away, legs curled up beneath the blanket, her body small and strange against the white sheets.

Merle crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Didn’t say anything at first. Just sat, elbows on knees, staring at the floorboards. They creaked softly under his weight.

She shifted behind him.

“Merle ia leaving?”

He turned slightly, enough to see her eyes peeking over her shoulder. Wide and foggy from sleep.

“Supply run,” he said. “Gov’s got his dogs knockin’ early.”

Eden sat up slowly. Her hair was a mess and her face half-shadowed by the weak light leaking through the blinds.

“How far?”

“Didn’t say. Just ‘pack up, let’s go.’ You know how it is. Don’t ask, don’t argue.”

She nodded, pulling the blanket around her shoulders like a shield. Her hands disappeared beneath the folds of it. Mr. Sneezy stretched between them and let out a soft, annoyed meow.

He stood and moved to the small kitchen counter. His gear was already mostly packed; knife, pistol, spare mag, a canteen. Merle had never really fully unpacked since they arrived.

He glanced over his shoulder at her.

“I’ll be back before sundown. Shouldn’t be more than a half-day.”

Still, no words. Just her eyes, locked on him, like she was trying to memorize the shape of his face.

He hated that.
Made it feel like a goodbye.

“Don’t give me that look,” he muttered, strapping the belt across his chest. “Ain’t like I’m runnin’ off.”

“I know,” she said softly.

He turned to face her. She was sitting at the edge of the bed now, blanket pooled around her waist, arms wrapped around her knees. The sun caught in her hair and lit it gold. It was the first time he realized how long it had gotten.

“You stay here, alright?” he said. “Don’t talk to Snake Man unless you gotta. Don’t open the door unless it’s me.”

“Okay.”

Silence stretched between them again. Long and awkward, but not empty. There was too much left unsaid—too many things Merle didn’t know how to say.

He moved to the door and rested his hand on the knob. “Eden?”

She looked up.
Merle stared at her.

That weird pressure in his chest again, like something too big trying to push its way through the cracks.

Without thinking, he crossed back over to her and crouched. He placed a rough, calloused hand over hers where they rested on her knees.

“I’ll come back,” he promised.

She didn’t say anything else. Just leaned forward slightly and pressed her forehead to his.

It was the gentlest thing he’d felt in years.

No desperation.
No neediness.
Just contact.

Solid.
Real.

He lingered there a moment too long, then stood and walked to the door.

Mr. Sneezy let out a grumble from the bed.

“You watch her,” Merle said over his shoulder. “I mean it.”

The cat meowed in what sounded suspiciously like acknowledgment.

Merle opened the door. Martinez was still waiting, leaning against the wall like a man with all the time in the world. He raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Merle stepped out, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

He didn’t look back.

But he thought about her the whole walk down the road.

-

The silence inside the house felt wrong, like everything else did. Merle's absence hollowed it out like a gut cavity in a deer, leaving Eden with nothing but the sounds in her head and the slow rhythmic purring of Mr. Sneezy as he slept on the windowsill.

The moment the door shut behind Merle that morning, something shifted inside her. Something that had been settling—quieting—since they arrived in this town. In this trap. She could feel it again now: the stirrings. The slither of thoughts that didn’t feel like hers curling back in from the corners of her mind.

Don’t stay.
Don’t trust it.
It’s a lie. It’s all a lie.

Her hands twitched against the hem of her shirt. She pressed them flat to her thighs and stared at the closed door.

Merle told her to stay. He’d looked at her with those pale, serious eyes and said, Don’t open the door unless it’s me. But the voice in her head, the one that sounded like a crumbling whisper, said something else.

He won’t come back.

That one always came when he left.

Eden rose slowly from the table, the remnants of breakfast untouched. The Bible Philip had given her was still sitting there, pages slightly fanned like it had breathed and then stopped.

She didn’t look at it.
She didn’t want to.

She went to the bedroom and dressed with quick, clean movements. Cargo pants. The ones with the deep pockets. A shirt that didn’t cling too tight. Her boots Merle had gotten off a dead walker. She pulled her coat over her shoulders and tied her hair back in a loose braid, fingers practiced and silent.

Mr. Sneezy stirred but didn’t move from the window. He blinked slowly at her, then shut his eyes again.

“I’ll be back,” Eden whispered, though she didn’t know if it was true.

She stepped outside into the light.
The town of Woodbury was too perfect.
That was the first thing Eden noticed.

Every house looked like it had been plucked from a catalog. Lawns trimmed. Porches clean. American flags still fluttering on doorposts like the world hadn’t ended.

But there were eyes everywhere.

People on stoops. Guards at corners. Curtains twitching when she passed. Even the smiles felt staged, stretched too thin across tired mouths.

She didn’t smile back, never did.

Instead, she walked with the same quiet determination she used when tracking something in the woods. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, took in everything. Every alley, every fence line, every gate. Every door that might lead somewhere out.

Where are the holes in the walls? the voice murmured. Where do the shadows fall?

She moved like a ghost. Her feet barely made a sound on the concrete, her gaze never lingered long. She turned corners deliberately, looked over fences, down narrow walkways between buildings.

The map was forming in her mind.

The first gate she found was manned by two guards. Young ones. Sloppy with their stance. One had a pistol half-holstered and the other was talking too much. She made note of that.

They’ve gotten soft, said the voice.
Soft men die fast.

The second gate was better—older men, rifles, tight eyes.

That one she wouldn’t risk.

A break in the back fence of an abandoned lot gave her pause. The boards there were soft, already bowing under pressure. She tested one with a palm and it wobbled. Not enough for her to squeeze through now, but if someone needed out fast...

You were right about this place.
He doesn’t see it, but you do.
Get out before he cages you again.

She continued on.

Past the gardens. Past the school where they held meetings. Past the watchtower that spun slowly, its shadow cutting across the street like a blade.

He is watching you.
You should not have stayed.
Leave. Leave. Leave.

She pressed the heel of her palm into her temple. “Shut up,” she hissed under her breath. “Just shut up.”

But they didn’t.
They never did.

Eden kept walking.

She passed the market square; two folding tables set up with jars of canned peaches and stacks of dented soup cans. A woman handed out bread like it wasn't holy. A little girl ran past her giggling, too clean, too untouched by the world outside the walls.

That was what unnerved her the most.

The normalcy.

It was fake.

Merle had told her that if she wanted to leave they'd leave but now he was one of the Governor’s men. He had been consumed by the rot, he could not escape now even if he wanted to.

It was too late for him now.

Merle didn’t see it now, or maybe he didn’t care anymore. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe he wanted to rest.

But Eden didn’t rest.
She couldn’t.
The voices wouldn’t let her.

This is the garden before the snake.

She turned toward the east side of town, toward the row of smaller houses where the sun hit the pavement like melted amber. She felt it through her boots—the hum of a lie stretching across this place like a web.

The Governor’s web.
And everyone else was caught in it.

She stopped near a corner and crouched beside a stone planter filled with wilting flowers. From there, she could see most of the southern edge of the wall. Her fingers traced the crumbling rim of the pot as her eyes narrowed, focusing.

You are prey here, the voice said again. But you remember how to bite.

“You lost?”

The voice was real.

Eden blinked.

A man stood across the street. Not one of the guards. Not one of the Governor’s lieutenants. Just some local—soft eyes, too clean, too calm for the world they lived in. He wore a plaid shirt tucked into his jeans like it was Sunday school and not the end of the world.

“No,” Eden said. Her voice felt strange in her mouth. Like she hadn’t used it in days.

“You’re one of the new ones, right?” he asked, stepping forward. “With the guy—uh, the one-armed one?”

She tilted her head, “Merle.”

“Right, yeah. I saw you at the square yesterday. You okay? You look a little... lost.”

“I’m not,” she repeated, and began walking again.

He didn’t follow.

The voices laughed softly in her head, low and coiled.

He didn’t matter.
But some of them do.
Some of them are listening.
Some of them are always watching.

She made her way toward the north edge of town, where the trees grew thicker beyond the walls. There was a tower here, shorter than the others, and two women chatting at its base.

They stopped talking when she passed.
Her pace slowed.

She could see the corner where the wall met the watch station, and there; a stack of crates, haphazard and just tall enough to climb.

A potential route.

You were never meant for cages.
Your feet are still wild.
Your hands remember how to run.

On her way back, the sun was higher. People were out now; sweeping porches, tending gardens, walking dogs that barked too much. They smiled at her and she didn’t return any of them.

Back at the house, Mr. Sneezy was still in the window.

She opened the door and stepped inside. Closed it behind her like nothing had happened. The cat stretched and jumped down, winding around her legs as she locked the door again.

She sat down at the kitchen table and took a long, slow breath. Her fingers curled into the wood grain.

Merle wouldn’t be back for hours.

She had time.
Time to think.
Time to plan.

Time to remember who she was before this place tried to make her into something tame.

She scratched Mr. Sneezy behind the ears and whispered, “Don’t tell him I left.”

The cat purred like a secret.

-

Merle walked ahead.

He trudged through the underbrush, his boots crunching over twigs and old leaves, the warm weight of his rifle slung across his shoulder and his knife sheathed at his hip, flanked by two of the Governor’s men—Carter and Malone.

They weren't much for conversation, which suited Merle just fine.

They’d been walking for hours, further out than he thought they’d go.

Supply run, Philip had called it.

A light patrol, just in case anything good was rotting in an abandoned garage or left behind in some wrecked-out SUV. Merle hadn’t asked questions. Not when the Governor handed him that radio and called him his “right-hand man.”

He’d played along.

Grinned. Nodded.

He’d done worse for less.

Carter chewed gum like it was his job, and Malone kept tapping the barrel of his rifle like it might disappear if he didn’t check it every ten seconds.

The air was thick with humidity, the scent of pine and rot in every breath. The walkers hadn’t shown themselves all morning, and that made Merle itch worse than if they had.

Still, he walked in front, taking point, pretending to believe this was just another routine sweep.

Until they heard the voices.

“Hold up,” Merle said, raising a hand. The others stopped, squinting through the trees.

Low voices. Two men, maybe twenty yards east. Not shouting. Not panicked. Just... talking. Calm. Careless.

Merle motioned silently and the three of them moved like shadows, weaving between the trees, boots silent on the pine needles.

They spotted them near a creek.

Two guys. Mid-thirties. Dirty clothes, but nothing feral about them. One was tall and wiry, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other was shorter, broader, wearing a flannel shirt tied at the waist. They were crouched beside the water, filling bottles. Their rifles leaned against a rock a few feet away—close, but not close enough if trouble came.

Merle stepped out first, raising his hand.

“Whoa there, fellas. Don’t panic.”

The two men froze. Ponytail guy reached for his rifle out of instinct, but Merle gave a casual shake of his head.

“Wouldn’t do that,” he warned. “Ain’t here to shoot ya. Not unless you give me a reason.”

Flannel guy eyed him, lips parted slightly. He looked at the two men behind Merle, saw their guns drawn.

“We don’t want trouble,” he said. His voice was steady, calm. “Just passing through.”

“You got a camp nearby?” Merle asked.

“No. Just us,” Ponytail replied. “We keep moving. Safer that way.”

Merle nodded, chewing that over.

No group.
No camp.
Just the two of them.

He noticed the subtle way they stood close. Protective. Eyes checking each other before responding. There was something quiet and honest in the way they watched one another, something Merle had seen in himself nowadays.

They’re together.

It wasn’t hard to guess. He didn’t care. Hell, after everything the world had gone through, love, or whatever you could still call it, was about the last pure thing left.

The old Merle would've probably beaten the crap out of him if he heard him sprout that bullshit.

“Well,” Merle said slowly, “you boys’re in luck. We got a place. Walled in. Safe. Food. You play by the rules, Governor might let you stay.”

They looked at each other.

Ponytail was suspicious.
Flannel looked hopeful.

“Governor?” he asked.

“Yeah. Runs the place. Call it Woodbury. Lotta good folk there. Hell, I can vouch for ya.”

Merle turned to Carter and Malone to see if they were gonna chime in, maybe drop the hard-ass routine.

Instead, Malone stepped forward.

“No camp?” he asked.

“No,” Ponytail repeated. “We’ve just been surviving. It’s been rough, but we manage—”

The gunshot cracked through the air like lightning.

Merle flinched.

So did Flannel, just once, before his knees buckled, and he hit the ground with a wet thud. Blood bloomed across his chest like a flower opening too fast.

“What the—!” Ponytail lunged toward him, too late, too slow.

Malone fired again.

The second man fell backward, mouth open, eyes wide.
Both were dead before they hit the ground.

Merle stared at them, his heart thudding once, then stopping.

Silence, for a beat.

Merle just stared.

“What the hell,” he said softly. His voice didn’t even sound like his own.

Carter looked disinterested, already turning away. Malone holstered his weapon like he’d swatted a couple of bugs.

“No group,” Malone said with a shrug. “Dead weight. We don’t take in loners unless they got something useful. Governor’s orders.”

“That wasn’t what he said,” Merle growled.

Carter snorted. “That’s ‘cause he don’t say things out loud he don’t want repeated. You been here a while, Dixon. Thought you’d figured that out.”

Merle looked back at the two bodies. One of their hands was still reaching; blood pooling beneath outstretched fingers.

The creek bubbled past them, uncaring.
He didn’t feel shocked, exactly.
Not deep down.
Because some part of him had known.
But still.
Seeing it was different.

“You didn’t even ask their names,” Merle muttered.

Malone glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t need to. Like I said, no group. No use.”

They moved on.

Just like that.

Merle lagged behind.

He looked at the men again. Two strangers. Lovers, maybe. Survivors for sure. Now bleeding out into the dirt like they’d never mattered at all.

He crouched beside them, checked the taller one’s pulse.

Nothing.

He could almost hear Eden’s voice in his head.

"This place is wrong."

And maybe she'd been right.

Maybe she’d always been right.

Chapter Text

Merle didn't go straight home.

He should have. His boots were soaked with creek water, and his shirt stuck to him with sweat and something that might’ve been blood. Not his. He wasn't sure he knew or cared whose it was anymore. His arm ached. His shoulder throbbed. His mouth tasted like iron and dirt. But when the gates of Woodbury clanked shut behind him, he didn’t head to the house. Didn’t head toward Eden.

He walked.

Not with purpose. Not toward anything in particular. Just away—from the faces of Carter and Malone, from the ghosts of two dead men lying by a stream, and from the silence in his own head that was starting to sound a lot like judgment.

The sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows over the tidy rows of buildings and picket-fenced houses. The place looked peaceful. That was the damn lie of it. Looked like a postcard, like nothing had ever gone wrong here. Kids played with chalk on the sidewalk. A couple of folks watered their gardens like shit was all rainbows and cupcakes.

Merle dragged his boots across the pavement, letting the quiet buzz of Woodbury life wash over him. It didn’t help. Not really. The blood was still fresh in his mind. The way that tall one reached for the other before dying. The hope in their voices. The way they’d trusted him.

Fuck.

Merle rubbed his face hard with his hand. The skin beneath his beard felt hot and gritty. He needed a drink. He needed three.

“Hey there, stranger.”

He blinked, lifting his head slightly at the sound of a voice too soft and sweet for the day he’d had.

A woman stood by the porch of one of the nicer houses. She had curly auburn hair pulled into a messy bun, sun-darkened skin, and a blue tank top that showed off just enough to make her intentions obvious. She leaned against the post, one foot resting on the rail, eyes locked on him like he was the main course.

Merle sighed through his nose. “Can I help you?” he asked flatly, not stopping.

“You’re Merle, right?” she asked, stepping off the porch. She was younger than him, but not by much. Maybe thirty. “The Governor's new right-hand man.”

He kept walking.

She followed.

He didn’t say a word.

She didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m Michelle. I handle first-aid and food distribution,” she said, catching pace with him. “I also help coordinate storage logs. Pretty boring stuff. But I like it here. It’s safe, you know?”

Merle gave a small grunt. That was all she got. Michelle didn’t take the hint. She walked beside him like they were old friends. “I saw you come in with the supply team,” she said. “Long run?”

He gave her a side glance. “You always talk this much?”

She laughed, a light, flirty sound.

“Only when I’m nervous,” she said with a teasing look. She bumped her shoulder against his—softly, but intentional.

He stopped walking.

Michelle turned, facing him fully now. “I was just heading home,” she said. “I’ve got a couple bottles of wine stashed. Real wine. Not the homemade crap. You want to join me?”

He looked at her.

Really looked.

And yeah, she was pretty. She had that clean look—like someone who still gave a damn about makeup and lotion and brushing her teeth. In another life, another time, Merle would’ve had her laughing against a wall by now. Would’ve run his mouth, tossed out some filthy innuendo, gotten her in bed by nightfall.

But he just stood there.

His body didn’t move.

His mouth didn’t move.

His head felt too full.

All he could think about was Eden. Eden with her huge, eerie eyes. Eden mumbling to herself while setting traps in the woods. Eden slicing a deer open with trembling hands and a look of grim focus that he respected more than anything.

Eden didn’t try to be something. She just was.

And now this woman—this Michelle, felt like noise. White noise.

“I’m tired,” Merle muttered, stepping around her.

Michelle’s smile faltered for the first time. “Oh,” she said. “Well. If you change your mind…”

He didn’t answer. Just kept walking.

-

He didn’t know how long he walked before his boots brought him back to the little house.

Home, they called it.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever had one of those.

The porch light was already on. Eden must’ve turned it on, even though it was barely dusk. He stepped inside. The air was warm, filled with the scent of dried herbs and something faintly sweet—lavender, maybe. Eden was on the floor by the couch, legs crossed, Mr. Sneezy curled in her lap. Her head turned the moment the door clicked shut.

Those damn eyes.

He thought about the two men again. About how no one had even blinked when they died. How the world had gotten to this point and left nothing behind but muscle and cruelty and fire. That had been him once, he had ben the problem. Maybe he still was.

“Hey,” he rasped.

She didn’t answer. Just looked at him.

Mr. Sneezy blinked slowly.

Merle kicked off his boots, sat down heavy on the arm of the couch, and stared at the floor. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and exhaled long and low.

“I met some broad,” he said after a while. “Kept flirtin’. Said she had wine.”

He glanced at Eden.

No response.

He chuckled once, dry and humorless. “Didn’t go.”

Still, no words. But Mr. Sneezy looked up at him like Good. Or maybe he was just hungry. Hard to tell with cats.

Merle rubbed his face again, his fingers catching on the scruff of his beard. “You were right,” he murmured. “About this place. About him.”

Eden’s eyes blinked slowly. Her fingers stroked the cat’s back.

Merle stood again, wandered into the kitchen, and opened the cabinet. There was half a bottle of whiskey left from their 'Welcome' basket. He poured himself a cup, didn’t bother with ice. Took a slow sip and leaned against the counter.

“You still wanna stay?” he asked.

Eden didn’t reply.

But this time, it wasn’t silence.

He downed the drink and tossed the cup in the sink.

When he walked back into the living room, Eden was still on the floor, still watching him. Still waiting.

Merle lowered himself beside her, cross-legged, arm resting over his knee.

She didn’t move away. Didn’t say anything.

Just leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, so softly he barely heard it:

“Merle and Eden stay together.”

He sat with her, in the quiet hum of a lie wearing its Sunday best. And the sun finally dipped behind the wall.

-

The days passed quickly in Woodbury. Maybe it was the illusion of order—of clocks ticking and people with wide Cheshire smiles. Maybe it was because Merle was always gone, out on the Governor’s errands, doing the dirty work while Eden wandered the streets like a rat.

But even a rat could learn the layout of a cage.

She listened. Watched. Walked alone, trailing fingers along fences, marking the feel of gravel paths, counting doors and alleyways. The voices were loud some days, whispering things in her ears, telling her where the weak points were in the walls, where the guards were lazy, which buildings had second exits.

She nodded to them. Murmured thanks when no one was looking.

By the end of the week, Eden knew seven ways out of Woodbury.

But one thing still kept her here.

The snake in the skin of a man.

He watched her too often. Talked too sweet. His eyes lingered.

So, when she saw him leave his building that morning, flanked by only one bodyguard, she followed from a distance. Her boots made no sound. Her dark hair was braided tight down her back. Navy sweatshirt and jeans, her face blank, her bug-wide eyes blinking slowly in the sun.

He didn’t see her. No one ever did until it was too late.

Go. Go. Go. Go.

She waited ten minutes after he disappeared down the road, likely going to charm a new arrival or settle some petty issue. The man liked to be adored. That much was clear.

Eden crept up to the apartment he kept above the town hall. A fortress disguised as a home.

One guard.

Young. Distracted. Leaning against the door frame with a rifle but no spine.

She crept close behind him, her boots quiet on the gravel, and with a rock in hand, cracked it against his temple. He slumped with a soft grunt, and she caught his body before it hit the ground. Eden dragged him behind a stack of crates, her breath silent.

Inside.

The air inside was wrong. The curtains were drawn, bathing everything in dim yellow light. She stepped over rugs and polished floorboards, past mounted photos and tidy shelves, She padded up the stairs slowly, step by careful step.

Find the truth. See it. Show it.

She opened the door at the top.

There, against the far wall, lit in sickly yellow light, were jars. Rows and rows of them, lined up on shelves, glistening in the gloom like trophies. Inside them, floating in cloudy liquid, were heads. Human heads. Men, women—some fresh, some rotted.

Their eyes open. Their mouths slack.

Watching her.

Eden didn’t move. Her brain could not understand at first. Her fingers flexed uselessly at her sides. She felt dizzy. And then she heard it.

She turned sharply and saw the cage tucked into the far side of the room.

Inside it, swaying back and forth, was a small walker.

A little girl.

Her dress was pink and torn. Her skin pale, gray. Her mouth worked hungrily against the air. Her dead eyes locked onto Eden the moment they met, milky eyes.

Eden watched.

When people had first started eating each other it had not been her first time seeing a dead body, her father had been a mortician, dead bodies were a constant. As a little girl she had seen multiple little girls, pale and still, laying on mortuary tables, too young, dead. At times she would speak to the girls, to the ghosts, she wished it had been her on that table instead of them, her father expressing that he felt the same.

She pulled out a small pocket knife. The girl in the cage snarled softly.

“I’m sorry,” Eden whispered.

She raised the knife.

The door slammed open.

She didn’t even have time to turn before the first hit landed.

He struck her hard across the jaw, sending her crashing into the bookshelf. A jar toppled and shattered beside her, the putrid liquid seeping across the wood, mixing with bits of hair and flesh. She tasted blood.

“You little bitch,” he snarled. “You don’t touch her.”

His boot came down toward her ribs.

The pain bloomed white. She stumbled forward, into one of the glass tanks. It shattered around her with a crash. The water splashed everywhere, reeking of death. A shard drove into her left eye. She screamed, her body seizing in shock and pain.

Her hands clawed at her face, blood gushing down her cheek.

She felt the contamination immediately.

The water. The rot. In her skin. In her bones.

In her eye.

The Governor reached for her again, shouting something. She turned blindly, one eye ruined, and lunged. She bit down into his neck. Hard. The copper flood filled her mouth. His scream was shrill, animal. Her teeth sank in deeper and she ripped sideways—tearing through flesh.

Blood sprayed across her cheek.

His ear came loose in her mouth.

He shrieked, clutching the side of his face, staggering back in horror.

She leapt again, blood covering her face, glass still embedded in her cheek, and tackled him to the ground. Her hands went for his throat, nails scraping, scratching.

“Snake in skin,” she whispered, voice raspy. “Snake. Snake. Snake.”

He shoved her back, stumbling, clutching the side of his head. The Governor coughed wetly, hands pressed to the bleeding mess where his ear used to be.

Footsteps.

Boots.

Shouting.

Hands grabbed her. Too many. Familiar.

They wrenched her arms behind her back. Pinned her to the wall.

Familiar.

They tore her off of him. She kicked. She thrashed. She spit blood into their faces. They slammed her into the wall. A baton cracked across her back.

The Governor stumbled upright, face red, blood dripping down his neck.

His eyes met hers.

“Don’t kill her!” he yelled, voice gurgling. “No—no. Lock her up.”

The guards hesitated.

“She’s mine,” he hissed. “She’s mine.”

Eden’s head lolled to the side, her vision swimming in red. The last thing she saw before darkness took her was one of the walker heads in the tank, drifting slowly sideways in the water.

Mouth open.

Eyes dull.

Watching her.

-

Merle wasn’t in the mood for babysitting, but that’s what the supply runs had become.

Three guys from Woodbury followed behind him like lost dogs—Carter with his shotgun slung lazy over his shoulder, Kenny chewing gum like a cow, and some new kid with an itchy trigger finger. They were loud, careless, and slow, and Merle was already regretting not breaking off on his own.

The woods were dense this far out. The trees didn’t let much light in. Sunlight trickled down like honey through thick branches, and everything smelled like pine, rot, and sweat.

He walked behind the rest of the crew, his boots kicking up dry leaves, one hand resting on the strap of his rifle, the other arm ending in the metal stump he’d learned to use as easily as the one God gave him. Carter was jabbering about deer trails again. The man never shut up. Merle half-listened, eyes scanning the trees.

He didn’t like being this far out. Governor said there were walkers migrating through the east ridge, wanted it cleared. A death sentence for someone else. For Merle, just another Thursday.

He paused when he saw something.

Movement.

Not fast—slow. Stumbling.

He signaled the others to stop, crouching behind a fallen tree trunk. The others barely reacted, but at least they shut the hell up.

His hand went to his rifle, but the walker that came into view wasn’t a walker.

It was a woman.

Dirty, pale, blonde hair matted to her face. Her eyes looked feverish. Her shoulders hunched. He stepped forward, weapon lowered, eyes narrowed.

Merle blinked. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

She froze when she saw him. Her grip on the shotgun tightened. The woman beside her—tall, dark-skinned—didn’t speak. She had a katana across her back like the last samurai.

Andrea didn’t smile.

Didn’t lower the weapon.

Didn’t look happy to see him.

He hadn’t seen her since Atlanta. Since the department store. Since she’d chosen to stay with the others and left him for dead on that roof.

“Shit,” he muttered. “You look like hell, girl.”

He stepped forward slowly, one boot crunching in the underbrush.

“Merle,” she said flatly.

Andrea looked like shit. Pale. Sickly. Bags under her eyes. Her lips cracked. He took a good long look at the samurai lady, raising a brow. “And who the hell are you supposed to be? Kill Bill?”

No answer.

Just that dead-eyed stare.

Merle chuckled dryly and turned back to Andrea. “Who’s your samurai friend?” he asked, jerking his chin toward her.

Andrea didn’t answer at first. She swayed.

“She’s the reason I’m still alive,” she murmured.

“You sick?”

Andrea nodded, rubbing her forehead. “Got separated from the group a while back. I nearly didn’t make it. Fever hit me hard. She found me.”

The woman still didn’t move. She watched like a hawk, like she didn’t trust him at all.

Smart woman.

“And what about Daryl?” Merle asked carefully, stepping closer.

Andrea’s eyes flicked up.

“We got separated. A herd hit us hard… I didn’t see Daryl after that.”

Merle’s jaw tensed. He didn’t let it show. He’d figured if any one could make it in this shitty world it’d be his baby brother but hearing Daryl’s name aloud—it hit him harder than he thought it would.

“So, he could still be alive.”

She didn’t answer.

He turned his attention to the silent shadow behind her. “You got a name?”

The katana woman took a single step forward. “Michonne,” she said coolly.

Andrea looked over his shoulder, likely clocking the three Woodbury idiots hanging back, confused and antsy.

“Who are they?” she asked.

“Don’t matter,” Merle said. “They ain’t got nothin’ to say unless I tell ’em to.”

“We should go.” Michonne said, looking at Andrea now.

Instead of responding Andrea coughed and stumbled. Merle moved forward instinctively, catching her under the arm.

“She’s burnin’ up,” he muttered.

Michonne didn’t move, but her hand twitched near her blade.

“You’re gonna burn out here,” he added, glancing up. “Y’all got no food, no medicine, no shelter. If she dies, then what?”

Michonne’s jaw flexed. “We take care of each other.”

“That’s cute. Real noble. But nobility don’t keep fevers down.”

He was tired of the stand-off. Tired of playing politics with a woman who looked like she could gut him before he blinked. He understood that kind of quiet fury. Liked it, even.

But he had a job to do.

“Look,” he said finally. “I ain’t here to hurt y’all, just tyring to keep yall livin’.”

Andrea leaned against him. Her breathing was shallow.

“She needs help,” he said, more to Michonne now. “Y’all can walk away tomorrow if you want. But let her get medicine.”

Michonne looked at Andrea.

Andrea nodded weakly.

“I’ll go,” she whispered. “Just for now.”

Merle glanced back at the tree line. “Carter!” he yelled.

The other men came crashing through the brush.

“She’s sick,” he barked. “No biters, just fever. She comes with us. Both of ‘em.”

Carter frowned at Michonne. He didn’t miss the way the woman looked at the others like she was counting heads. Like she was preparing exits in her mind.

She was smart.

Didn’t trust easy.

Merle respected that.

It reminded him of Eden in a way, they’d probably get along.

As they started back toward Woodbury, Andrea leaning heavy on him, he glanced sideways at Michonne again. She walked with feline grace, her blade sheathed, but her eyes never still.

Merle sighed.

Somehow, this just got a whole lot more complicated.

-

Merle never liked walking through Woodbury’s gates. It didn’t feel like coming home. To be honest Merle had never experienced that feeling. Home. It felt dumb, a word that didn’t sound real.

He kept his arm low around Andrea’s waist as they crossed through. She was still burning up, half-conscious. Michonne walked beside them, her sword sheathed but her eyes never resting. A woman on the edge, always.

Merle understood that kind of tension.

One of the guards waved them in. Another radioed ahead.

“Governor’ll want to see you,” someone said.

Of course he would.

The three of them were escorted to the Governor’s house. Andrea was taken aside by the nurse on standby. Michonne refused to let her sword go, and none of the guards were stupid enough to try to make her.

Merle stepped into the office alone.

The room stank of iodine and alcohol.

Philip stood by the window with one hand tucked behind his back. His other hand held a glass of scotch, untouched. His head was turned slightly to the side. Bandages wrapped around his skull, thick and clean, but seeping at the base near where his ear should’ve been.

He turned when he heard the door close behind Merle.

His smile was slow. “Merle,” he drawled, voice low and pleasant.

Merle narrowed his eyes, “What the hell happened to you?”

The Governor turned fully, and Merle got a better look at the damage. The ear was gone. Just gone. Wrapped and bloodied. His eye was bruised underneath, and his neck was a mess of half-healed scratches.

Philip tilted his head like a teacher giving a child a second to consider their own stupidity.

“You wanna guess?” he asked smoothly.

Merle stiffened.

“Where’s Eden?”

“Gone,” the Governor said, swirling his glass lazily.

“The hell you mean gone?”

“She tried to kill me.”

Merle stared at the man in front of him, and something low and dark curled in his gut.

The Governor touched the bandage gently. “She attacked me. Out of nowhere. Pulled a knife on me at dinner, pressed it to my throat. Bit my ear off.” He chuckled faintly, like he was amused by it all and hadn’t just got his ear bitten off, crazy fuck. “Can you believe that?”

He couldn’t.

“She what?”

“She ran,” Philip said, too casually. “She’s gone.”

“You’re leavin’ somethin’ out,” Merle said quietly. “Ain’t no way she’d do that unless you gave her reason.”

Philip gave him a long, hard look. “She’s unstable, Merle. We both know that. Sweet, sure, but off her rocker. She could barely hold a conversation without talkin’ to herself. You really gonna tell me you didn’t see this coming?”

Merle didn’t answer.

Eden wouldn’t just leave him. She wouldn’t leave Mr. Sneezy. She wouldn’t run without a word. Not unless she’d been cornered. Hurt.

Or worse.

His chest burned. “What the hell did you do to her?”

Philip stood slowly. “Watch your tone.”

“I ain’t gonna ask again.”

The Governor’s eyes narrowed. “She’s gone, Merle. You can go chase her down if you want, but this town still needs leadership. And I still need my right hand.”

Merle stepped forward, nostrils flaring. “You laid a hand on her?”

Philip’s voice dropped to a warning murmur. “I gave you shelter, food, purpose. And now this little freak girl of yours bites my damn ear off, and you wanna question me?”

Merle gritted his teeth.

“She bit you?”

“Like an animal,” Philip hissed.

Merle’s jaw clenched hard enough to hurt. He said nothing.

“You know what she’s like, Merle. I tried to reason with her, but she was gone. Lost to whatever voices she’s got rattling around in that head of hers.” Philip continued.

Merle didn’t move.

He didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

Yeah, Eden was messed up in the head. Yeah, she talked to herself, but she scratched herself raw, not other people. “She wouldn’t’ve attacked you unless you gave her a reason,” Merle said finally.

Philip narrowed his eyes.

“She’s unstable,” Philip growled, rising from his chair. “You got too close to her, and you didn’t see it. She’s dangerous.”

Merle felt cold. Like the air was leaking out of his lungs.

Philip’s voice turned softer. “I know she meant something to you. I’m sorry.”

Merle stared at him.

Then turned on his heel.

-

The door to the basement groaned open.

Philip Blake stepped through, the stairs creaking beneath his boots. The air was damp, stale with mildew and something fouler that clung to the corners of the stone like rot. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, flickering every so often like the whole place might plunge into darkness at any second. He didn’t mind. The darkness never scared him.

He preferred it.

The guards didn’t follow. They knew better. This part of Woodbury was his alone.

He moved down the hallway with calm, even steps, his hand grazing the wall as if strolling through a memory. The white bandages wrapped around his head pulsed with a dull throb—phantom pain from the torn cartilage Eden had ripped from his skull. The girl had teeth. He’d give her that.

He stopped in front of a steel door.

He unlocked it slowly.

Inside, the air was colder.

Curled in the farthest corner of the room, her body hunched low, knees tucked up to her chest, arms hugging her sides like she could fold herself into a shadow. She was clothed in nothing but her undergarments—her old bloodied sweatshirt and jeans had been stripped away when they’d dressed her wound and yet to be returned. Her skin was too pale under the harsh fluorescent light, sickly white against the concrete.

Her dark hair was tangled, plastered to her face with sweat and dried blood. She rocked slightly where she sat, fingers twisting into her scalp, lips moving—but the words were mumbled, faint, like wind whispering through broken windows.

Philip stepped inside.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t stop mumbling.

She just rocked.

He shut the door behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing louder than it should have.

“Eden,” he said.

No answer.

Her nails dug harder into her scalp. She spoke in fragmented whispers.

“They know, they know, don’t want to hear—don’t want to—stop it, stop it, stop—”

Philip crouched down.

“Eden,” he repeated, quieter.

She flinched. Then turned her head, just slightly, and growled. It wasn’t theatrical. It was low and animalistic, her lip curled, eyes wild and wide with fury and fear. She shrank away from the light, from him, like a caged thing that had been beaten too many times.

Philip only smiled.

He liked broken things. They were easier to control.

He stepped closer. Crouched lower.

She whispered something again, he couldn’t catch the words. Something about gardens. About fire.

He reached for her slowly, like a trainer with a dog gone rabid. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said softly. “I’m not angry anymore.”

Her arms tensed.

“You hurt me, yes. You hurt yourself. But I know… I know that wasn’t you, was it? It was the voices.” His hand touched her cheek, warm against her cold skin. “They get loud, don’t they?”

She stared past him, her pupils unfocused.

“Eden,” he whispered. “You can still have a place here. You just have to try. I can help you. I want to help you.”

Then she snapped her teeth, just missing his fingers. He jerked back slightly, though his smile remained intact. Her eyes followed his hand. Sharp. Animal. Furious. Fear.

He leaned forward again, this time grabbing her chin in one swift, harsh motion. His grip was tight, fingers digging into her jaw, forcing her to look at him. She struggled weakly, her fingers clawing at his wrist but not with real strength. Her voice cracked.

“Let Eden go…”

He paused.

“What did you say?”

She closed her eyes. “Let Eden go. Let her… go.”

He tilted his head, watching her with fascinated detachment. “And who are you, then?”

Her lip trembled. “Not… not her. Eden is quiet now.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then he loosened his grip.

His voice turned sickeningly soft, like velvet laced with poison. “Do you want her back?”

Eden blinked, and for a moment, her eyes seemed to focus. She stared straight at him.

“No.”

He laughed quietly. “That’s the thing with broken minds… You never know who you’re talking to. One moment it’s a scared little girl, the next it’s a beast biting at your ear.”

She didn’t respond.

“You know,” he continued, standing up, brushing imaginary dust from his jacket. “You had a good thing here. Food. Shelter. Him.”

Her fingers twitched.

“Merle,” he added, watching her face for a flicker of emotion. “You liked him. He liked you.”

That got a reaction. Her body twitched. Barely.

“But even he won’t come looking for you if I tell him you ran off screaming into the woods, will he?”

Her breath quickened. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head violently.

“No no no no no no no—”

Philip knelt again, grabbing her by the hair this time. Not violently. Not yet.

“You attacked me, Eden. Bit off my ear. That’s not something people just forget.”

She whimpered.

“But I’m willing to forget,” he whispered. “If you play nice. If you listen. If you become someone useful.”

His hand released her hair, brushing it almost gently behind her ear. She was trembling now, curled tighter into herself.

“But if you fight me again…” His voice dropped to a cold whisper, “...I’ll throw you out like trash. And you, Merle and that sneezing cat will be walker food by morning.”

Eden shuddered. Her hands slid over her ears, fingers pressing hard, rocking again. She began muttering again. “Garden garden garden—grandma said—snake in the garden—snake snake snake—”

Philip sighed. The performance was tiring now.

He stood and moved to the door.

As he reached for the knob, her voice shifted. It was calmer now.

“I’m going to kill you.”

Philip paused.

He turned.

She wasn’t rocking anymore. She sat still.

Her hair hung in her face, but her eyes were clear. Unblinking. Her nails dug into her thighs, drawing blood—but she didn’t flinch.

“I’m going to kill you,” she repeated, softly. “Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But I will. You know that.”

Philip stared at her for a long moment, lips parting like he wanted to say something, then he smiled.

A cruel, quiet smile.

And shut the door behind him.

-

Merle walked into the house they’d shared.

It was dark inside.

Empty.

Mr. Sneezy sat at the window ledge.

She wouldn’t have left him.

She wouldn’t have left him. Not without sayin’ nothin’. Not without the damn cat. Not without— him.

She wouldn’t.

He stood on the porch for a long time, staring at the chipped paint, the slanted swing they never used.

He sat on the steps, his breath shaky.

She left?

No note. No goodbye. No nothing?

Merle looked down at his hand. The ground one. Around his wrist was the necklace he liked—the one with a dozen eyeballs that reminded him of her, he felt like a fucking idiot.

Ripping it off roughly enough for the beads to snap and bounce around the floor.

He stood slowly, Mr Sneezy jumping off the ledge of the window and running off somewhere.

She had left him.

Just like how everyone else did.

Chapter Text

It had been a month since Andrea and Michonne first stepped foot in Woodbury.

For Andrea, it had been a month of fresh air, smiling faces, and the warm comfort of a full belly every night. She spoke with the townsfolk, helped with their gardens, laughed at their jokes. She believed, truly believed, that this was safety. Michonne, however, had never once let her guard down.

Her eyes were always searching, always catching the quiet glances between guards. The way they weren’t allowed to leave. The way Philip, their so-called leader, smiled too wide and talked too smooth.

So, when she found herself in front of Philip’s house late one night, sword in hand, it wasn’t because she was curious. It was because she knew.

Michonne didn’t make it past the kitchen before she was caught. The sound of heavy boots on the floor behind her made her freeze for a single second, and then rough hands wrenched her arms behind her back. She fought, twisting, snarling, but two more men appeared, and the odds shifted against her. The next thing she knew, she was being shoved down a narrow stairwell that reeked of damp concrete.

The door slammed behind her, locking with a metallic snap. She turned, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

There was someone in the corner.

At first, she thought it might be a pile of rags until it moved, shifting with a slow, uneven motion. The woman’s hair was a wild, tangled mess, strands sticking to her face as if she’d been sweating for hours. Her skin was pale and clammy, her frame trembling like she was barely holding herself upright.

The woman didn’t look up. She was murmuring to herself in a low voice, words tripping over one another so fast that Michonne couldn’t make them out. Her knees were drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tight around them, nails digging into her own skin.

Michonne took a slow step forward. “Hey…”

The woman flinched, head jerking up for the first time. Her eyes were wide, glassy, and darting, they were fixed on Michonne like a cornered animal. Her lips moved again, forming words that didn’t quite reach the air.

Michonne froze. This woman wasn’t normal, she wasn’t right, this whole thing wasn’t right. “I’m not here to hurt you,” Michonne tried again, keeping her voice low, steady.

The woman blinked rapidly, whispering something under her breath. Michonne caught fragments “no, no, no” followed by a short, sharp gasp, as though she was choking on her own panic.

Michonne crouched down slowly, making sure her movements weren’t sudden. “What’s your name?”

The woman’s breathing was ragged. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her hands moved to her hair, twisting and pulling at it like she was trying to tear it out by the roots.

Michonne hesitated, unsettled. “You’re hurt,” she said, noticing the bandage peeking from beneath the woman’s torn shirt sleeve. “Who did this to you?”

The woman ignored her completely. She muttered something else, but Michonne couldn’t catch it. Her voice was too soft, too fast, like she was talking to someone else entirely.

“You’ve been down here a while,” Michonne said, scanning the small cell. The bucket in the corner, the thin blanket on the floor, the untouched tray of food shoved aside—she could see the story in all of it.

The woman stopped pulling her hair long enough to look up again. Her pupils were dilated, her lips cracked. She stared at Michonne for several long seconds, and then whispered, “…he lied.”

Michonne’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

The woman’s gaze darted toward the door, then back to Michonne. Her breathing quickened, her hands gripping her own arms tight. “Merle..”

Michonne stiffened at the name.

The woman’s whisper turned to a hiss, her tone sharp and furious despite her fragile frame. “He lies. He… hurts.”

Before Michonne could ask anything more, the woman hunched over again, rocking slightly, as though the act of speaking had drained her. She started muttering under her breath once more, words tumbling out in a fevered rhythm.

Michonne sat down across from her, back against the cold wall. She didn’t know who this woman was or what Merle or the Governor had done to her but she knew she wasn’t imagining the craze in her eyes.

Andrea had been charmed. The rest of Woodbury had been lulled. But this woman… this woman was proof that Michonne’s instincts had been right all along.

And if she had anything to say about it, she was going to get them both out.

-

The bar was quiet except for the faint hum of an old radio, the static swallowing most of the music. The Governor’s men had cleared out hours ago, leaving behind the reek of cigarette smoke and the stick of spilled liquor on the counter. A single lightbulb swayed above, casting a jittery shadow across Merle Dixon’s slouched frame.

He sat hunched at the bar, one hand wrapped around an almost-empty bottle of cheap whiskey, the other idly picking at a warped patch of wood in the counter. The liquor burned, but not enough. It never burned enough. Not when his head was already pounding from three days’ worth of drinking, and not when his chest felt like someone had dug their hand inside and squeezed his heart until it turned black.

“Damn fool woman,” he muttered under his breath, but the words came out slurred, half-drowned in the whiskey haze.

A soft sound broke the silence, a high-pitched meow from the corner. Mr. Sneezy sat on top of a crate, tail curled neatly around himself, blinking slow amber eyes at him like the little beast was judging him.

Merle’s head snapped toward the cat. “What? Don’t you look at me like that.” His voice cracked with something between anger and despair, though the alcohol smoothed it into a lazy drawl.

The cat sneezed, hence the name, and began to lick a paw.

“Oh, I get it,” Merle said, jabbing a finger in the air like he’d just made a point. “You’re sittin’ there, thinkin’ you’re better than me. Ain’t that right, fuzzball? Thinkin’ ol’ Merle Dixon’s some kinda washed-up piece of—” He stopped, took a long drink straight from the bottle, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, you’d be right.”

The cat blinked again, unbothered.

Merle pushed himself up from the bar, swaying like a tree in the wind. “You hear what she did?” he said, staggering toward Mr. Sneezy. The cat’s ears tilted forward, maybe out of curiosity, maybe out of warning. “She up and left, just like that. No note, no nothin’. Hell, maybe she didn’t even leave. Maybe she’s out there—” he gestured vaguely toward the boarded-up window—“rottin’ in a ditch somewhere.”

His voice went hoarse at the thought. The burn in his throat wasn’t just whiskey anymore.

“She wouldn’t’ve just gone without me,” he said more quietly, as though trying to convince himself. “Not her. Not after all the shit I did to keep her alive.”

He crouched down to be eye-level with the cat, gripping the edge of the crate for balance. “Yeah, sure, act like you don’t care. Jus’ like her. One day she’s here, smilin’, talkin’ all cuckoo, makin’ the world feel like maybe it ain’t all bad. Next day—poof. Gone.” He snapped his fingers and nearly lost his balance in the process. “Like she never gave a damn.”

Mr. Sneezy yawned.

Merle’s jaw tightened. “What, you bored already? Don’t care? Figures. Everybody leaves. Dixon curse, huh?” He laughed, but it was a bitter, empty sound. “First my ma, my old man, my brother, now her. Only thing stickin’ around is you, and you’re only here ‘cause I feed ya.”

The cat stood, stretched, and padded to the other side of the room.

“Oh, fine! Go on then!” Merle yelled, staggering after him. “Run off like she did! Won’t make no difference.” His voice cracked again, the sound raw. “You think I don’t know she’s dead? You think I don’t know?!”

The bottle slipped from his hand, shattering on the floor. Whiskey spread across the boards, the sharp scent mixing with the dust and stale air.

Merle froze, his shoulders heaving, head hanging low. His hands trembled—not from the cold, but from everything boiling inside him. The room felt too quiet without Eden’s voice, without her muttered little phrases, without her presence filling the empty spaces in his life.

“She wouldn’t’ve just left me,” he said again, softer this time. “Not unless… somethin’ bad happened.”

Mr. Sneezy meowed from the shadows.

Merle dragged a chair out from the table and collapsed into it, rubbing his face hard. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Somethin’ bad happened.” His mind conjured up too many possibilities, each worse than the last, and none of them ended with her walking back through the door.

His eyes burned, but whether from drink or something else, he didn’t bother figuring out. He just reached for another bottle.

-

The cell was cold, damp, and stank faintly of mildew and blood. Michonne had been pacing for what felt like hours, her sharp eyes scanning the walls, the rusted bars, the narrow strip of light seeping through a vent high on the far wall. She’d already tested the door twice—solid steel, bolted shut from the outside. No give. No escape.

Her cellmate hadn’t moved much.

The woman sat curled in the farthest corner, knees drawn up, her bare arms locked around them. Her hair hung in matted tangles over her face, and her skin was a patchwork of pale bruises and feverish flush. She muttered under her breath, a broken rhythm of words that made no sense to Michonne, half sentences, fractured thoughts. Every so often, she’d glance up suddenly, fixing Michonne with a stare so direct it was unsettling, then drop her gaze again like the connection burned.

Michonne crouched by the door, pressing her ear to the cool metal. She could hear faint footsteps somewhere above. Voices. If she timed it right, maybe she could overpower whoever came down next.

“You won’t get out.”

The voice was hoarse, almost a rasp. Michonne turned her head. The woman was staring at her again, but there was no expression in her eyes—no fear, no hope, just something… empty.

“What?” Michonne asked cautiously.

“You won’t get out,” the woman repeated, tilting her head like she was studying a puzzle. “Nobody gets out. Not unless Philip lets you.”

Michonne’s jaw tightened. “Philip?”

“The Governor,” the woman clarified, though her tone made it sound more like an insult than a title. She shifted, bones sharp under her skin, her back pressing against the wall as though she wanted to melt into it. “He keeps people. Like animals.”

Michonne studied her. “How long have you been here?”

The woman’s gaze drifted past her, unfocused. “Time’s… not right. Doesn’t feel right. Days… all the same. Sometimes light, sometimes dark. Sometimes Philip brings food, sometimes nothing.” She tapped her temple with one bony finger. “Doesn’t matter. Eden stays here.”

“Eden?” Michonne repeated.

The woman blinked slowly, then nodded once. “Me.”

Michonne stepped closer. “I’m Michonne. What happened to you, Eden?”

Eden’s lips trembled, then pressed into a thin line. Her eyes flicked to the barred door as though the Governor might materialize if she spoke too loudly. “Philip… I tested his patience. Stupid”

“What did you do?” Michonne asked, but her tone softened. She didn’t want to spook her.

Eden’s stare sharpened suddenly, her pupils huge in the dim light. “Eden messed up, she won’t do it again.” Her fingers dug into her tangled hair, pulling at it absently, as if she were trying to root out a thought that wouldn’t come loose.

Michonne’s gut twisted. She didn’t know this woman, but she recognized the signs of someone who had been broken down piece by piece. Whatever had happened here, it had stripped Eden down to raw survival.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Michonne said quietly.

Eden only shook her head, almost pitying. “You don’t listen. No escape. Not for you. Not for Eden.” She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. “Philip makes sure of that.”

-

Andrea was curled up in one of the armchairs in Philip’s living room, her legs tucked beneath her, hands cupped around a mug of tea she’d barely touched.

The air smelled faintly of the cinnamon candle on the table, a detail Philip always seemed to notice she liked. Outside the window, Woodbury was quiet under the late afternoon sun, people moving about in easy, peaceful rhythm. It was the kind of calm she’d never thought she’d see again after the world fell apart.

The door opened. Philip stepped in, his usual steady, confident stride carrying him across the room. “Sorry I kept you waiting, love,” he said, his voice smooth but just a shade lower than usual. He set his keys on the counter, then came to stand in front of her. “I’ve been dealing with… an unfortunate situation.”

Andrea’s grip on the mug tightened. “Is it about Michonne?” she asked immediately, her voice almost too quick, too desperate. “I haven’t seen her all day. She’s been—she’s been acting distant, but she wouldn’t just disappear. Where is she?”

Philip gave a soft, practiced sigh, like this was the part he’d been dreading to tell her. He lowered himself onto the couch beside her, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees. His good eye met hers, while the other remained hidden behind the black patch he wore now. “Andrea… there’s no easy way to say this.” He let the pause drag just long enough for her to feel the tension knot tighter in her chest. “Michonne attacked some of my men.”

Andrea blinked. “What?” It was sharp, disbelieving. “No. No, she wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Philip interrupted, his voice calm, almost regretful. “They tried to stop her from snooping around places she had no business being. She drew her sword on them. One of my men’s in the infirmary now.” He studied her face for a reaction, his gaze softening. “I think she’s been looking for a reason to leave us from the start.”

Andrea shook her head, swallowing hard. “She—she’s cautious, yes, but she wouldn’t hurt someone without a reason. There’s got to be—there’s something you’re not seeing.”

Philip reached over, taking her hand in his much larger one. His thumb brushed against her knuckles, steady and warm. “I know she’s your friend. I know you’ve been through a lot together. But people change, Andrea. Sometimes… survival changes them into someone we don’t recognize.” He tilted his head slightly, his tone gentle. “I think Michonne’s been looking for danger because she doesn’t trust peace when she sees it.”

Andrea stared at him, her heart pounding. She could still picture Michonne’s guarded face, the way she’d watch everyone with that quiet, calculating stare. But she could also picture her standing beside her, sword drawn, keeping her safe from danger. “If she was unhappy, she could’ve just said something,” Andrea whispered. “She wouldn’t just… run.”

“She didn’t say anything because she didn’t want you to follow her,” Philip said softly. “I believe she thought she was protecting you. That you’d be safer here without her drawing attention to herself.” He gave a small, convincing smile, an expression meant to reassure without erasing the gravity of what he was saying. “She left in the night, Andrea. Took her sword and slipped out before sunrise. I had men try to track her, but she’s gone.”

Andrea’s throat burned. “Gone,” she repeated, the word barely audible. Her fingers tightened around his hand like she was afraid it was the only anchor keeping her from tipping into something she didn’t want to face. “Why didn’t she… why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Philip leaned in, his other hand coming up to gently cradle the side of her head, pulling her against his shoulder. “Because she didn’t want you to choose between her and this place,” he murmured. “She thought she was doing you a kindness.”

Andrea pressed her face into his shirt, blinking hard as hot tears gathered. “She’s all I had left,” she said, her voice breaking. “We’ve been together since… since so much happened. I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“I know,” Philip murmured, his voice low and soothing. His hand stroked down her hair slowly, a rhythm meant to calm. “You’ve lost a lot. And I know this is another wound you don’t need. But I’m here. You’re not alone anymore, Andrea. You have a home here, and people who care about you.”

She let out a shaky breath against him, torn between grief and the strange comfort of his embrace. “What if she’s out there and she’s—” She cut herself off, her voice threatening to crumble entirely.

“If she’s out there, she’s making her choices,” Philip said, his tone still calm, still reasonable. “And you have to make yours. You can spend your days wondering what she’s doing, or you can live the life you deserve here. Safe. With me.”

Andrea didn’t answer right away. She just stayed in his arms, letting him pull her tighter against him. His shirt smelled faintly of soap and woodsmoke, familiar enough to make her eyes sting all over again.

Philip’s gaze, however, drifted past her shoulder to the far wall, his expression unreadable for a heartbeat before it softened again. His fingers kept moving through her hair like he was the very picture of patience and care.

“Shh,” he murmured into her temple. “It’s all right. You’re safe now.”

-

Merle hadn’t expected company that late.

The night was quiet, the streets of Woodbury still under curfew, and most folks were asleep behind locked doors. He leaned against the post by the gate, half-lidded eyes scanning the dark road beyond. Three in the morning wasn’t a good hour for anyone to be wandering, and sure as hell not for the Governor’s girl.

Andrea’s figure emerged from the shadows, her face pale in the moonlight. She moved quickly, like someone afraid of being caught, which, technically, she was. Merle straightened slightly, more out of curiosity than duty.

“Well, now,” he drawled, squinting at her. “Ain’t you supposed to be tucked in with your man right about now? You know ‘bout the curfew, right?”

Andrea stopped in front of him, chest rising and falling in anxious breaths. “Merle, please… you have to let me out.”

He gave her a long, lazy once-over. “That’s a bold ask at three in the damn mornin’. Why?”

“It’s Michonne,” Andrea said quickly, desperation in her tone. “She—she attacked some of the guards and ran. I’m going after her. She could be hurt, or in trouble, or—”

Merle tilted his head, his brain catching on a detail like a fishhook. “Attacked guards, huh?” he repeated slowly, the words tasting familiar. “That so?”

“Yes.” Andrea’s eyes darted back toward the center of town as if she expected Philip to come chasing after her. “He told me himself. I should have gone after her sooner, but—”

Merle’s gaze sharpened, the lazy smirk fading from his face. “Wait a damn minute… who told you that exact story?”

Andrea blinked. “The Governor.”

And there it was. The hook in his gut twisted. That was the same story Philip had fed him about Eden. Eden, who had just vanished, supposedly after some sudden outburst, supposedly after attacking guards. Eden, who he’d never seen again.

For a heartbeat, Merle just stared at Andrea, the slow crawl of realization mixing with a bitter burn in his chest.

“Go on home, Blondie,” he said, his voice dropping low, the old lazy humor replaced by something hard. “Ain’t no good for you out there. You go back to bed, hear?”

Andrea frowned. “Merle—”

“Go. Home.” He didn’t raise his voice, but there was steel in it. Enough to make her hesitate, her mouth pressing into a thin line before she finally turned and walked away, glancing over her shoulder more than once.

Merle didn’t wait for her to disappear. He was already moving, boots heavy against the dirt, jaw clenched tight. He knew exactly where he was going, and exactly who he was looking for.

Philip had some explaining to do.

-

The sound of boots on the concrete echoed down the narrow hall before the heavy door creaked open. Harsh light flooded into the cell, casting long shadows across the damp walls. Michonne stiffened, her eyes narrowing as Philip stepped inside, the smile on his face as warm and false as the lamplight behind him.

He closed the door behind him, locking it with deliberate slowness. “Well,” he drawled, looking between the two women. “I just came from Andrea.” His gaze lingered on Michonne like a wolf circling prey. “Told her you attacked some guards. Told her you ran off.”

Michonne’s jaw clenched. “You think she’ll believe that?”

“Oh, she already does,” Philip said, almost cheerfully. “She’s upset, of course. But she trusts me. She trusts the community.” He tilted his head, watching Michonne’s expression as if trying to measure how much the words cut.

Eden was sitting in her usual corner, knees hugged to her chest, head tilted at an odd angle. She didn’t speak, didn’t blink much, just stared between them like she was tracking some invisible thread in the air.

Michonne glanced at her, then back at Philip. “Why? What’s the point of lying to her?”

He smiled wider. “Because now she won’t come looking for you. No one will.”

Eden’s voice broke the silence, almost childlike. “He lies. He lies to keep them here. To keep them quiet.” Her eyes flicked toward Philip, then back to Michonne. “Eden knows. Eden’s seen it.”

Philip turned his gaze to her, his expression cooling, the faintest irritation cracking through his charming mask. “Careful, sweetheart.”

Eden tilted her head further, her tangled hair falling across her face. “Careful of what? Words? They’re just words. Words don’t break bones.” Her stare was unflinching, almost eerie.

Michonne could feel the air shift, tension thrumming between the three of them. “You’re keeping us here because we know too much,” she said.

Philip only gave that sly, knowing smile again. “I’m keeping you here because you’re dangerous.” His eyes moved to Eden, holding there a beat longer. “Both of you.”

Without another word, he turned and unlocked the door, stepping out and closing it with a loud metallic clang. The lock slid back into place.

The silence that followed was heavier than before.

Michonne turned to Eden. “Why’d he keep you here?”

Eden didn’t look at her, just kept staring at the door as if expecting it to open again. “Because Eden knows what he is.”

-

Merle had been pacing outside the Governor’s apartment for what felt like hours, boots grinding in the dirt, jaw tight enough to make his teeth ache. The streets were empty, the curfew holding everyone in their neat little houses, but that only made the tension worse. His mind wouldn’t stop running over the story Andrea had told him, how familiar it sounded, and the way the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up when he heard it.

Eden.

The same damn excuse. The same smooth lie. The same script.

He’d been chewing on that realization all night until it got to the point where his blood was boiling so hot, he couldn’t stand still. Finally, he stormed up the steps and shoved the door open without knocking.

Philip was inside, sitting behind his desk, flipping through some papers like it was any other night. That calm, smug face was enough to make Merle’s hands twitch.

“What did you do?” Merle’s voice was a growl, low and dangerous.

Philip didn’t even look up at first. “Evening to you too, Merle.”

Merle slammed his hands on the desk. “Cut the shit. Where’s Eden?”

Philip finally set the papers down and leaned back in his chair, that infuriating smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Eden? Now why you bringin’ her up?”

Merle’s nostrils flared. “Don’t play dumb with me. Andrea came to me tonight. Told me Michonne attacked some guards and ran off. That ring a bell? ‘Cause it’s the same damn thing you told me when Eden disappeared.”

The smirk didn’t fade. “You think I keep track of every story I tell?”

Merle grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him halfway across the desk. “I ain’t stupid, Philip. You did somethin’ to her, didn’t ya?”

Philip’s voice stayed maddeningly calm. “What difference does it make to you? She’s gone anyways.”

Merle growled, he didn’t even bother with words, reeling his fist back and swinging. It connected hard with Philip’s jaw, snapping his head to the side.

Philip staggered, spat blood onto the floor, and laughed. “There it is. There’s the Merle I know.”

Merle didn’t hesitate, he lunged again, slamming Philip into the wall. The two of them went crashing into a shelf, wood splintering, books and trinkets tumbling to the floor. Philip grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back, then drove his knee into Merle’s stomach. Merle grunted, pain flashing hot through his ribs, but he came up swinging anyway.

The room turned into a whirlwind of fists and fury. Merle slammed Philip into the desk, Philip caught him across the cheek with a right hook. Blood smeared across both of them, the sound of heavy breaths and the crash of furniture filling the air.

“Where is she?” Merle snarled, shoving him into the wall again.

Philip wiped at the blood trickling from his lip and chuckled darkly. “Eden’s not here anymore, Merle. But if you want her that bad…” His voice dropped into something cruel, mocking. “…maybe I’ll put you with her.”

That made Merle pause for half a second, long enough for Philip’s smirk to sharpen. “What’s that mean?” Merle demanded.

Philip’s eyes gleamed. “You’ll see.”

Before Merle could react, there was a sharp movement to his left, he barely caught sight of the guard stepping out from the shadows, the butt of a rifle swinging toward him.

Crack.

White-hot pain exploded in the side of his head, blinding him for a second. His knees buckled but he tried to stay upright, grabbing for the nearest surface.

“Son of a—”

Another blow landed, harder this time. The world tilted sideways. He saw Philip’s face, blurry but still wearing that smug little smile, like he was enjoying the show.

“Night-night, Merle,” Philip said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

Merle tried to curse him, but the words came out slurred. The room seemed to swim in and out of focus, the edges going dark. His fingers slipped on the desk, his legs gave way, and the last thing he felt was the cold floor against his cheek before everything went black.