Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

How did I end up here? he thought as waves crashed around him, his eyes darting from left to right. There wasn’t a single soul in sight—dead or undead. The beach was utterly empty. No gulls cried overhead, only the relentless crash of water against the shore and the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

He coughed violently, salt water burning his throat, and dragged his exhausted body farther up the sand, away from the cold grip of the ocean.

He had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten here. The last thing he remembered was trying to get home. He’d helped a group capture some walkers in exchange for gas… and then nothing. A blank. Whatever happened after that was lost to him, but it didn’t take much guessing to assume that group had something to do with him washing up here. He didn’t bother trying to understand why. He’d given up on understanding people long before the world went to hell—why start now?

Rolling onto his back, he squinted against the blinding sun and raised a trembling hand to shield his eyes. I gotta find out where I am and get back, he thought, forcing himself upright. Nothing around him looked familiar. Even this beach felt foreign. He was bone-tired, but he knew he couldn’t linger out in the open, vulnerable to walkers—or worse.

Somehow, he found the strength to stand. His legs wobbled but held. A sharp sting made him wince when he touched the side of his head and felt crusted blood matting his hair. That explained the amnesia. His fingers traced the scabbing wound, marveling that it hadn’t festered. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, and his throat was dry. He couldn’t even remember his last meal. Water was his top priority.

Instinctively, his hands checked his gear. No crossbow. But his knife was still sheathed at his side, and his gun was secured on his hip, twelve rounds left.

He chose to walk along the shoreline. Climbing the cliffs that loomed like jagged skyscrapers wasn’t an option. Guess that explains why there aren’t any walkers, he thought, tilting his head back to take in their height. Their gray-and-white stone faces were streaked with moss near the top.

It didn’t take long before he spotted buildings further along the beach. His body tensed. He crouched behind a large rock, scanning for movement. Nothing stirred—not man, not walker. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the whisper of wind. But beneath that wind, faint and familiar, was the stench of rot. That was enough to set him on high alert.

Knife in hand, he crept closer to the city. The streets were empty, eerily still. He could smell the walkers more strongly now, the breeze carrying their scent from somewhere deeper within the city. He hated that kind of silence—a silence that screamed danger.

A sign with a red cross caught his attention. He couldn’t read French, but a red cross was universal. Pharmacy. Or maybe a clinic. He tossed a pebble through the open doorway, listening. No groans. No shuffling. Slowly, he slipped inside.

It wasn’t a pharmacy—it was a clinic. The waiting area was in ruins, chairs overturned, the receptionist’s desk riddled with bullet holes. Blood stained the walls and floor. The air was stale with the smell of decay. He counted six corpses—two of them small, heartbreakingly small. Children.

He shoved down the thought and moved on, checking behind the desk. His fingers brushed against a metal box bolted behind a drawer. He pried it loose and found a ring of keys. It was a long shot that anything had been left untouched after all these years, but hope was worth holding onto.

The hallway beyond was lined with doors labeled “Exam Room.” The first door was locked. He tried one of the keys and eased it open.

Dust coated everything—the exam table, the counters, the chair. The room was untouched. No signs of looting. Cabinets were closed, stocked with supplies. Jackpot. He grabbed a bottle of alcohol and some clean dressings, tending to the gash on his head. Then he raided the rest of the cabinets, tossing bandages, antiseptic, and any recognizable meds into a plastic post-surgery bag.

A voice shattered the silence.
“Think we’re gonna find ‘em?” a man asked.

Daryl froze. His heart pounded as he locked the door and ducked under the exam table. Shit. I knew this was too good to be true.

Another man replied, muffled, his words indistinct. Footsteps echoed in the hall. Daryl gripped the keys tighter as he listened to the men curse at the locked doors.

“Maybe there’s some keys around here somewhere. Let’s check the desk.”

Their steps retreated. He stayed put, barely breathing, muscles coiled like a spring.

Minutes dragged on. Then their voices rose in an argument—one wanted to break the doors down, the other called it suicide. “We’d bring every eater in the city down on us,” one hissed.

“We need to keep moving. We have to find that woman,” the other said.

Silence returned. Daryl waited longer, then cracked the door open. The coast was clear.

Best not stay here long.

He searched the rest of the clinic quickly, finding a small kitchen. A locked cabinet yielded canned goods and bottled water, some still good. He sat on a counter, gulping small sips of distilled water. Strength returned to his limbs.

Tempting as it was to stay, he packed up instead. A discarded backpack was emptied of its original contents, filled with food, water, and supplies. He snagged a black poncho from a hook, trading his torn jacket for it.

With his gear secured, he returned the keys to their hiding spot. The men’s footprints in the sand trailed east. He went west, slipping into the maze of streets, leaving the clinic—and the danger behind him.

Chapter Text

Daryl couldn’t read French, but he kept seeing the same word—Le Havre—plastered on street signs and store windows. He figured that was the name of this city he was trapped in.

He moved with caution, killing only the walkers he couldn’t avoid. Stealth was always his preference. Fighting meant noise, and noise drew attention. This place was no different than every other ghost town he’d wandered through, except here he was utterly alone. Carol, Rick, Michonne, Maggie, Glenn—none of them were here. He was stranded in France, of all places, and that bitter reality sank in deeper with every step.

His jaw tightened as his thoughts turned to the group who’d betrayed him. They probably figured he’d starve or die of thirst on the way here. Hope they get turned, he thought darkly. What baffled him most was how he’d even survived the crossing. France wasn’t just a stone’s throw from home—it was an ocean away. Yet somehow, he hadn’t died.

Questions circled in his head, but answers were nonexistent. What mattered now was getting back. This was a coastal city, but every boat he’d seen was broken, stripped for parts, or sunk in the harbor.
Figures I’d end up in a coastal town with no damn boats.

Daryl moved deeper into the city, dispatching more walkers with efficient precision until he came across an outdoor sporting goods store. These places were always a gamble. Inside, he found the familiar signs of looting—empty racks, scattered gear, and a few wandering dead he quickly put down.

Doubt they left a crossbow.

He checked the hunting section and confirmed his suspicion: nothing but empty hooks and dust. He missed his weapon, the one thing he’d always trusted. It was likely lost in the ocean… or stolen. Still, he scavenged what he could. A heavy hunting knife remained untouched, and he strapped its holster to his thigh.

Better than nothing.

That thought, at least, didn’t make him angry. He dug through the wreckage, finding a few more essentials: a stash of jerky, a lightweight tent, sleeping bag, water canister, matches, a map, and a compass. He swapped his soaked socks and boots for a dry pair and loaded everything into a larger backpack.

By nightfall, Daryl was clear of the city. He hadn’t seen another living soul. He’d put down a few stragglers along the way, but the forest beyond the city was blessedly quiet. He paused to study his map, tracing the coastline with a grim finger. He didn’t know how to sail, but he’d figure it out. Staying here wasn’t an option. Alexandria was home. He’d find a way back to his people.

He made camp in a small clearing, rigging an alarm system of tin cans filled with rocks, strung between branches. If a walker—or a person—tried to sneak up on him, he’d know. Later, he managed to bring down a squirrel with his knife. He skinned it and roasted it over a low fire, keeping the flames low to avoid attention.

He sat cross-legged, staring into the embers as the smell of cooking meat drifted through the night air. His chest tightened as his thoughts wandered to Judith—Little Ass-Kicker. She’d probably be walking by now. The realization sent a pang of loneliness through him, sharp and familiar. His group wasn’t just a team anymore; they were his family. And right now, he felt as alone as he had when Merle was locked up and he’d been left with his drunk of a father.

That memory came unbidden, surfacing with startling clarity.

He was eight years old again, sprinting through the woods at his mother’s insistence after another one of his father’s drunken rampages. Merle was in juvie. His mother was bruised and bleeding. And he’d tried to fight back, earning a busted lip, a black eye, and a bloody nose for his trouble.

He sat on a fallen log, watching blood drip from his nose onto his torn shirt. The woods were quiet, his only refuge. A twig snapped nearby, and his small body tensed, expecting his father to emerge from the trees.

Instead, a girl appeared.

She was about his age, with shoulder-length brown hair and wide, curious eyes. Freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. She wore jeans, a pink t-shirt, and black sneakers. He didn’t recognize her, but she clearly knew who he was—everyone in the neighborhood knew the Dixons.

“What do you want?” Daryl spat, glaring.

The girl didn’t flinch at his hostility. She walked over and sat beside him, close enough to make him scoot away. She only smiled and set a folded handkerchief between them.

“You’re hurt,” she said simply.

He stared at her, confused. “Don’t you know who I am?”

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re Daryl. Your brother’s that older kid who likes to get in trouble.”

“Then why are you talkin’ to me?” he asked, suspicion sharp in his voice.

She kicked her legs idly, glancing up at the sky. “Because I want to.”

She’s nuts, he thought.

Still, his gaze fell to the handkerchief. Slowly, cautiously, he picked it up, half-expecting her to laugh or snatch it away. She didn’t. He wiped at the blood on his face, still watching her warily.

“I have an extra granola bar. You want it?” she asked. She pulled one from her pocket and placed it where the handkerchief had been.

He snatched it and tore it open, devouring it in two bites.

“You know,” she said, “my mom’s making grilled cheese. I can bring you one.”

The mention of food made his stomach growl. Whether out of hunger or the faint hope of kindness, he nodded. She smiled, grabbed his hand, and led him through the woods. Fifteen minutes later, they stood in the backyard of a tidy brick home. A jungle gym and treehouse dominated the yard.

“Go up the treehouse,” she instructed. “I’ll bring the food.”

He obeyed, climbing up and leaning against the trunk that ran through the center of the treehouse. She returned moments later with a plate piled high: grilled cheese, chips, granola bars, juice, and soda. She let him choose first, and he ate like he’d never eaten before.

“I’m Evelyn,” she said between bites, smiling.

Daryl swallowed and studied her. “The other kids don’t talk to me. Why do you?”

“Like I said,” she shrugged. “I want to. And those other kids? They’re not nice anyway.”

“How do you know I’m nice? Maybe I’m the bad one.”

Her smile widened, dimples flashing. “Your brother might not be nice, but I can tell you are.” She offered him another soda.

Daryl jerked awake, heart pounding. The forest was still and dark. He rubbed a hand over his face, growling softly at himself.

Why the hell am I thinkin’ about her?

He lay back down, pulling his poncho tight around him, and let exhaustion drag him under once more.

Chapter Text

A week had passed since Daryl had washed up on the shores of Le Havre, and he now found himself drifting eastward, pushed closer to Paris. He’d tried circling back toward the coast, but the sheer size of the walker hordes forced him inland. A glance at the weathered map he’d scavenged confirmed his position: too damn close to Paris for comfort.

“Those bastards are making it harder than it needs to be,” he muttered under his breath, voice hot with frustration. “I just wanna go home.”

He figured heading north might be smarter. The air had a sharper bite to it now, autumn creeping in fast. Cold weather slowed the dead, and that was something he could use to his advantage.

Six days into his trek, he’d crossed paths with a wary group of survivors. They weren’t hostile, just cautious, and they’d warned him to steer clear of Paris. According to them, a former mercenary named Carlos Ladrón had seized control of the city and was on a vendetta against a woman doctor who’d betrayed him, killing patients, a fellow doctor, and blowing up a hospital in the process.

Daryl hadn’t cared much about Ladrón’s war; he wasn’t sticking around long enough for it to matter. His goal was simple: avoid Paris, head north, find a boat, and get back to America.

But now, on the seventh day, torrential rain pounded the forest, slowing him down and chilling him to the bone. He ducked under a broad tree, its branches barely keeping him dry, and leaned against the trunk. His hunting knife was already in hand, his senses sharp. Years of tracking had honed his instincts, and those instincts told him he wasn’t alone.

Footsteps. Faint, but close.

He pressed himself tighter against the trunk, knife raised, breath held. The sound came from both his left and right—he was being surrounded.

A jolt of unease coursed through him. Why weren’t they attacking? Were they trying to flush him out? Make him bolt? His eyes flicked up the tree trunk—no cover there. He’d be an easy target.

The rain worsened, a heavy curtain that blurred his vision. He muttered curses under his breath, jaw clenched.

“Come on out, you pussies!” he finally barked into the drenched forest. His voice was a sharp crack in the silence.

A pause. Then footsteps again, deliberate and unhurried.

A man emerged from the downpour—a broad-shouldered figure with a buzz cut and a predator’s grin. He wore army-green camo, a pistol at his hip, and a knife glinting in his hand.

“Bold move, shouting like that,” the man said with an easy smirk. “We saw a big horde pass through not long ago. If you’re not careful, they might circle back… make dinner outta you.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, lips curling in a silent snarl. “We gonna do this, or what?”

The man grinned wider. “I like your style.” He lunged.

Daryl ducked low, blade flashing upward. His knife sliced deep into the man’s stomach. The merc staggered back, clutching the wound but still grinning through gritted teeth.

“You’re not normal, are you?” the man rasped before hurling his knife. Daryl sidestepped, but pain exploded across his jaw as the man’s fist connected. The merc crumpled forward, bleeding heavily, but a gunshot split the forest air.

Daryl hissed in pain, stabbing his attacker through the skull before tearing away into the trees. Gunfire erupted behind him, bullets zipping past, splintering bark. One grazed his thigh, another his arm, but he kept running. A sharp sting hit his right arm—he dropped his knife but didn’t dare stop to grab it, a bullet striking the dirt where his hand would’ve been.

He broke through the trees and stumbled onto the bank of a raging river. The rushing water was a gamble, but staying was suicide. Bullets whizzed overhead as he plunged in.

The current was merciless, dragging him under. He resurfaced, gasping, his injured arm and leg fighting against him as he kicked. Gunfire rained down, bullets striking the water. None hit their mark, and the river swept him away, too fast for his pursuers to follow.

His focus slipped, and he slammed into a jagged rock. Pain flared—then everything went dark.

Evelyn knelt in the damp undergrowth, her basket half-full of marigold blossoms and basil leaves. She preferred natural remedies to rationing what little medical supplies she’d scavenged from abandoned clinics. Two armed escorts kept watch, their rifles at the ready.

She froze, eyes catching a pale shape in the river—a man, floating face-up, unmoving.

“Is he… swimming?” she whispered, but as she moved closer, she spotted blood matting his hair. Her heart lurched.

She dropped her basket and sprinted into the water.

“EVELYN!” one of her guards shouted, both men rushing to her side as she waded into the current. She grabbed the man’s arm, pulling with all her strength until one guard dragged her back to shore while the other helped haul the stranger from the water.

“That was stupid,” the guard—Thomas—snapped.

Evelyn ignored him, kneeling beside the man. He was riddled with injuries: two gunshot wounds, a nasty gash on his head.

“We need to get him back to the monastery,” she ordered.

Thomas scoffed. “You serious? We dragged him out, that’s enough. Leave him.”

“I’m a doctor,” she said sharply. “I help people. Either carry him, or I will.”

Thomas glared but crouched, slinging the man’s arm over his shoulder. The other guard—Mark—helped on the opposite side, both of them muttering their annoyance. Evelyn only smiled her thanks, grabbed her basket, and led them toward the hidden monastery.

The sanctuary was concealed behind a curtain of vines, the entrance a cave-like tunnel that opened into a secluded clearing surrounded by towering trees. Few travelers knew it existed.

Inside, they laid the unconscious stranger on a cot. Evelyn wasted no time. She tied him down to keep him still, pulled on gloves, and began working with practiced efficiency. The bullets came out first; she stitched and bandaged the wounds with careful hands, then moved to the gash on his head. Fifteen stitches closed it neatly.

As she pressed the final bandage in place, his eyes snapped open. He jerked against the restraints, swinging instinctively.

“Where am I?!” he barked.

Evelyn stumbled back, startled. Thomas and Mark raised their weapons, but she stepped between them, palms up. “Easy! Everyone calm down.”

Her gaze shifted back to him—and her breath caught. His eyes. That sharp blue gaze was unmistakable. She leaned closer, heart pounding.

Daryl stiffened, pressing himself into the pillow, discomfort flashing across his face at her closeness. But there was familiarity there too, a tug at a memory.

“Daryl…” she whispered.

His head snapped toward her. “Evelyn?”

A smile broke across her face, wide and unrestrained, and before she could stop herself, she hugged him. He went rigid at the sudden warmth but didn’t pull away—not that he could, tied as he was.

She drew back, tears glinting in her eyes. “Why are you in France?”

“Don’t know,” he rasped. “Woke up on a beach.”

She blinked but didn’t press further. Instead, she busied herself cleaning up her tools. “I never thought I’d see anyone from back home. Not here, not now.”

He stayed silent, guilt gnawing at him as memories of their bitter parting surfaced. She had hated Merle, and he’d left her behind to follow his brother. Now here she was, saving his life.

“Same, I guess,” he muttered at last.

She smiled softly. “You should rest. I’ll check on you later.”

Evelyn left, closing the door. Thomas stationed himself outside, rifle in hand.

Daryl exhaled slowly, exhaustion pressing down. The bindings were professional, secure. She’d thought ahead. He couldn’t bring himself to distrust her—not Evelyn. She hadn’t changed: still kind, still stubborn, still the one person who’d shown him warmth when he didn’t deserve it.

Sleep came quickly, deep and heavy.

Chapter Text

Evelyn checked in on her other patient before returning to Daryl. The elderly man, Antoine, sat in a chair by the window, his posture straight but his gaze vacant. He was Thomas’s grandfather—the guard who had escaped with him from Carlo’s settlement after Evelyn fled. Together, they had found her and helped establish a new sanctuary in the ruins of an old monastery, its hidden location deep in the forest making it the safest place they’d had in years.

Antoine turned his head when she knocked softly on his door, his voice faint but clear. “Come in.”

She stepped inside with a gentle smile. “How are you today, Antoine?”

His cloudy eyes studied her, lingering on her white coat, but there was no recognition in them. “I’m doing okay,” he said at last. “Just waiting for my wife to tell me when we can leave.”

Her smile softened. “Of course,” she murmured, choosing not to correct him. She had learned that challenging his fading memories only upset him. Instead, she retrieved a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope from her bag. “May I check your blood pressure while you wait?”

He nodded. She guided him to a chair, wrapped the cuff around his arm, and listened carefully. A small breath of relief escaped her. “Much better today,” she said warmly.

Antoine didn’t respond. He only shuffled back to his spot by the window, gazing out at nothing. Evelyn noted his numbers in her worn notebook, then quietly left him to his world.

It had been two hours since she’d last checked on Daryl. When she peeked into his room, he was still asleep, wrists bound to the bed for everyone’s safety. A part of her wanted to free him, but trust was a dangerous currency now. She closed the door and retreated to her office, trying to keep her hands busy.

She crushed marigold petals and basil with a mortar and pestle, preparing remedies for later. But her mind betrayed her, circling back to Daryl’s injuries and the question that gnawed at her: Who shot him? The thought of Carlo’s men stalking the forest made her chest tighten. If they had found Daryl, they were close. She knew what Carlo would do if he caught her again. He wouldn’t kill her quickly. He’d take everything from her first, like he had before.

The memories came fast, sharper than she could push back. Screams of parents. The sight of children dying under Carlo’s orders. Her own voice, hoarse from pleading, as she was forced to watch. The pestle slipped from her hands, crashing to the floor and breaking. Evelyn clutched her ears, tears streaming as she tried to block the sounds replaying in her head.

Minutes, maybe hours, passed before she could breathe again. Her face was streaked with tears, her body shaking. She splashed cold water on her face, pressed a damp rag over her swollen eyes, and forced herself to pull it together.

Daryl woke to darkness. Voices murmured somewhere down the hall—soft, domestic chatter over dinner. He tugged at the restraints on his wrists, testing their strength. The door creaked, and Evelyn’s soft knock came.

“Come in,” he rasped, his voice rough.

She entered, shutting the door behind her, and sat on the empty bed across from him.

“You don’t trust me now?” he said, his tone flat.

She met his gaze steadily. “A part of me wants to. But I know how this world can turn people.”

Fair, he thought. I wouldn’t trust me either. He studied her, noticing the differences time had carved into her face. Her eyes were the same, though, and they carried the same quiet fire he remembered from their youth.

“So you’re a doctor,” he said.

“I was fresh out of medical school when the outbreak started,” she replied. “I came to France for Doctors Without Borders. I never made it back to the States.”

Daryl gave a short nod and looked away.

“Are you the leader here?” he asked.

“I am,” she said softly. “Though I’m not sure why they trust me. I wouldn’t.”

Something in her voice caught his attention. Guilt weighed heavy on her features. He knew that look. He carried it too.

“Seem to be doing something right if they follow you,” he muttered.

Her lips curved in a small smile. “You still say so much with so little. That hasn’t changed.”

She rose and approached him cautiously, checking his forehead with gentle fingers. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Considering I bashed my head and got shot,” he murmured.

She smiled faintly and reached for a pill bottle. “Antibiotics. Twice a day for seven days.”

He eyed the pill in her hand suspiciously.

“If I wanted you dead, I’d have let you drown,” she said, showing him the label: Amoxicillin.

Reluctantly, he opened his mouth, swallowed the pill, and chased it with water.

“How long you plan on keeping me tied up?” he asked.

She hesitated, then retrieved a knife. His muscles tensed as she cut the restraints. Once he was free, she stepped back, knife still ready. But he only sat up in bed, rubbing his sore wrist. She relaxed and slid the knife away.

“Sorry,” she said quietly. “I haven’t had good experiences with strangers since the outbreak.”

“Being careful,” he replied simply. “Understandable.”

She told him he’d be bedridden for two weeks. His mind flickered back to Beth, to the hospital and Dawn’s rules. “You gonna make me stay here?” he asked, his tone hard.

“No,” she said, surprised by his hostility. “Once you’re well enough, you can leave. We’ll blindfold you first, for safety. That’s all.”

That answer seemed to settle him.

“Usually people want something in return if they help,” he said.

“The only thing I want is for you not to tell anyone where I am,” she said, her voice firm.

He nodded. That, at least, made sense.

“Got people after you?” he asked.

Her lips quirked faintly. “Doesn’t everyone?”

He studied her, remembering whispers about a doctor on the run, someone who’d blown up a hospital and killed patients. He didn’t believe it was her. Couldn’t.

“You said you washed up in France?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Don’t remember how. Just… woke up here. Need to get home. Got people waiting for me.”

“Family?” she asked, curious.

“People I consider family. We’ve been in Virginia for a while now. Alexandria. Place with walls.”

The name stirred something dark in her. Carlo’s settlement had walls, too. The people inside had thought themselves safe. Evelyn bit her lip to stop the tears.

“Hey,” Daryl said softly, breaking through her spiral.

She gave him a shaky smile, pretending nothing was wrong. “I can bring you something to read,” she offered, fetching a stack of books. She sat at the foot of his bed, placing them on his lap.

But when she felt his calloused hand on her forearm, she froze. The gesture was familiar—something he used to do when he needed her attention. She met his gaze, softened, and smiled.

“I’m okay,” she said quietly. “Just sorting through things.”

He didn’t press, but he wondered what had happened to her to carve that fear so deep.

“Hungry?” she asked.

“I could eat.”

She returned minutes later with a tray: steaming beef stew, grilled vegetables, and a roll. Daryl muttered a gruff thanks and ate quickly, savoring real food for the first time in weeks. Evelyn sat nearby, watching him, her heart aching at the sight of his exhaustion. She reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face. His features were older, rougher, but still carried that quiet strength she remembered. He didn’t flinch from her touch.

“Rest,” she said softly, standing. “I’ll check on you soon.”

She left him to finish his meal in peace, her footsteps fading into the quiet hall.

Chapter Text

Over a week had passed since Daryl had stumbled into the monastery, half-dead and bleeding out. Now the worst of his wounds were healing. The angry bruises had faded to dull purple, and the stitches no longer tugged when he moved. Evelyn stripped off her gloves and tossed a bundle of bloodstained bandages into a wastebasket, the faint smell of antiseptic clinging to her hands.

“You should start walking around more,” she said softly, her voice low so as not to disturb the heavy quiet of the room.

Daryl gave a brief nod. He’d been pacing the small confines of his quarters for days, restless as a caged animal, but he hadn’t yet explored the monastery or met anyone beyond Evelyn, Thomas, and Mark. He swung his legs off the bed, testing his weight. His steps were steady but slow, his face unreadable as always. Evelyn offered to show him around, and he followed.

The corridors smelled faintly of old wood and candle wax. Dust lingered in the air, stirred by their steps. Evelyn stole glances at him as they walked. He was older now, leaner, but there was a heaviness in his shoulders that hadn’t been there when they were kids. Yet somehow, despite everything, he’d been quick to open up to her—more than she ever expected. She’d heard pieces of his life: Merle, the chaos after the world fell apart, the scars he carried both inside and out. In return, she’d told him her own story.

Two nights earlier.

The moonlight had streamed through the window of his room, faint and silver. They’d been sitting side by side on his bed, speaking in hushed voices as if the night itself might shatter if they were too loud.

Daryl had told her about Beth Greene. His voice was rough, low, but softened when he spoke her name. He described her quiet strength, how she’d been a light in the darkness after the prison fell. Evelyn felt the ache in his words, the way he paused before describing how Beth died, as if saying it aloud made it hurt all over again.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. His body was rigid, but he didn’t pull away.

“She sounded like a light at the end of the tunnel,” Evelyn murmured. “I’m sorry she’s gone.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “She was… then she wasn’t.”

When he asked about her past, she hesitated, her hands folding tightly in her lap. “It’s a long story,” she whispered, voice trembling. “But I’ll try to keep it together.”

And she told him everything.

Carlos Ladrón. The settlement. The way she’d been forced to conduct experiments under his orders, with the lives of her patients held over her like a knife. She spoke in fragments, each word heavy, her voice breaking when she described the day it all fell apart—the escape attempt, the screaming, the blood.

Tears blurred her vision. She bit her lip hard, as if punishing herself for crying, but Daryl just pulled her close, his arm circling her shoulders.

“You don’t gotta finish,” he said softly, voice a gravelly murmur against her hair. “I get the picture.”

She wanted to stop. She couldn’t. She pushed through the rest, recounting the parents who’d begged her to end their pain, the scientist she’d shot point-blank, and the explosion that destroyed the lab. She’d fled that night and never stopped running.

When she finally fell silent, her chest shaking with quiet sobs, she glanced at him, expecting judgment. All she saw was understanding.

“Met a group once,” Daryl said after a moment. “Told me to watch out for a doctor who killed her patients and blew up a hospital. Guess that was you.”

A hollow laugh escaped her lips. “Yeah. That was me.”

Now, as she guided him through the monastery’s dim corridors, that memory hung between them like a shadow they didn’t speak of.

The monastery itself was modest, its narrow halls lined with wooden crosses and candles flickering in glass jars. There were eleven people living here, three of them children. Thomas, Mark, Jean, and Hugo handled security. The rest offered him shy nods and cautious glances, their suspicion thawing slowly. Thomas and Mark, however, watched him with unflinching eyes, their hands never far from their weapons.

Evelyn led him to a tall window overlooking the front courtyard, the glass smudged with dust and fingerprints. She perched on the windowsill, watching him lean against the wall, his arms crossed.

“How long are you staying?” he asked.

“I’d like to leave France,” she said, her tone soft but certain. “But these people depend on me. I can’t abandon them.”

“As soon as I’m healed, I’m gone.”

She tried to hide the sting in her chest at his bluntness. “I understand. But… how do you plan on getting back? The only way I know is by boat or an airplane.”

“I’ll figure it out.” He replied.

“Louis owns a boat,” she offered. “I’ll ask if he's still works.”

“Thanks.” He glanced at her, eyes steady. “You should come with me. All of you. Alexandria’s different. Safe. Got good people there.”

Evelyn’s lips curved into a sad smile. Safety felt like a word from another lifetime. “What’s the leader like?”

“Name’s Deanna. She’s tryin’ to do the right thing. Ain’t killin’ kids or running experiments. That’s more than most.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Evelyn. “Then she’s already a better leader than most.”

Daryl’s expression hardened as his gaze flicked toward the hall where her group slept. “You know what Carlos will do if he finds this place.”

Her stomach tightened. “He won’t kill me. He’ll kill them. All of them. Make me watch… then he’d keep me alive. Just to break me.”

“Rick says a safe place has the sound of kids laughing,” Daryl said after a pause. “First thing I heard at Alexandria was kids laughing. Every unsafe place? Silent.”

The memory clawed at her—Carlos’ settlement, the heavy quiet of those halls, the way even the children didn’t make a sound. She forced the thought away and stood.

“I’ll talk to Thomas and Mark. See what they think.”

They found the two men at a table in the main hall, the soft crackle of firelight throwing shadows on the walls. Evelyn sat next to Mark while Daryl stayed standing, leaning against the far wall.

“Daryl’s part of a community in the States,” she began. “A safe one. I think we should leave. If we stay here, Carlos will find us. If I go alone, he’ll still come. He’ll kill everyone.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “We don’t know him, Evelyn. You two haven't seen each other in fifteen years. For all we know, this Alexandria doesn’t even exist.”

“Alexandria’s real,” Daryl said firmly, his gravelly voice cutting through the tension. “They need good people. You need safety and walls. We got both.”

Thomas leaned back, arms crossed. “It’s a gamble. We don’t have proof it’ll pay off. But… we can’t hide here forever.”

Mark sighed heavily. “Then we put it to a vote.”

The group gathered around the long wooden table, their voices low and anxious. Evelyn explained again, letting Daryl speak briefly about Alexandria. When she asked for those in favor, her heart pounded as she raised her hand.

One by one, three others followed. Four hands total.

She exhaled in relief and glanced at Daryl. “Looks like we’re going with you,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

For the first time in a long while, hope didn’t feel like a lie.

Chapter Text

The three dissenters—Thomas, Mark, and Louis—had been relentless. Thomas and Mark especially hovered like storm clouds, whispering doubts in Evelyn’s ear whenever they caught her alone. That evening, she sat hunched over her desk, counting inventory by lamplight, when Mark’s voice filled her office again, heavy with worry.

“Evelyn,” he was saying, leaning against the window frame, “this is a mistake. Leaving the monastery is a mistake.”

Her pen stilled. She placed her notepad on the desk and turned toward him, her gaze sharp but steady.

“I know you have misgivings,” she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. “But Carlos will find us, Mark. You and Thomas saw him in the woods yourselves. Ten minutes away. One slip from anyone here, and he’ll kill every last one of us—everyone but me.”

The words lingered in the small office, heavy and unflinching. Mark’s expression tightened, and he glanced out the window into the dark forest, as if expecting Carlos’s men to emerge from the shadows right then.

“I know we can’t stay,” Mark admitted. “But going to America? Boarding some boat with Daryl and hoping his Alexandria is even real?” He turned back to her, his brows furrowed in doubt. “What if it isn’t? What if they won’t take us in?”

“Then we find somewhere else,” she said firmly. “But we have to leave France, Mark. This place isn’t safe anymore. And you—Thomas too—you’re Americans. Out of everyone, I thought you’d be the first to want to go home.”

His hand dragged through his shaggy hair, and he finally sank into the chair opposite her desk, shoulders sagging. “I left my family behind,” he said, voice low. “Back home. When I came here for work, I thought I’d see them again soon. I don’t even know if they’re alive, Evelyn. And I’m… terrified to find out.”

Her expression softened. She moved from behind her desk, knelt in front of him, and placed a hand gently on his knee.

“I left family behind too,” she whispered. “My older brother. I don’t know if he’s alive either. That fear—it doesn’t go away. But we can start over. This group needs a new start. And I believe Daryl when he says Alexandria is real. I believe they’ll accept us.” She held his gaze, her voice quiet but unwavering. “I know trust is hard. Especially after everything. But Thomas, Louis, you… you all left Carlos because you knew you couldn’t follow him anymore. And I became your leader. So please, trust me now.”

Mark stared at her for a long moment before finally covering her hand with his own. His voice was a whisper. “Alright. I’ll believe in you.” A faint smile tugged at his lips, and she felt her chest loosen with relief.

“You did everything you could,” Mark added softly. “What Carlos made you do—it wasn’t your fault.”

Her throat tightened. “I try to tell myself that,” she murmured. Her voice cracked as she went on, “I don’t regret trying to kill him. Or blowing that place to the ground. I just… regret the kids who died. The families who watched. The ones who thought their only way out was…” She trailed off, brushing a tear from her cheek quickly before turning back to her desk.

Mark left without another word.

In the dimly lit hallway, Thomas stood stiffly at his post outside Daryl’s room.

“Talk to her?” Thomas asked, his arms crossed tightly.

“I did,” Mark said, leaning against the wall. “We should trust her. If she thinks leaving for America is best, we try. The rest of the group’s already on board.”

Thomas’s frown deepened, but he nodded curtly and stalked off toward his grandfather’s room. Mark exhaled heavily and opened the door to Daryl’s quarters.

Inside, Daryl sat perched on the windowsill, one leg dangling as he stared out into the courtyard below. His head turned slowly at the creak of the door, blue eyes flicking toward Mark but offering no greeting.

“I want to talk to you about Alexandria,” Mark said.

“Alright,” Daryl replied, his voice gravelly but patient.

Mark stepped inside, leaning against the wall. “What kind of walls do you have? Who leads? How’d you find it? What kind of people live there?”

Daryl lit a cigarette and exhaled smoke slowly before answering. “Walls are fifteen feet high, all steel. Reinforced with beams outside. Their leader, Deanna… used to be a congresswoman or something. She interviewed all of us, one by one. Guy named Aaron found us. He recruits. Thought we’d fit.” His gaze hardened, thoughtful. “The people there… they’re soft. Sheltered. But they’re good people. Didn’t get any sense of bad intentions.”

Mark frowned. “Sounds too good to be true. The place Evelyn and I came from seemed good too. Until it wasn’t.”

“Evelyn told me Carlos made her watch him kill kids. In front of her. ‘Cause she tried to leave,” Daryl said, his voice dark. “You knew he was that far gone before all that?”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “No. I didn’t. Carlos was always… unstable. But not like that. I didn’t know about the experiments either. I was stationed at the hospital as a guard.”

“That shoulda been your first red flag,” Daryl muttered.

A humorless chuckle slipped out of Mark. “Evelyn said the same thing. But I was a soldier. I didn’t question orders. In this world, you have to question everything.”

“You’re American,” Daryl stated flatly.

“Yeah. Sent here to train French soldiers before the world fell apart.”

They lapsed into silence, sizing each other up. Mark was cautious but open; Thomas wouldn’t even look Daryl’s way.

“Why’re you talking to me?” Daryl finally asked.

“Because Evelyn trusts you,” Mark said simply. “And I trust her.”

Daryl gave a faint nod, his gaze softening. “She’s still got that kindness in her,” he muttered.

“She’s the kindest person I’ve ever met,” Mark said. “Guess she hasn’t changed much since you knew her.”

“Yeah,” Daryl murmured, eyes fixed out the window again. “She was always there for me. And I left her. Fifteen years ago. Like an asshole.”

Mark gave him a sympathetic look. “Knowing her, she’s probably already forgiven you.”

Later, Evelyn entered, surprised to find the two men sharing cigarettes in companionable silence.

“Are you two friends now?” she teased, setting down a tray of fresh bandages.

“Yeah,” Daryl grunted. “Thick as Boy Scouts.”

Mark chuckled and excused himself, leaving them alone. Evelyn tended Daryl’s wounds carefully, their eyes meeting briefly as she wrapped his leg.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked softly.

He shook his head. “Doubt you could.”

When she finished, she started packing up supplies, but his gravelly voice stopped her.

“Glad you’re comin’ back with me,” he said quietly.

She turned, surprised by the sincerity in his tone, and smiled. “I am too. I hope Alexandria will take us all in. This group deserves a chance.”

“I’ll make ‘em,” he said simply, his jaw set with determination.

Her chest warmed. “Thank you, Daryl. I mean it.”

As she turned to leave, his hand caught her wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For leavin’ you. Fifteen years ago. You were always there for me… and I just… left.”

Her eyes softened, and she laced her fingers with his. “I’m not mad anymore. That was a lifetime ago. You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

He pressed his forehead to her hand, and she cupped the back of his head gently.

“Just don’t run off again,” she whispered with a teasing smile. “Or I will be mad.”

He chuckled, a rare sound. “Yeah. Figured.”

Outside, the monastery grounds glowed in the soft hues of late afternoon. Children whispered and giggled as they orbited Daryl, peppering him with questions, their voices hushed even in play. The monastery felt like a sanctuary hidden away from the horrors beyond its forest walls, and for a fleeting moment, Daryl allowed himself to feel almost… safe.

Chapter Text

The monastery had never felt so cold. The stone walls seemed to absorb every word, every breath, swallowing the room in a suffocating silence. Evelyn’s voice was calm but laced with steel as she and Louis stood over a rough map spread across a wooden table. A flickering oil lamp cast long shadows over their faces.

“We’d need fourteen thousand gallons of fuel to cross the Atlantic,” Louis said quietly, as if speaking too loud would make the truth heavier. “The tanks are full… but there’s barely a hundred gallons in reserve.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his silhouette carved in darkness. The number wasn’t just bad—it was impossible.

Louis’s voice cracked. “We’d be at the mercy of the sails. Food’s the real fight now.”

The room fell still. Even the children had stopped whispering.

Evelyn’s gaze swept over the faces of the group. “Then fuel’s not an option. We focus on food. And finding him.” Her voice sharpened. “Carlos is out there, and he knows we’re here.”

The name sent a chill through the air. Daryl’s eyes flickered up to meet hers.

“I’ll scout for transport,” he said finally, voice low.

“I’ll go,” Mark offered, straightening. His hands trembled slightly as he adjusted his rifle strap.

Thomas stepped forward. “I should—”

“No,” Evelyn cut him off, her tone like a blade. “You’re our best defense if they come here. You stay.”

Thomas’s glare burned, but he said nothing.

The plan was set. By dawn, Daryl and Mark would leave the safety of the monastery’s crumbling walls and head west.

The forest beyond the monastery was steeped in fog, the air damp and heavy with rot. Daryl moved like a ghost through the undergrowth, crossbow slung over his shoulder. Mark’s breaths were sharp in the silence, each exhale visible in the chill morning air.

“There’s a village ten miles out,” Mark murmured. His voice cracked slightly. “Might be vehicles there.”

Daryl gave a curt nod, eyes flicking to every shifting shadow. They’d been walking for hours when two walkers emerged from the brush, jaws snapping.

Daryl’s blade sank into the first skull with a wet crunch. He caught the body before it fell. Mark dispatched the second, his hands shaking as he wiped his blade clean on his jeans. Neither spoke.

By midday, they found it—a ghost town. Crumbling houses. Empty windows staring like dead eyes. In the center of the overgrown road sat a massive blue 1948 Chevy flatbed, its once-bright paint dulled by rust.

“Perfect,” Daryl muttered.

They moved cautiously, clearing a handful of shambling walkers before approaching the truck. The keys were still dangling from the ignition.

Mark tried the engine. It wheezed, then died.

“Figures,” Daryl grumbled. He popped the hood, hands disappearing into the engine. “Battery’s fine. Pump’s fine. Spark plugs are shot.”

He climbed onto the bumper for a better look. That’s when he heard it.

Click.

The sound of a hammer cocking froze him.

“Drop it.”

Daryl turned his head slowly. Mark was already on his knees, a rifle barrel pressed against the back of his skull. Eight men encircled them, their faces hard and emotionless.

Then he saw him.

Carlos.

The man moved with the confidence of someone who knew fear was his weapon. He stepped closer, dark eyes calm, his lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach them.

“Qué sorpresa,” Carlos murmured. “Mark.”

Mark’s face drained of color. Daryl’s glare hardened, his jaw clenched tight.

Carlos looked him over with casual curiosity. “And you?”

““Daryl.” 

Carlos chuckled softly. “That glare. You’d kill me if you could.”

“Wouldn’t take long,” Daryl said, his voice low and even.

Carlos smirked, tugging his scarf down to reveal a jagged scar across his throat.

“She gave me this,” he said, his voice almost tender. “Your Evelyn. She ran. But she won’t run again. I’ll make sure of that.”

Daryl’s muscles tensed, every nerve screaming to lunge at him. “Not while I’m alive.”

Carlos’s smile widened. “We’ll see.”

He turned to Mark. “Run back to her. Tell her to come alone.”

“Don’t,” Daryl snarled, but they shoved him to his knees, gagging him and binding his wrists.

Carlos crouched, his face inches from Daryl’s. “Tell her I said… hello.”

Mark burst into the monastery courtyard, gasping for air.

“Where’s Daryl?” Evelyn demanded, her heart already sinking.

“Carlos has him,” Mark choked. “He wants you. Alone.”

Her breath caught, but her face went cold. There was no time to argue.

Plans were made in frantic whispers. Children cried softly as their mothers packed what little they had left. Antoine sat in his chair, staring at the floor, lost to grief.

“Granddad, please!” Thomas shouted, shaking him. “She’s gone. Grandma’s gone. We have to go!”

Antoine didn’t answer.

Evelyn stepped in, her tone like a gunshot. “Carlos knows we’re here. We move now.”

Thomas snapped into action, jaw tight. Mark would lead the women and children east to Checkpoint A. Thomas, Hugo, and Anna would stay behind to fight. Evelyn would go to Carlos.

Alone.

The village was swallowed by mist when Evelyn arrived. The world felt muffled, like a dream she couldn’t wake from. Her footsteps crunched softly on gravel as she spotted him.

Carlos leaned against the truck, smiling like a predator. Daryl knelt in the dirt, gagged and bound, a rifle barrel pressed to his head.

“Ah,” Carlos purred. “La mujer del momento.”

He closed the distance in two long strides, his hand gripping her chin as he tilted her face up. “You ran well, querida. But I always find what’s mine.”

Daryl struggled against his restraints, muffled curses spilling from behind the gag. A guard slammed a rifle butt into his skull, and Evelyn flinched.

“Let him go,” she said, her voice steady, but her hands trembled at her sides.

Carlos’s smile curved. “Lie to me again, and I’ll paint this road with his blood.” He crouched beside Daryl, gun pressed to his temple. “Tell me, amigo… does she taste as sweet as she looks?”

Daryl lunged forward, a growl tearing from his throat, but the gag muted his rage.

Carlos laughed. “Thought so.”

A single gunshot rang out.

Chaos exploded.

Carlos’s men dropped one by one, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds. Bullets tore through the fog.

Daryl kicked his guard’s legs out, slamming him to the dirt. He crushed the man’s skull with his boot before barreling into Carlos, sending him sprawling. Evelyn grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the woods.

Thomas, Hugo, and Anna’s gunfire lit up the mist, tearing through the ambush. Carlos vanished like smoke.

Checkpoint A was carnage.

Walkers surged through the trees, their guttural snarls mingling with screams. Gunfire roared, sharp and desperate. The fight felt endless.

When it was over, the silence was deafening.

Bodies littered the ground. Louis and Mark stood trembling, Charlotte clutched in Louis’s arms, her face buried against his chest. She was sobbing. Everyone else… gone.

Thomas cradled Antoine’s lifeless body, rocking slightly, his hands shaking violently. Evelyn knelt in the dirt beside Eloise and her daughter Julie, both gone, her breath coming in ragged gasps as her mind struggled to catch up.

“We… we should bury them,” Daryl murmured. His voice was rough, thick.

No one argued.

They dug with bloody hands. Evelyn’s fingers blistered and split, but she didn’t stop. One by one, they laid their family to rest beneath the cold gray sky. There were no prayers, no words. Just tears and silence.

Days blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and hunger. They scavenged. They killed. They hid. They moved like ghosts through the countryside, hunted and hollow-eyed.

Finally, they found an abandoned brick house and holed up, patching wounds and planning their next step.

By nightfall, Daryl and Louis had coaxed two battered cars back to life.

“Good news,” Daryl said softly, settling beside Evelyn by the fire. His voice carried a rare warmth. “We got wheels.”

She looked at him, her eyes hollow but softening. “That’s… something.”

“Most of us made it,” he said gently. “We’ll keep it that way.”

She gave him the smallest smile, the first since the confrontation with Carlos and his men.

Three days later, they reached Le Havre. The boat was still there. Louis worked silently, his hands steady as he prepped the sails and checked the engine. Relief washed over them like rain, but fear followed close behind.

That night, they slept in the boathouse, its broken windows rattling in the sea wind.

Daryl sat on the dock, Evelyn beside him, both staring at the dark expanse of water.

“You’ll see your family again,” she whispered, though her voice trembled.

“Hope so,” he muttered. “Two months is a long time.”

She reached out, her hand brushing his arm. “Think about the good, Daryl. You have to.”

He turned to her, his expression unreadable but softening. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For the ones you lost.”

Her breath hitched, but she held it together. “Thank you. I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else.”

“Me neither.”

Later, they curled up on the deck of the boat, wrapped in a blanket. For the first time in days, they slept without nightmares.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Thomas, Mark, Charlotte, Anna, Hugo, and Louis stayed close as more residents of Alexandria approached. Evelyn kept near her group, and Daryl remained a quiet shadow by her side, his eyes scanning the crowd, protective and alert.

Aaron was talking with Spencer, but Evelyn only caught fragments. Her fingers brushed against Daryl’s sleeve. He responded immediately, covering her hand with his own—a grounding, almost instinctive gesture. She glanced up at him, the faintest smile tugging at her lips. He gave a subtle nod back, a silent promise: I’m here.

Spencer stepped forward, warm smile in place.

“Welcome to Alexandria. I’m Spencer Monroe—my mother is the leader,” he said.

Evelyn took a subtle step forward, standing tall.

“I’m Evelyn. Nice to meet you,” she said, her voice calm but confident, her eyes meeting his with a quiet intensity.

Spencer’s gaze lingered, but Evelyn’s attention didn’t waver. Daryl’s jaw tightened slightly beside her, and he took a protective half-step forward—but Thomas held him back.

Then Spencer looked at Daryl. “Dixon. Thought maybe you were dead,” he said, forcing a smile.

Evelyn noticed Daryl stiffen. She moved a fraction closer to him, just enough for her shoulder to brush against his. The contact was subtle, almost intimate, but enough to reassure them both.

“You’ll need to turn over your weapons,” Spencer said.

Thomas and Mark tensed. Daryl whispered something low, and after a pause, they handed over their weapons. Daryl passed them to Olivia, whose warm, kind energy immediately put Evelyn at ease.

“My mother would like to meet each of you individually, starting with you,” Spencer said.

Evelyn nodded and followed him, stealing a glance at Daryl. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, a silent exchange of understanding and reassurance before she disappeared around the corner.

Later, sitting across from Deanna, Evelyn’s voice was steady as she shared her story, though her eyes betrayed the weight of her memories. A single tear ran down her cheek when she recounted the horrors at Carlos’ camp. Deanna watched, empathetic, but Evelyn surprised herself by holding her composure.

“I still feel the panic… but I can speak about it without freezing,” she admitted softly. “Maybe I’m slowly recovering now that I’m not in France. Carlos can’t hurt me here.”

Evelyn explained her group, highlighting the loyalty and trust she had inspired. Her chest tightened with a mix of sorrow and relief, knowing she could finally speak her truth without judgment.

“I’m done talking about this. I want to see where I’ll be working,” she said, standing and sending Deanna a quiet, commanding look.

Maggie arrived to escort her to the infirmary. Evelyn’s eyes swept the space: organized, clean, and well-stocked. She noticed Denise, a hesitant woman who was acting as the doctor but had no confidence in her abilities, and offered guidance and reassurance..

That evening, Evelyn returned to the home she shared with her group. Snow began to fall, dusting the streets in white. She spotted Daryl’s familiar silhouette ahead and quickened her pace.

“Why did you leave?” she asked softly.

“I needed to clear my head,” he said, voice clipped.

“Will you come to the get-together in our honor?” she asked, holding his gaze, her words carrying more weight than the question alone.

“They aren’t my thing,” he muttered.

“I’ll be there. You should come,” she pressed gently, stepping closer so their arms brushed. A spark of warmth ran up her arm from the contact.

“We’ll see,” he replied, though his shoulders relaxed. That brief touch lingered longer in both their minds than either would admit.

They walked in silence, passing curious residents. Every glance, every subtle brush of her coat against him, carried unspoken meaning. Evelyn felt her chest tighten slightly when he reached out for a moment to steady her on a slippery patch of snow, fingers brushing hers. Neither spoke, but both felt the significance.

At her home, the snow had begun to accumulate. Daryl escorted her to the door.

“Night,” she said softly, holding his gaze.

He lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary before stepping back. “Night,” he replied, voice low, almost intimate. He left, and Evelyn watched him go, a quiet ache of longing in her chest—but also hope.

Chapter Text

“Who does Deanna think she is, replacing me not only with Denise but now some hot shot primary doctor shows up and suddenly she’s the new doctor.” Pete muttered, taking a huge swig of alcohol and gulped it down.

He was sitting on his front porch, watching a few people head to their jobs while he had to sit at home.

Ever since Deanna made him step down as the town doctor and replaced Denise as the doctor, his mood has been foul. He blamed Rick and his group, ever since they showed up, the routine of this place has been disrupted and now Deanna allowed some foreigners into Alexandria and one of them is a doctor that apparently knew Daryl before the outbreak.

He stood up, angrily throwing the alcoholic bottle against the door of his home and let out an obscene amount of curses. Jessie, his wife was in the kitchen and could hear Pete throwing and shouting things. She didn’t want him to wake up the neighbors and lifted the window in the kitchen that overlooked the front porch.

“Pete please, keep your voice it’s to early for this.” She begged.

Pete looked at his wife like she had lost her mind for even addressing him like that.

“You think you can give me orders?!” He shouted, storming into the house and Jessie tried fleeing, but he caught her and pushed her to the ground, hitting her and screaming in her face.

Once he was done, he sauntered out of the house and now he has his eyes set on meeting the new doctor. He only heard whispers about her from his neighbors, he hadn’t seen her yet. It was close to 9, Denise, heading to the infirmary, spotted him approaching. His red eyes and flushed cheeks told her everything she needed to know. Pete’s outwardly kind façade had always hidden a darker edge, and Denise felt a chill run down her spine.

“Good morning, Pete,” she greeted cautiously.

He barely acknowledged her. “Where’s the new doctor?” he slurred.

“She’ll be in around nine,” Denise replied, nervous, trying to avoid further interaction.

“I’ll wait for her,” he said, flopping onto an empty bed. Denise stared, uneasy.

This isn’t good. She thought, noticing that his eyes and cheeks were red. Pete always appeared to be a kind and welcoming man, a doctor who cared for his patients and for the community. Denise learned that it was more of a façade he put on once she was working along side him. He was not outwardly hostile or nasty with her, but he would leave little passive aggressive comments and remarks all the time 

Denise had a horrible feeling about Pete being here and worst, he was looking for Evelyn.

“Deanna is throwing a get together party in a couple of days, you could meet her then and Jessie and the boys can also meet her.” Denise said but Pete just laughed.

“Nah, I’ll wait but thank you for being so concern.” Pete drawled out in a drunk tone.

Evelyn looked down at a watch that Thomas gave her and saw it was only one minute till 9 and she wanted to make a good impression that she could get somewhere on time.

She practically jogged to the infirmary and was thankful Denise had made it here before her and unlocked the door.

“Sorry Denise, I’ll be glad once Thomas and them get their own place, they were hogging the bathroom.” She said and stopped in her tracks when she saw a man laying on one of the beds. His eyes and cheeks were red and she wondered if he was sick or drunk.

Denise tried to speak first, but Pete stood up and said. “You’re the new doctor?” He asked, his words slurring slightly.

Yep, his drunk. Evelyn thought but she gave a warm smile and nodded.

“I am, you can call me Evelyn.” She said, starting to walk over to where Denise was and could see the look on the other woman’s face that this man being here made her extremely uncomfortable.

“I’m Pete, I used to be the doctor here till Deanna said I was unfit for me role.” Pete said, getting alittle to close to Evelyn for her liking.

“If you’re getting drunk in broad daylight like this, I can see why she thought so.” Evelyn retorted back.

Pete jaw clenched tightly and Denise started getting more nervous. Evelyn kept her attention fully on Pete, feeling her scalpel slowly slide down her wrist and her fingers curled around the handle. This was not how Evelyn wanted her first day on the job to go and everyone then turned their heads when they heard the front door open and in walked Deanna. She stopped and cocked an eyebrow, sensing the tension and hostility coming from the other side of the room.

“Everything okay?” Deanna asked.

Pete just smirked, looking back at Evelyn and gave her a dark glare before he turned around and just walked away, not saying a word to anyway. Denise let out a breath she had been holding in and Evelyn quickly concealed her scalpel back into her sleeve before Deanna saw anything.

“What was that about?” Deanna asked.

“Pete said he wanted to meet the new doctor.” Denise said.

“What a welcome, he looked like he wanted to hit me in the face.” Evelyn said and frowned.

Deanna sighed and Evelyn could tell that this wasn’t the first time dealing with Pete and his antics.

“I’m sorry about that…I’ll need to have a talk with him later, ever since I asked him to step down, he’s hasn’t been the same.” Deanna said.

Denise knew there was way more to that story but she remained quiet and started to act like she was doing something while Deanna and Evelyn talked more. Deanna finally left and Denise showed Evelyn her new office.

“What a first day huh?” Denise asked, trying to find some humor in the situation.

“Yeah, they should make a painting about it and hang it up somewhere.” Evelyn joked and smiled.

“I was hoping he wouldn’t have showed up like.” Denise said.

“So who was that exactly?” Evelyn asked.

“His name is Pete Anderson, he used to be the doctor but after Rick and his group joined us, he seemed like he was always agitated by their presence. He really hates Rick and…..I don’t know if I should really be telling you this, but he is abusive with his wife and two kids. Rick and him have gotten into a fight pretty recently.” Denise said.

“And Deanna allows him to stay in the community?” Evelyn asked.

Denise nodded. “I guess maybe she doesn’t want to break up a family, Jessie and the kids are not an issue but Pete is.” She said.

Evelyn nodded. “I can understand that, the more people who lead the more problems your going to have.” Evelyn said and grabbed two notepads and two pencils from a shelve in her office.

“Well lets get started.” She said and Denise followed her out to the main room.

It was around lunchtime when Evelyn decided they needed a lunch break. Denise was mentally exhausted, Evelyn was a great teacher and she was really glad that she was teaching her and helping her finish her training.

“I wish we have a patient so you can get some practice in.” Evelyn said, leaning her head back against the wall of the infirmary as Denise and her sat outside.

Denise looked past Evelyn when she saw Spencer walking towards them. Evelyn turned her head to see who Denise was looking at. Spencer flashed Evelyn a dazzling smile when he finally stopped walking. He stayed on the main road and just looked up at her.

“I wanted to see how you were settling in.” He said.

Evelyn cocked an eyebrow. “I’m fine, training Denise on how to be a doctor.” She replied.

“What’s the point in that, you’re our doctor.” Spencer said.

She just stared at Spencer for a moment. “You need as many doctors as you can get, if something happens to me then you have Denise.” She said, not really hiding her annoyance in her tone.

“Guess that makes sense, I’m here because I wanted to ask if you wanted to have dinner with me.” Spencer said.

Denise eyes went from Spencer to Evelyn, trying to gauge her teacher’s reaction to Spencer asking her on a date.

“Sorry I have to decline.” She replied back and went back to munching on the sandwich that Carol had brought to her. Spencer stood there for a second, looking a little shocked she turned him down but he quickly recovered and nodded.

“Maybe another time then.” He said and walked off before she could reply.

“Let me guess, he think’s he’s the big shot around here but really he doesn’t know what he is doing?” Evelyn asked, drinking some water to help the sandwich go down.

Denise tried not to let out a laugh. “You could say that…..Spencer led a run not to long ago and a kid name Noah died on the run, Glenn blames Spencer for that.” She said.

“I’ve been around plenty of guys like that, Spencer pretty much fits that stereotype of a tee.” Evelyn said.

“You seem to be good at reading people.” Denise pointed out.

She nodded. “I learn that skill after the outbreak, you tend to get a crash course in seeing someone for who they really are, it could be what stands between you living and you dying.” Evelyn said.

“Would it be okay if I leave in a couple of hours….I……promised someone I would help them out with something.” Denise said.

“That’s fine with me, same time tomorrow then.” Evelyn said and stood up, Denise following suit and they head back inside.

Denise left around 2 and Evelyn was by herself now. It didn’t take long for the door to open up in a rather quick haste and she quickly left her office to see who it was. She saw Rick carrying Judith in and laid her down on the bed.

“What’s wrong?” Evelyn asked and quickly made her way over to Judith’s bedside and started to examine her.

“She has a fever and a bad cough, woke up with it this morning.” Rick said.

Evelyn placed the chest piece of the stethoscope against Judith’s chest and listened to her breathing. Judith was wheezing and from how the skin around her ribs were pulling in, the toddler was trying harder than normal to get any breaths in. Rick was hovering, which she could understand but she had to basically push him out of her way.

She took Judith’s temperature and placed a fingertip pulse on Judith’s index finger. Luckily her oxygen levels were still in the normal range. Judith let out a violent cough and whimpered. Evelyn had seen this sickness before in infants and toddlers mainly.

“I believe she has RSV.” Evelyn said and started to set up a nebulizer treatment for her.

“Carl had that once when he was little.” Rick said and gently brushed Judith’s curls from her face.

“I think she’ll be okay, she just needs lots of rest and if you have any Tylenol or Ibuprofen, I would alternate with that for the fever.” She said.

“We don’t have any at home.” He told her and she walked over to a locked case and found an unopened bottle of children’s Tylenol.

She didn’t see any children’s Ibuprofen so they would just have to make due with what they had. She gave Judith about 5 mL of the children’s Tylenol after her breathing treatment was over and Judith was already breathing better.

“Could she stay here, I don’t want her to be at home suffering.” Rick asked.

Evelyn nodded and smiled. “Of course, I was going to suggest she stay here anyway.” Evelyn said and pulled the covers up over Judith.

“Do you have a humidifier at home or know where one is?” She asked Rick.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t even know if there’s one in Alexandria.” He said.

“It would help with her breathing when she isn’t using the nebulizer.” Evelyn pointed out and placed a cold damp rag on Judith’s forehead to help with the fever till the Tylenol kicked in.

Rick stood up. “I’ll go get one.” He said and Evelyn wondered if he was going to go on a run.

“I thought Spencer was in charge of runs, you think he will just go out and get one?” She asked.

“I ain’t waiting for that dipshit, Glenn and I can go get one.” He said.

She watched him leave and looked back at Judith who had fallen asleep. She coughed every once in awhile but she seem to not struggle as much with breathing and her fever was going down. Denise returned about an hour later and she looked beside herself.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have left!” Denise said.

“It’s fine Denise, she’s okay I think she has RSV.” She said.

Denise nodded. “Can’t that turn dangerous?” She asked.

“It can, but Judith needs plenty of fluids, rest and Rick went out to get her a humidifier, it’ll help keep her airways clear and I think she’ll be fine.” She said.

“I can stay if you need me to.” Denise offered.

“I’ll be okay, just come back tomorrow and you can get some practice in.” She said.

Denise left begrudgingly and Evelyn was left alone with Judith. Rick and Glenn returned two hours later with an unopened humidifier. Evelyn poured clean water into the tank and plugged it up, it turned on and she left it about 3 feet from Judith’s bed. Rick sat down at Judith’s bedside, keeping his focus fixated on his daughter. Glenn stood beside of Evelyn, he had yet to really have a conversation with her.

“How is she?” Glenn asked

“Better, the fevers gone down and she hasn’t been coughing as bad.” She replied.

“I’m Glenn, we didn’t really get to talk much when you arrived yesterday, I’m Maggie’s husband.” He said.

She looked at Glenn and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you.” She said.

Before they could really talk with each other, Rick voice made her turn to look at him.

 “Evelyn, is it okay if I stay here with Judith?” Rick asked.

“That’s fine with me, I plan on staying here all night with her to.” She said.

They all heard the front doors open and Evelyn was the first to see who it was. She didn’t recognize the woman, but she was helping a young boy who was limping.

“Sit him there.” Evelyn said, helping the boy into the bed while the woman sat down in a chair beside the bed.

Evelyn noticed that the woman had fresh bruises and cuts on her face, like she had been beaten this morning. The boy let out a whimper when Evelyn gently touched his ankle. From the swelling and bruising around his ankle and the face he couldn’t put weight on it, Evelyn suspected it was broken.

“How did this happen?” Evelyn asked, looking at the woman.

The light blonde headed woman looked up at her and Evelyn could see that she was clearly frightened to be there.

“He….slipped and fell.” The woman replied.

Evelyn had to stop her face from scrunching up at the clear lie.

Rick and Glenn quickly walked over to where they were. “Jessie, what happen?” Rick asked, gently lifting Jessie’s chin so he could look at her injuries.

“It’s nothing, I fell and hit my face.” She said.

Rick had enough of this. He knew what was going on in that house, he already got into a fight with Pete about him putting his hands on his own kids. Rick said nothing more and stormed out, Glenn and Jessie quickly following behind him.

Jessie was trying to tell Rick that nothing happened, but Rick didn’t listen and Evelyn wondered if she should go with them but she now had two kids to look after. The boy started crying, crying out for his mother and Evelyn tried reassuring him that his mom would come back.

Evelyn went to work on bracing Sam’s ankle. She could hear a commotion outside and heard people shouting. She told Sam to stay in the bed and went outside, standing on the front patio and could see down the road a fight was taking place.

Rick had Pete on the ground and was repeatedly hitting him, Glenn was trying to pull Rick off while Michonne and Thomas were running to the scene to and she watched as other people were running to the fight. Rick pushed Glenn off him and continued his barrage of hits, even Carl and Jessie tried pulling him off but he violently pushed them away from him.

“You touch them again and I’ll kill you!!” Rick shouted, standing up and pulled out a revolver, pointing it right at Pete’s head. Evelyn eyes widen some at the sight and

How did this go to shit so quick? She thought. Was Rick like this? Just a loose cannon who pointed his gun at anyone who disagreed with him or was he being pushed to this point by events that happened before she got there.

“RICK STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!” Deanna shouted. Rick pointed the barrel at her and looked at her like she was the one who lost her mind.

“What, you’re going to kick me out to! None of you know what it really takes to survive out there. You just sit back and plan and hesitate. You all act like you know what’s going on but you really don’t. If you want to live, you have to make hard choices and control who lives here!” Rick said and pointed his gun now at Pete.

“I can see that now.” Deanna said.

Rick laughed at her words. “You mean me. Your leadership with this place is going to destroy it and it’s gonna get people killed. I won’t let that happened. If you don’t fight for this place, you will die and I won’t let-!” He couldn’t finish his sentence when Michonne elbowed Rick in the side of the head, knocking him out and took his gun.

Thomas lifted Rick up over his shoulder and Evelyn noticed he wasn’t bringing him to her. She quickly ran after Thomas.

“Where are you taking him?” She asked.

Thomas continued to walk. “You can examine him at the police department, he needs to cool down.” He said.

She watched Thomas continue to walk away with them and Michonne caught up with her.

“I had to do it.” She said.

Evelyn nodded. “I know…..is……is there something going on here that I don’t know about with Rick and well everyone else?” She asked.

“He doesn’t like how this place is running……but he needs to stop acting like a crazy person or he’ll get kicked out and if he goes we all will go, Judith and Carl will be out there again.” Michonne said.

Evelyn looked past Michonne and saw Pete was still laying in the road until another young man helped him up. Pete shouted at the other man when he suggested Pete see the doctor and pushed the man away, stumbling down the street and Evelyn assumed he was headed back to his own home. She looked back at Michonne.

“I’ll come by later.” She said and headed back to the infirmary.

Denise was already there by the time she got back and she was giving Judith another breathing treatment. Sam had his back turned to them and she could faintly hear the boy crying softly. Jessie returned, she didn’t make eye contact with Denise or Evelyn as she sat down by Sam’s bedside and held his hand.

She whispered for Sam to stop crying. Evelyn approached them. “He has a broken ankle, it will take at least 6 weeks to heal.” She told Jessie who looked up at her now and nodded.

“Would you like me to take a look at you next?” Evelyn offered.

Jessie looked horrified at the idea and quickly shook her head. “No, I’m fine.” She said and turned her attention to her son.

Evelyn gathered some basic doctor supplies in a bag and told Denise she would be back.

She headed to the police department where Rick were being held. Michonne was sitting in a cell with Rick who regained consciousness and was berating him for his actions. Thomas was sitting at a desk and he looked up when Evelyn walked through the door, he nodded his head to acknowledge her but said nothing.

Michonne opened the cell door, letting Evelyn in and she examined Rick’s injuries.

“Nothing broken thankfully, Pete looks way worse than you do.” She commented and finished her examine of him.

“Can someone please explain to me what lead up to this fight or are you just a crazy loose cannon?” She asked, directing her question to Rick.

“He’s been beating on Jessie and her boys. Deanna ordered him to step down when he kept showing up at work drunk. Jessie and me….we’ve been getting closer and he doesn’t like it.” Rick said.

“That explains her bruises and Sam’s ankle and Deanna doesn’t do anything about it?” She asked.

“No and it’s pissing me off that she’s letting things like that slide, that they all are. I wouldn’t have put up with that shit if I was the leader.” Rick said.

Evelyn had a pretty good idea of what kind of leader Rick was and she could see now why Daryl followed him and why the people he came here with were loyal to him.

“The world needs more leaders like you, Rick.” She said and stood up, picking up her bag and didn’t bother closing his cell door.

She headed back to the clinic. Jessie was still there with Sam and Judith was awake now, playing a game with Denise.

“Deanna was here, she said she’s calling a town meeting this evening to talk with everyone about what happened.” Denise said.

“What’s there to talk about?” Evelyn asked and walked past Denise who looked a little surprised at her question.

“Well Rick attacked Pete in the street and pointed his gun at everyone, Michonne had to knock him out.” Denise said.

“Rick did that for a reason, this place shouldn’t put up with people who beat on others because they want control over someone else.” Evelyn replied.

Jessie heard enough and stood up. “Don’t talk about my husband like you know what’s going on!” She shouted. Evelyn narrowed her eyes at her.

“The man beats you, I know what those bruises look like and I know how Sam broke his ankle.” She said and Jessie flinched at her words and she lifted Sam out of the bed.

“We will recover at home, my husband is a doctor after all and he can take care of Sam.” She said and left without another word.

Denise looked shocked at the exchange between Evelyn and Jessie.

“Deanna wanted you to be there, so I’ll stay with Judith.” Denise said and sat down next to Judith, handing the toddler a coloring book with crayons.

It was already starting to get darker and Evelyn hung up her white lab coat on a hook and left the infirmary. She followed the crowd as they made their way to town hall.

She noticed that Rick, Michonne, Glenn and Carol were not in attendance and wondered where they were. Deanna was sitting in the middle of the group, waiting for more people to arrive and she saw Evelyn was there.

“Evelyn, can you come here?” Deanna asked. Evelyn walked through the crowd and stood beside of Deanna, Maggie was also there and she was standing on Deanna’s other side.

“How’s Rick’s injuries?” She asked.

“He’s fine, he didn’t get hurt too bad.” She replied.

Maggie looked extremely uncomfortable to be there, she knew what this meeting was about and noticed her husband was not in attendance and had a good idea where he and the rest of the group were and what they could be talking about. Evelyn noticed how stressed Maggie looked and gently nudged her, Maggie eyes flickered to her.

“You okay?” Evelyn asked.

Maggie nodded. “I’m just wondering where Glenn and the rest of them are.” She whispered.

She knew Daryl was out on a run with Aaron, but everyone else should have been in Alexandria today. She looked around, not seeing the missing group members. Deanna started the meeting, she wanted to get everyone’s thoughts and feelings on what happened today.

A lot of the towns people thought that Rick was to dangerous to be allowed to stay. Another man pointed out that Rick pointed his gun at them and Deanna.

Evelyn frowned and looked at Maggie who also looked astonished that they would point that out.

These people really are so sheltered, they have no idea what it’s like outside the walls, they are acting like the world is like it was before the outbreak. She thought.

“I understand everyone’s fear about what happen. We need Rick and his group, they’ve been out there and they can teach us how to survive, a lot of you have not been outside the walls, you really don’t know what it’s like out there.” Deanna said.

Evelyn looked at her and then back at Maggie. Abraham also spoke up, saying that the world is a sea of shit and Rick was the man who knew how to navigate it.

“You people really don’t know what he knows.” He said.

“My father, he respected Rick and believed in him, that Rick would keep us safe and Rick has done that over and over again. Rick and everyone else in my group are like a family and I won’t let break up over this. Rick is a father like mine was and he will protect his family.” Maggie said.

Deanna heard enough and stood up. “Gabriel visited me and he told me some troubling things about Rick and so far what Gabriel told me, Rick has showed me what he said was true.” Deanna said.

Murmurs went over the crowd and Maggie looked around, not seeing Gabriel and she left. Evelyn watched her leave and felt the urge to go after her, but she remained behind and listen as more and more people were voting for Rick to be kicked out.

“I don’t know Rick or his group other than Daryl, but I can tell the difference between a bad man and a good man. The line is very thin between the two, Rick is not a bad man. He is doing what needs to be done to ensure everyone survives, people have to get blood on their hands. It’s not pretty, but this world isn’t pretty and you guys have to stop living with your heads in the ground or you’ll be in the ground.” She said.

It was silent and only Abraham clapped. “Well spoken.” He complimented.

“I just want my family safe, I don’t feel safe anymore inside the walls after what happened today.” A man name Tobin said and opened his mouth to say something else but the room grew silent when Rick walked in, covered in blood and tossed a dead walker in the middle of the group. Some people gasped, others screamed and Evelyn quickly walked over to Rick.

“Ain’t mine.” He said and she nodded, looking back at the dead walker.

“This was in our community, the gate was left open and nobody was out there guarding.” He said.

Deanna immediately ordered two men to leave to man the fence.

“Don’t bother, me and my people already took care of the walkers while you all were in here chatting about me pulling a gun on a man who beats his wife and kids. The dead will always try to get in here with the living, these walls we have only tell them that there is food inside, just waiting for them.” He said.

“I was thinking….how many of you do I have to kill to just save you life.” He said and Evelyn watched as people started backing away from him.

“But that’s the easy way out, this community will have to change, I’m not sorry for what I did, but I wish I would have said this sooner to y’all.” He added.

“You’re not one of us!!” A voice bellowed. Everyone turned to see a drunk Pete, he was still covered with injuries and blood, he had Michonnes katana. Reg stepped forward, trying to block Pete, but the swing was too fast. A sickening slash opened across his neck, and blood sprayed over the cobblestones. Deanna’s scream ripped through the air as she caught her husband’s falling body. Evelyn’s hands flew instinctively to Reg, but there was nothing she could do. His pulse was gone.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered to Deanna and Reg, she was covered in his blood and tried applying some pressure, his blood soaked her hands and arms. Deanna face was filled with sorrow, she balled over Reg’s dead body and then looked up at Rick. “Rick…..do it.” She said. Without any hesitation, Rick turned around and shot Pete in the head.

“Rick?” Another voice called out and everyone looked up, including Rick to see a bald headed African American man standing there, along with Daryl and Aaron having return from their run.

Daryl and Aaron both exchanged stunned looks and then Daryl saw Evelyn, he quickly ran over to her and knelt down, grabbing her shoulders.

“You hurt?” He asked, clearly worried about her and gently lifted her chin to look at him as his eyes went over her to try and find some wound.

“It’s not mine, it’s Reg’s…he bleed out.” Evelyn said softly.

He nodded and let her chin go, looking down at Reg’s dead body. He then glanced up at Deanna.

“We can’t let him turn.” He said softly.

Deanna nodded and Daryl took out a knife, stabbing Reg in the head to prevent him from turning.

The meeting was clearly over, Deanna feelings changed on Rick and she went over to him. “Thank you.” She said softly. Rick nodded and looked at Reg.

“I can help you bury him.” He offered, but she shook her head.

“Spencer and Aidan will do it.” She said and then looked to Evelyn.

“You should get clean up, you look like your hurt.” Deanna pointed out as her two sons lifted Reg up and carried him to the cemetery at the church.

“Come on.” Daryl said and walked Evelyn to his home since it was closer.

He lived here alone and showed Evelyn the bathroom, handing her a couple of towels and a wash cloth.

“I don’t have nice smelling soap but it’ll do.” He said and she gave Daryl a smile at his consideration of her.

“It’s fine.” She said and took the towels and closed the bathroom door.

She got a good look at herself and saw how much blood she had on her arms and hands. She could see why Daryl thought she had been injured. She wondered who that man was that said Rick’s name but she pushed the thought away as she turned on the water and let it get hot. She scrubbed the blood off her and rinsed her hair, washing her face and felt alittle bit better.

She wrapped a towel around her, using the other to dry her wavy hair and face off. Daryl knocked on the door.

“I have some clean cloths, I’ll put them by the door.” She heard his muffled voice and heard him walk away.

She opened the door, grabbing the cloths and put them on. It was a simple green shirt and grey sweat pants. The sweat pants drowned her and she pulled them as tight as they could go and made sure to tighten the knot.

She tied the front of the shirt into a knot to help tighten it. The cloths were Daryl’s and his frame was much bigger than her thin frame. She found Daryl, Rick and the new comer in the living room.

“You look better.” Rick commented now that she wasn’t covered in blood and she nodded.

“Yeah I probably looked like a character out of a Steven King’s novel.” She joked and the newcomer cracked a smile at her humor.

“I’m Morgan.” Morgan said, holding out his hand and she shook it.

“Evelyn, I’m the doctor.” She said.

“I have to go back to the infirmary, Judith is still there with Denise.” Evelyn said and Rick told her he would be down there shortly.

Daryl decided to walk with Evelyn. “What happen?” He asked her.

She told him the day’s event while he was on his run with Aaron. “Shit, can’t believe all that went down while I was gone.” He said.

She returned the question, asking him about Morgan and what happened on their run. Daryl told her how Aaron and him found a building that had trucks parked inside a fence. It was a trap and Daryl and Aaron might have died if it wasn’t for Morgan. They had been following someone in a red poncho, but they lost the persons trail. 

“How does Morgan know Rick?” She asked.

“Said he knew him when Rick woke up, was the first human being that Rick met and he tried to join Rick with his son, but his son didn’t make it and he found the map that Abraham left behind at the church where Gabriel was hidin out.” Daryl said. 

“Small world.” She said as they made it back to the infirmary. Daryl paid Judith a visit and the little girl was in high spirits considering how awful she felt.

Rick came a moment later, he was going to stay with Judith for the night. Evelyn sent Denise home, telling her to come back tomorrow at 9 for more training.

“You can sleep in the bed beside her, probably more comfortable.” She offered.

Rick didn’t respond and instead seem to be in deep thought. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder, breaking him out of his trance and looked up at her.

“Thinking.” He said.

“I can understand that.” She said and pulled up a chair beside of him.

“You know Rick…..I think you’re a good leader.” She said and gave him a smile.

“Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing enough……when I woke up from my coma, the world was so different and my goal was the find my wife and son, I found them but me coming back caused a lot of tension and ever since then, it’s been nothing but fighting and killing to try and protect my family.” He said.

“You care for your people and you do what you have to, even if it means getting blood on your hands, believe me I know how that is.” She said softly.

“Daryl told me what you did, that’s why your people follow you because you are willing to do what it takes and that’s how anyone is going to make it in this world.” He said.

She was alittle surprised how much she had in common with Rick but they sat there in a comfortable silence. Rick eventually fell asleep in the chair and Evelyn covered him with a blanket and went to her office, sitting down at her desk and started to record Judith’s condition like she would have if the world was normal.

Chapter Text

Rick and Morgan carried Pete’s body several miles away to bury him. Deanna didn’t want Pete to be buried near her husband and didn’t think he deserved to be buried inside the walls. A couple of days had passed since the disastrous meeting. People were trying to go back to their normal routine, Jessie even came by, she tried to apologize for how she acted but Evelyn didn’t even think about what Jessie had said or done that day.

“You don’t need to apologize to me.” She said as she was pulling the sheets off the bed Judith had laid in.

Judith was well enough to go home, she was still coughing but she no longer had any problems breathing and her fever had broken.

“I can give you a trim, you have horrible split ends.” Jessie pointed out and Evelyn was alittle shocked at how honest Jessie was but she let out a breathy chuckle.

“Sure, that would be nice.” Evelyn said.

The two women walked to the laundry mat, tossing the sheets, blankets and pillow cases that was on Judith’s bed to clean them.

“Just stop by anytime.” Jessie said and waved good bye, heading back to her home.

Tonight was the night of the party that Deanna wanted to throw. Evelyn was surprised that Deanna still wanted to have a party after her husband was killed two days ago, but Deanna said that a party was just the sort of distraction that everyone needed. The party was going to be hosted at her home and she told Evelyn to dress nice. 

Evelyn decided to close the infirmary early and sent Denise home so she could get ready. She headed to Jessie’s house. “I think I’ll take that hair cut and maybe you can curl my hair properly.” She said.

Jessie couldn’t have been more thrilled at the task, she washed Evelyn’s hair and cut the dead ends off before she started on curling her hair.

“Your hair is so pretty.” Jessie complimented once she finished the last strand and turned Evelyn around so she could see her work. “Holy shit, I haven’t seen my hair like this since I graduated from med school.” She said, touching her hair now in big loose curls.

Maggie dropped off a simple long sleeve black dress and black heeled boats. She returned home and got dress.

 “Wow.” Mark whispered when Evelyn walked out of the bathroom and smoothed out her dress.

“To much?” Evelyn asked and Mark shook his head. “Not at all, you’re very beautiful.” He said and she smiled, feeling her cheeks turn slightly red at the compliment.

Thomas, Mark, Hugo, Louis, Anna and Charlotte were also dressed very nicely for the party. “You guys go ahead.” She said, breaking away from them as they were talking to the party together and headed down the road to where Daryl lived.

She didn’t see him sitting outside and knocked on his door. He opened the door and quickly closed it when he realized he was shirtless and she was the one who knocked on his door.

“Hold on!” She heard him call out and a few minutes went by before he opened the door again and closed it behind him.

He sported a dark blue button shirt and had a leather jacket over that and clean black cargo pants. He kept his boots on and she noticed his hair was somewhat clean and neat, as neat as he could get it.

“Are you actually going to the party?” She asked.

“Nah, going to kill some walkers but wanted to look nice for them before I did so.” He retorted and she could tell he was uncomfortable looking like this. She just smiled and hugged him.

“Thank you.” She whispered and kissed his cheek before grabbing his wrist and pulled him down the stairs with her.

They arrived at the party and Daryl immediately felt caged in, surrounded by a large number of people in a tight space. Deanna’s home was huge and it did offer room to walk around, but he headed outside and lite up a cigarette to calm his nerves.

Evelyn was talking with Michonne when she noticed Daryl go outside, she excused herself and followed him. She had a rather strong drink in her hand and saw him staring out into the darkness, smoke curled and circled in the air as he took a deep inhale.

“Here.” She said, handing him the drink and he smelt it. He’s head recoiled. “What’s in this, gasoline?” He asked and she smiled. “Just a shot.” She replied and took a sip of her own drink and liked the burning sensation from the alcohol and felt her body starting to warm up.

“You don’t have to stay if your feeling comfortable.” She said and looked at him with a small smile. Just the fact he showed up was enough for her and she didn’t want to make him do something he didn’t want to do.

“I’m fine out here.” He replied, tilting his head back and swallowed the whole drink in one sitting and slammed the glass on the rail once he was done.

Snow still stuck to the ground, it was starting to melt though and she looked up at the dark sky. The moon was full and bright, casting shadows in the yard and she turned her attention to him.

“Would you have left if Rick was kicked out?” She asked.

He didn’t turn his head to look at her, instead he kept his eyes focus on what was in front of him. He was loyal to Rick and his family, but that loyalty also extended to Evelyn and he made a promise to her that he wouldn’t up and leave her like he did 15 years ago.

“Yeah and take you with me.” He said.

Her eyebrow raised slightly at his words. “What if I didn’t want to go?” She asked softly. Daryl felt his heart race slightly, but he kept any physical notion that he was getting wound up under wraps.

“I promised I wouldn’t just up and leave…..me goin with them ain’t up and leaving you.” He said.

She understood what he meant by that and laid her head on his bicep. “I feel like I fulfill my promise to my group that I would find them a safe place, I would never ask them to go with me but I would go where ever you go.” She whispered.

He didn’t know what to say or what to do. It almost felt like that moment when they were teenagers and he pursed his lips together in a tight line to steady his breathing. How does she do that? He thought and finally let out a breath he had been holding in and flicked the cigarette, watching it land in Deanna’s yard. The party was still going and he wondered if maybe he should try to redirect them to the party or if he should say something to her.

Daryl was never good at this stuff. Evelyn could feel how tense and awkward he was and she gently took a step away from him to give him some space. She just smiled. “I’ll get you another drink.” She said and turned around to head inside and Daryl watched her leave but he reached out and caught her before she went inside. She turned around, facing him and he pulled her to him. She was alittle surprised by this and she placed both of her hands on his chest, looking up at him and he stared down at her, his face getting closer to hers and their lips almost touched before the door to the patio opened up and both of them flew away from each like shrapnel. Carol stood there, looking more amused at what she was seeing. Evelyn face was red and she was trying to use her curly hair to hide it and Daryl turned completely around to face away from the both of them.

“Did I interrupt something?” She asked and both of them could hear the tease in her tone.

“No.” Daryl replied and walked away. Evelyn watched him leave and couldn’t help but feel disappointed at what didn’t happen. Carol stood next to her and wrapped an arm around her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ruin the moment.” She said.

Evelyn looked at her and gave her a weak smile, she didn’t say anything and just went back inside. The party lasted for another hour before people started leaving, she was one of the first to leave and walked down the road by herself.

She walked past Daryl’s house, stopping to stare at it. The rooms and windows were dark and she wondered if he was even home or maybe he had gone to bed? Quit being a pansy and just knock on the door. She cursed at herself and started walking again but then turned around in a huff and walked up his front steps and knocked loudly.

Daryl was home and he was sitting in the dark. He was going over in his head what almost happen. The fuck is wrong with me? He thought and ran a hand through his hair. He heard a knock and jerked his head to look at his front door. He peered through the peephole and saw it was Evelyn. A part of him told him to just walk away and act like he wasn’t there, another part which was Merle’s voice was telling him to stop being a pussy and go for it.

If I’m hearing Merle, it’s ain’t a good idea. He thought but his hand turned the doorknob and before he could stop himself, he opened the door and there she was. Her cheeks were still red and he didn’t know if it was from the cold or if she was still embarrassed. She stared up and him, neither one making a move and she finally stepped forward and her lips crashed into his.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her to him and made sure to shut the door once she was inside. Her back hit the wall and she was tugging his leather jacket off, letting it fall to the floor as their lips never left each other. Neither one knew if it was the alcohol or if they were just acting on their feelings.

She broke the kiss finally and he froze, wondering if she wanted to stop. “Where your bedroom?” She asked.

He said nothing and lead her to where he slept. They continued where they left off and she laid back on the bed with him settling in between her legs. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt and her hands roamed over his upper body and he started kissing down her neck and almost tore her dress off from her till she sat up, telling him that it needed be unzipped from the back. She stood up and turned around so her back was to him and moved her hair to the side so he could see the zipper. He pulled it down and she let the dress fall from her shoulder and pool around her lower waist, she looked back at him and felt the dress and her underwear fall around her feet. She turned around and walked over to him and pulled him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed and straddled his waist.

His hands were all over her, touching every part of her skin that was available to him. She grinded against him, earning a low moan from him that she greedily kissed away. Her hands went lower, unbuttoning his cargo pants and she stood up again to yank them down along with his boxers, he kicked them away and she straddled him again, her hips were raised and she grabbed his manhood, lowering herself down on him. They both moaned and she started moving her hips slowly at first, just enjoying the feeling and biting at his neck.

When they finally finished, 3 hours had gone by and they both were spent. She was laying her head on his chest and closed her eyes, enjoying the aftermath of their love making. Daryl had an arm around her, holding her close to him and pressed his face against her soft hair, breathing in her scent.

“Are we a couple?” She asked.

“What do you think?” He asked.

She smiled. “Unless you go around sleeping with random women, I think we are.” She said and smiled up at him. He looked down at her and smiled back. He never in a million years thought he would be here, naked, in bed with Evelyn.

The one thing he was not looking forward to was when his group would find out. The relentless teasing and questions was enough to almost ruin the mood, but he merely ran his fingers up and down her arm and they both started to drift off to sleep.

Chapter Text

Three weeks had passed since Evelyn and her group joined Alexandria. She was settling in well, practically living with Daryl in his home. Mark, Louis, and Hugo had moved into a separate house together, Thomas had taken the loft above the police station, and Anna and Charlotte stayed in their originally assigned home. The new routines seemed to be working, and her people were integrating well with the Alexandrians.

But Thomas had grown increasingly distant. Evelyn barely got two words out of him, and he avoided their group entirely. Since Deanna’s party, his aloofness had intensified. She asked everyone who attended the party if anything had happened with Thomas, but no one had useful answers—only that he left shortly after she did.

Rick stopped by the infirmary, noticing Thomas’s strange behavior.

“I wish I knew,” Evelyn admitted. “He won’t talk to me, not even to Mark—and Mark was his closest friend.”

“You said it started after the party?” Rick asked.

“Yes. I was outside most of the night with Daryl and left before him. I barely saw Thomas.”

Rick nodded slowly, lost in thought. “Daryl and you are… together now?”

She nodded. “We are.”

Rick hesitated, a familiar unease stirring. “Were you and Thomas ever… together?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I’ve never had feelings for anyone in my group beyond being their leader.”

Rick exhaled. He didn’t want to imagine a Shane scenario repeating itself—Thomas jealous, acting recklessly—but the similarity worried him. “I’ll see if I can get him to open up to me or Michonne. Thanks.”

Later, Thomas was up in the guard tower by the gates today and it would just be Michonne and him. She was sitting in a chair, cleaning her katana for maintenance when Rick entered in quietly.

“So, anything?” she asked.

Rick took a seat. “Thomas is up at the guard tower. He’s been acting strangely since Daryl and Evelyn got together.”

Michonne raised an eyebrow. “Angry?”

Rick’s gaze fell. “Acting like Shane did back then. I don’t want another incident. If he tries anything with Daryl… Daryl will kill him.”

“I don’t know why it would make him mad, they were not together……I hate to say it, but I can see why Shane was mad about you coming back since Lori and him were together.” Michonne said.

Rick’s gaze fell. “Acting like Shane did back then. I don’t want another incident. If he tries anything with Daryl… Daryl will respond, and it won’t end well.”

“Where are you going?” Michonne asked as he headed to the door.

“I’m going to observe Thomas, Daryl should be coming back sometime today with Aaron.” He said.

Daryl and Aaron returned from a run, and Rick observed quietly from the shadows. Thomas, in the tower, lifted his gun and aimed—but lowered it as the gate opened.

Rick noticed the same familiar look of distaste Thomas had worn before—he was furious. Daryl dismounted his bike and greeted Rick, ignoring Thomas. Behind them, a young heavily pregnant woman and a man followed. 

He's mad. Rick thought as Daryl walked up to him and started talking to him. Rick pulled himself from his thoughts to focus on what Daryl was saying.

“Found them in the woods, she’s 9 months but she doesn’t know how many weeks, Evelyn will need to take a look at her.” Daryl said.

Rick nodded. “I can take them to the infirmary.” Rick offered but Daryl declined and said he would do it.

“Heather, Sam this way.” Daryl called out and the couple followed Daryl to the infirmary. Evelyn was counting her inventory while Denise was writing down what they were running low on when Daryl walked in and both women saw a couple walking in behind him. Evelyn immediately stopped and walked past Daryl, giving the pregnant woman a warm smile and introduced herself and Denise.

“Hello to you to.” Daryl muttered and Evelyn gave him a smile, kissing his cheek.

“I’ll be home later.” She told him. He decided to just take his leave and left, heading home to wait for her there. He managed to kill some squirrels on their run

Evelyn did a physical examination. She wasn’t an OB/GYN and knew Hilltop had an OB/GYN doctor and they had ultrasound equipment that would come in handy. She estimated that Heather was 40 weeks and she was already dilating. She took the chest piece of her stethoscope and pressed it to her lower abdomen and could heard the distinct sound of two heartbeats.

“Baby’s heartbeat is good.” She said.

“Could I listen, for practice I mean?” Denise asked and looked at Heather for permission. Heather nodded. Evelyn handed Denise the stethoscope and helped direct her to where she needed to listen and could hear two heartbeats. It was amazing since they hadn’t had a birth here since the outbreak began.

“Have you been having any cramping?” Evelyn asked.

“Yes, but my water hasn’t broken and I can feel the baby moving.” Heather replied.

“Well your getting ready to drop, I would say we should go to the hilltop for an ultrasound but the baby is moving around and they have a strong heart beat so I don’t think one is needed.” Evelyn said and helped Heather get down from the bed.

“When your water breaks, come and get me or Denise.” Evelyn said.

Deanna heard two new people had arrived but they hadn’t been interviewed by her yet. She headed to the infirmary as Evelyn was giving some tips on what to expect when the baby is ready to come.

“I’m Deanna, the leader I wanted to talk to both of you if that’s okay.” She said.

Heather and Sam nodded and followed Deanna to the town hall. Another Alexandrian name Holly came for her shift and took over for Thomas, he was heading back to the police station but saw Denise leave the infirmary and wondered if Evelyn was by herself. He turned on his heel and started walking towards the infirmary, opening the door and closed it behind him and saw that Evelyn was by herself.

You’re actually paying a visit?” Evelyn asked.

“Been hard to see you since you’ve been with that redneck,” Thomas snapped.

Evelyn’s eyebrow lifted. “I’ve been here most of the time. What’s your problem?”

His jaw tightened, eyes burning with anger. “You haven’t been acting like our leader anymore. We don’t mean anything to you now.”

Evelyn froze. “I’m not your leader anymore?” she asked hotly. “I promised safety for our people. That hasn’t changed.”

Thomas’s grip on her upper arm tightened, and she hid her hiss of pain. His eyes were wild with rage.

“This place is a façade,” he hissed. “Rick killed Pete. Your people are going to destroy everything here.”

“Then leave,” Evelyn said low and firm. “Nobody’s forcing you to stay.”

“I won’t be the one leaving,” he growled.

She yanked her arm free and left, furious and wary. Rick and Michonne  saw Thomas coming out of the infirmary a few minutes after she did and he kept his eyes on her, not even blinking or looking away till she turned the corner.

Evelyn tried to put on a happy face and act like nothing was bothering her. She had a feeling she should tell Daryl what happen because now she was getting wary of Thomas and she didn’t like how angry and hostile he was being towards her and it was clear he was mad about Daryl and her being together. Keeping secrets right now could get someone killed or hurt and that was the last thing she wanted was Daryl or someone else being killed or hurt by Thomas.

Daryl was sitting on the front porch, he had a dead rabbit in his hands and he was skinning it. She looked up at him and had to force a smile as she walked up the steps. “We need to talk.” She said.

He blinked and nodded, putting the dead rabbit down and the knife. His hands were covered with blood and he wiped them on his pants before he sat down on the couch and she sat down in a comforter.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

She bite her lip and took a deep breath, rubbing her lips together in thought and wondered how she was going to bring this up without him storming over and trying to start something. “I think Thomas is mad that were together.” She said.

“And?” he asked, tension sharpening his tone.

“He confronted me,” she said carefully, leaving out the part where he grabbed her.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. Part of him wanted to go beat Thomas senseless, but he paused, considering the situation.

“Were you and him ever a thing?” Daryl asked.

“No, we weren’t I never had any relationship with my group other than being their friend and leader.” She said.

He figured as much and he was not an expert in relationships or even being in one, he started to wonder if Thomas saw Evelyn more than just a friend. It was like Shane and Rick all over again, but this time it made less sense because Thomas never had Evelyn. He just nodded and stood up. “If he comes around while I’m not here, let me know.” He said and headed outside.

She headed to the bathroom, taking off her coat and could see small bruises from where Thomas had grabbed her. She wanted to wash away this day and started taking her cloths off, turning the shower head on and waited till it got hot. She stepped into the shower, tilting her head back and feeling the water wash over her. She didn’t hear the bathroom door open and kept her back to the door, running her hands over her face and suddenly felt arms around her. She almost jumped out of her skin and quickly turned around, seeing it was Daryl who looked perplexed at her jumpiness. She let out a soft chuckle in relief and laid her head on his chest, wrapping her own arms around him. Her fingers lightly felt the raised skin from the scars he had and looked up at him.

“You okay, kinda jumpy.” He said.

She nodded. “Yeah I almost forgot where I was for a second.” She admitted and smiled, gently pulling his head down so she could kiss him.

The kiss deepened and she took a couple of steps forward so she had him pressed against the glass, he turned them around and lifted her leg so they wrapped around his waist.

They were almost out of hot water, their fingers and feet were pruned and she let out a breathy moan, hearing his own in her ear as he finished inside of her and gently lowered her back down to the floor. She giggled and he looked down at her, smirking slightly.

“What’s so funny?” He asked.

“We didn’t even get clean, you still have some blood on you.” She said, poking at his chest and saw small spots of blood there.

He looked down where she pointed before his eyes drifted over to her arm and gently grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm up so he could get a closer look.

“Where did you get these?” He asked in a very low threatening tone.

“Thomas grabbed me.” She admitted and hoped that this wouldn’t ruin the mood.

Daryl said nothing and instead opened the shower door and put his dirty cloths back on.

“Daryl don’t.” She said and he didn’t listen to her, instead he left the bathroom and she could hear his angry steps getting further and further away.

She was trying to hurry up and dress, putting her own dirty cloths back on and quickly followed him. He was already out the door and stalking towards the police department.

The evening air was crisp as Daryl stormed toward the police station, Evelyn close behind him, trying to pull him back. His boots pounded the dirt road, each step sharp, filled with barely contained rage. Morgan and Carol followed cautiously, keeping their distance, ready to intervene if needed.

“Daryl! Wait!” Evelyn shouted, but he didn’t slow down. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the station.

Inside, Thomas lounged on his cot, going over his plans, unaware the storm was approaching. Spencer, Aidan, and Nicholas had long since left him with ideas—ways to make Alexandria’s newcomers regret arriving.

A sudden crash shattered the quiet—the sound of a rock smashing through the station window. Glass tinkled to the floor. Thomas’s head snapped up. His eyes widened in alarm as a familiar voice boomed from outside the window:

“THOMAS! GIT DOWN HERE!”

Daryl’s shout carried authority, wrath, and warning all at once. The crowd outside—residents, allies, and onlookers—gathered, murmuring nervously. Rick and Michonne pushed forward, standing between Daryl and the mob, their expressions tense.

Thomas scrambled to the window, adrenaline rushing, fists clenching. His anger boiled over as he looked at the crowd, seeing Daryl, staring back with lethal intent.

“You leave her alone!” Daryl growled, voice low and dangerous. “You touch her again, I swear—”

“Daryl, stop!” Evelyn’s voice broke through, but he didn’t turn. She could feel the tension in his every muscle. His eyes were locked on Thomas, unyielding, unrelenting.

Thomas hesitated, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. The crowd could feel the electricity in the air, the kind that precedes violence. Rick stepped forward. “Daryl, there’s too many people here—don’t do something you can’t take back!”

Michonne added sharply, “Think! This isn’t the place!”

Daryl’s gaze never wavered. His anger was controlled but raw, like a coiled spring. He clenched his fists and spat, “You leave her alone. Or you’re gonna regret it.”

Thomas’s lips curled into a sneer, but his hand twitched near his waistband, fingers brushing the edge of his gun. Rick’s eyes widened—he had seen that look before. Shane. The same reckless rage.

Evelyn stepped between them, heart pounding. “Daryl, he didn’t hurt me,” she said softly, holding up her arm to show the faint bruises. “I’m fine.”

Daryl’s chest heaved, his eyes softening slightly, but the fury still simmered. He backed off just enough to keep control, but his gaze never left Thomas. Slowly, he spat again, flicking dirt at the base of the building, and muttered, “He better hope he keeps it that way.”

Rick and Michonne exchanged wary glances. The tension remained thick, but Daryl had stopped short of violence. Evelyn pressed herself against him, whispering, “Thank you,” her voice barely audible over the crowd.

Thomas remained at the window, seething, fingers curled tight, realizing the full weight of Daryl’s wrath without a single punch thrown. He understood: any move against Evelyn would come at a cost he couldn’t calculate.

The crowd dispersed slowly, murmurs of awe and fear filling the air. Daryl finally turned, eyes meeting Evelyn’s. No words were exchanged—they didn’t need to be. The message was clear: she was his, and anyone who threatened her would answer to him.

Evelyn left quickly, her chest still tight from the confrontation. She made her way home and found Daryl perched on the roof of their home, legs bent, elbows resting on his knees, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. The evening air was cool, and smoke curled lazily from his lips.

She climbed up to the window he’d used earlier, eased herself onto the roof beside him, and leaned her head against his shoulder. Neither spoke at first, just letting the silence settle around them.

“Are you still going to do that plan with him?” she asked softly.

Daryl blew out a slow ring of smoke. “Yeah. Sasha and Abraham’ll be there. I ain’t letting some prick think I can’t handle his ass,” he muttered, his voice low and tense.

Evelyn’s stomach knotted. She was worried for him—and for the group. A familiar voice called out from the road below.

“Mark! Over here!” she shouted.

Mark glanced up, walking backward to get a better look. “I heard what happened!” he called.

“Can hear you just fine. Don’t need to shout,” Daryl replied, irritation in his tone.

Mark climbed the ladder to join them on the roof, sitting beside Evelyn. He turned to Daryl, eyes narrowed. “Why’d you go after Thomas like that?”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Sum bitch grabbed Evelyn. Left marks on her.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up, his mouth parting in surprise. He noticed the faint bruises on her arm and frowned. “I don’t know what his problem is lately… he’s been hanging with Spencer, Aidan, and Nicholas more.”

Evelyn’s mind went to the strained friendships she had noticed. Thomas had been avoiding Mark, and now he was constantly with the others—people she and the Alexandrians didn’t fully trust. She knew all too well how easily someone could be left behind during a run when those guys were involved.

Mark looked at her seriously. “I think… he’s acting this way because he’s angry he can’t have you.”

Both Evelyn and Daryl stiffened at his words. Daryl’s hand tightened around his cigarette. “He needs to grow balls and get over it,” he grunted, flicking the half-used cigarette onto the roof.

Evelyn pulled her knees close to her chest, voice quiet. “He needs to leave Alexandria. I don’t trust him.”

Daryl’s gaze softened as he saw the unease in her eyes. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close. The thought of the upcoming herd run, with Thomas lurking nearby, made his jaw tighten.

Mark finally stood, promising to keep an eye on Thomas before heading home.

Later, inside, Evelyn was cooking the squirrel Daryl had caught, trying to settle the tension in her chest. Rick and Michonne stopped by, expressions serious.

“Thomas is no longer a constable,” Rick said. “Deanna decided he wasn’t suited for it, and neither did we.”

Daryl frowned. “What’s he doing then?”

“Still helping herd the walkers,” Rick said. “That hasn’t changed. But he won’t be near Evelyn.” He glanced at Daryl. “I saw him point a gun at you when Aaron and you were coming back. Finger was on the trigger.”

Evelyn gasped, dropping her fork. Michonne’s eyes widened as well.

Daryl continued chewing calmly, setting another piece of squirrel on his plate. “He didn’t take the shot,” he said, voice steady.

“If you know that, Rick… you have to make sure he doesn’t go with Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham. He can’t be trusted,” Michonne said sharply.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a long look, a silent understanding passing between them.

“Nah,” Daryl said finally. “He can stay on board. I ain’t afraid of that asshole.”

Evelyn didn’t like it, but she knew she couldn’t sway them. She watched the two men, sensing that each had their own way of planning to handle Thomas, and felt a small measure of relief that someone was keeping an eye on the situation.

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since the confrontation between Evelyn, Daryl, and Thomas. The air in Alexandria felt taut with anticipation, a quiet before the storm. Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Nicholas, and Mark had joined Daryl and the others to move the massive horde of walkers away from the safety of their walls. The tension between them was palpable; Rick still didn’t trust Thomas, and if anything went wrong, they needed to be ready.

Evelyn lingered at the gate, pressing a brief kiss to Daryl’s cheek. “Be careful,” she whispered, her fingers brushing against the leather of his jacket. “Come back in one piece.”

Daryl gave her a tight-lipped nod, the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He swung a leg over his bike, the new parts gleaming in the sunlight, and gave the engine a satisfying roar. He was ready—thrilled even—to use it on this assignment, adrenaline buzzing through him.

Thomas stood a few feet away, his glare fixed on Evelyn. He said nothing, but the weight of his stare was heavy, cold, and calculated. He followed the group to their cars with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment, or perhaps steeling himself for something he couldn’t yet control.

Evelyn’s stomach tightened as she watched him go. She shook off the unease and turned back to Daryl, hoping her worry didn’t show. There were bigger threats to worry about now—threats that didn’t just wear human faces.

With a last glance, the group dispersed. Some returned to their homes, others checked supplies, and Daryl revved the engine of his bike, easing onto the road. The hum of the machine beneath him felt like both a comfort and a warning. He didn’t look back, but somewhere deep down, he knew Evelyn’s eyes were still on him, filled with a mixture of hope, fear, and something unspoken.

The streets were quiet, too quiet, and the distant groans of the herd reminded them all that the real danger wasn’t far behind.

The gate closed behind them and everyone disbursed, either going back to their homes or do their jobs. She walked down the road to the infirmary, but not before hearing her name and turned to see Sam was running towards her. He was white as a ghost and had sweat pouring off him.

“Heather, her water broke, she’s hurting.” He managed to get out and Evelyn immediately followed him back to their home.

She found Heather taking deep breaths, she was lying in bed and was perspiring from the pain she was in. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped the covers underneath her and had her legs spread, which seem to help ease the discomfort.

Evelyn quickly had Heather take her underwear off and she did a quick examine, finding that Heather was already 6 cm dilated.

“Go to the infirmary and get the delivery bag from Denise.” She told Sam, who quickly ran to the infirmary.

“God this hurts.” Heather whispered as Evelyn gathered Heather’s hair and put it in a high bun to get it out of the way and turned on a fan to cool her down. She was trying to get Heather as comfortable as possible.

“It’ll always hurt, it’ll hurt you and everyone woman after you.” Evelyn replied and checked Heather again and found that she was already 1 cm dilated again. This baby might be here in the next few hours.

Sam returned with her bag and she started to check Heather’s blood pressure, it was slightly elevated but nothing to be concern about.

Three hours went by and finally after one last push, Evelyn caught the newborn in her gloved hands. She showed Heather who looked at her new son at sheer joy and exhaustion. Sam was wide eyed, terrified but happy. Evelyn had Sam cut the cord, she clamped it and wrapped the squalling baby in a blanket before handing him to Heather. She helped Heather deliver the placenta and started to clean up the best she could. It was a bloody, wet mess and she didn’t want Heather to lay in her filth.

“Can you walk?” She asked Heather who nodded and Sam took their new son as Evelyn helped her up and got her to the master bedroom. She had a basin of warm water and was cleaning Heather up.

“Thank you.” Heather whispered softly and was so happy that they came to Alexandria. Daryl and Aaron convinced them that there was medical care at Alexandria and Sam and Heather both felt they made the right decision trusting them.

Before Evelyn could say anything, she could hear the faint sound of a scream and stood up, walking over to a window and saw a grisly sight. A feral looking man was chasing someone with a machete, hacking at the persons leg to bring them down and dived the machete into the person’s skull, killing them instantly. Her heart raced and she looked at Heather and Sam who were to busy gushing over their new son who managed to successfully latch onto Heather to eat.

She didn’t want to ruin this tender moment, but she was terrified that they would be killed. “Sam, look outside.” She said.

Sam walked over to the window and saw the slain woman and his own expression went from joyful to horrified. Heather noticed how both of them look and panic started to set in. “What’s wrong?” She asked, holding the baby closer to her.

“There’s people inside the walls, killing other people.” Evelyn said and quickly went into the other room, grabbing her black bag and pulled out her huge scalpel.

It was the only weapon she had on her and the best using against someone. Sam had closed the door to the bedroom and cautiously walked down the hallway with Evelyn behind him, they heard the front door open and peaked over the banister from upstairs, seeing the same feral looking man with the machete standing there and he was looking up at them. She noticed he had a bloody ‘W’, on his forehead. She remembered Morgan, Daryl and Aaron telling them about encountering a couple of men who had ‘W’’s on their forehead, they called themselves Wolves.

“There you are little rabbits.” The man said in a sing song tone and hurried up the stairs to kill them.

Sam had a baseball bat, he swung it and hit the man in the head, the man went down like a sack of potatoes and Evelyn could see that Sam hit him so hard that he cracked his skull open. Blood and grey matter seeped from the head wound, they didn’t have long to feel safe when another wolf ran inside, this time it was a female. The women let out a shriek, her face filled the delight at the thought of killing them and charged up the stairs. Evelyn stepped to the side, avoiding the thrust of the knife and slashed the woman’s throat, cutting so deep that blood sprayed from the wound and the woman fell over dead. Sam ran downstairs with Evelyn behind him, they barricaded the front door and ran back upstairs. Evelyn stabbed the woman in the head so she wouldn’t reanimate.

When they made it back into the bedroom, they found Heather still laying in the bed and had her son clutched to her.

“My vision is blurred and my head hurts” Heather said softly.

Evelyn quickly walked over to her, taking out a small flashlight and shined it in Heather’s eyes and her pupils still reacted to light.

Evelyn quickly took the blood pressure cuff and stethoscope out, wrapping it around Heather’s arm and pumped it up. Evelyn saw how high Evelyn’s blood pressure rose and feared that Heather was suffering from preeclampsia. Heather body went rigid and Sam quickly grabbed the baby before Evelyn turned Heather on her side as Heather started having a seizure. Heather arms and legs were thrashing violent against the bed and foam was forming at her mouth. Sam had tears in his eyes, watching his wife and their son began crying again.

Evelyn didn’t try to restrain her and knew that Heather would have to ride the seizures out. She finally stopped and Evelyn kept her on her side to clear her airways.

“What’s wrong with her?” Sam asked tearfully.

“She had a seizure, I think she is having preeclampsia and it’s turning into eclampsia.” She said and quickly rummaged through her bag, finding the small vial of Magnesium Sulfate in liquid form and a needle. She quickly filled the syringe and administered it through her upper arm, almost immediately Heather started to fill better.

“Is she going to be okay?” Sam asked, holding the baby close to him and stared at his wife in fear that she would suddenly slip away and die.

“I think so, I have to monitor her. She needs to go to the infirmary.” She said but knew that there was no way right now to get here there.

The barricade Sam and Evelyn had built was giving way under the onslaught. Sam scooped the baby up and darted toward the bathroom, Evelyn helping Heather to her feet. Together, they got Heather into the tub, Sam locking the door behind them.

From upstairs, they saw two Wolves charge into the room Heather had just delivered in. Evelyn froze for a split second, the screams outside triggering memories of Carlos slaughtering her patients. Her chest tightened, and for a heartbeat, she couldn’t move. Then she shook it off, focusing. One Wolf was too close—Evelyn raised her scalpel and drove it into the back of his skull, the handle quivering in her hand as he collapsed. She didn’t hesitate. This was survival.

Sam swung his bat, crushing the other Wolf’s head with a sickening crack. Blood splattered across the floor, and Evelyn’s stomach churned, but there was no time to dwell on it.

A horn blared from outside, and through the window, Evelyn could see the walls ablaze and a truck smashed into the barricade. Panic clawed at her chest. I can’t leave them, she thought, glancing at Heather and the baby. She needed to stay, needed to protect them.

“One of us needs the stairs, the other hides and ambushes,” Evelyn instructed. Sam took the top, and she slipped into the spare bedroom, crouching behind a wall, every muscle taut.

The screams outside tore through her, echoes of the past gnawing at her mind. Then she glimpsed a shadow move into the master bedroom. Her stomach dropped. Sam’s body was already there—his throat slit. Evelyn’s breath caught; terror and guilt froze her momentarily, paralyzing her.

The Wolf outside the bathroom began ramming the door. Heather and the baby’s cries pierced the room. Evelyn’s panic ignited into action. She sprinted down the hallway, gripping Sam’s bat, and smashed the intruder in the back of the head, the Wolf crumpling into a heap. The bathroom door splintered. Heather curled further into the corner, shielding her baby.

“Come on, we have to move!” Evelyn urged, helping Heather out. They needed a safer place—an attic. Evelyn kept Heather close, leading her carefully around the hall, scanning for threats. Heather saw Sam’s lifeless body and let out a shuddering sob, forcing herself to focus on survival for her newborn.

Evelyn spotted a string dangling from the ceiling and yanked it. The attic stairs unfolded. She sent Heather up first, then followed, baseball bat in hand. Once she reached the top, she hoisted the stairs back into place.

Finding a spare blanket, Evelyn wrapped it around Heather, then crept to the single attic window. She peeked out from the side. The street below was a grisly tableau: dead bodies, chaos, and fire consuming the walls. Her heart pounded. She pressed a hand over her mouth, trying to keep quiet as she drew in a shaky breath, the memory of screams and blood threatening to overtake her.

This was survival. This was war. And she had to be ready for whatever came next.

Rick, Glenn, and Michonne were racing back toward Alexandria. Daryl wanted to turn back as well, but Rick shook his head. “I’ll make sure Evelyn’s okay. Right now, we need to get the remaining walkers away from Alexandria.”

Daryl nodded, keeping his motorcycle at a slow, steady pace, never fully stopping, just easing speed to keep the herd’s attention.

The horn finally fell silent, and Rick brought his group to a halt. He made a decision, one that weighed heavily on everyone. “Instead of going back to Alexandria, we need to draw the rest of the herd further away.”

Glenn frowned. “You told Daryl we’d go back to make sure Evelyn was okay. Maggie’s there too—I need to know she’s safe.”

Rick’s jaw tightened. “Maggie and Evelyn are resourceful. They can handle themselves. Right now, if we don’t get this horde away, everyone dies.”

Glenn’s face darkened, Michonne’s expression mirrored his unease.

“There’s an RV not far from here,” Rick continued, voice firm. “We can use it to lure strays. Glenn, Michonne, you lead a group to draw them out. I’ll take the RV alone. Don’t stop. Don’t fight if you can’t keep moving. If worst comes to worst, we leave some behind.”

David overheard Rick’s plan and froze. He couldn’t believe it—sacrificing people to save others? His stomach sank. Mark’s gut twisted at the thought. Did I leave France only to be left behind here? He wondered if coming with Daryl and Evelyn had been a mistake.

“If it comes down to it, we sacrifice them,” Nicholas said coldly, as if stating a fact.

Daryl tried to radio Rick, but only static answered him. The horn had stopped. Fuck this. He clenched his fists and switched to the channel Sasha and Abraham were using.

“You two keep leading this herd. I’m going back to Alexandria,” he said, voice low but resolute.

Sasha and Abraham both argued against this, they were driving beside Daryl with Thomas in the backseat helping Daryl lead the herd. Daryl accelerated the motorcycle, driving quickly away from them and speed off down the road. He made it about five minutes away and tried slowing down, but his motorcycle didn’t slow down and instead kept the same speed.

“Shit!” He shouted.

He had to turn the bike left to avoid a huge stick in the middle of the road, swerving into the woods. It slowed him down and he thought about just jumping off but his front wheel hit an overturned log and he flew forward off his bike, hitting the ground hard and the force knocked the wind out of him. He quickly stood up, hearing what sounded like gunfire now in the distance coming from where Sasha and them were driving. 

Chapter Text

Carol moved through Alexandria like a shadow, silent and deadly. She didn’t know who had survived the Wolves’ attack, but she knew Evelyn had gone to the newcomer’s home—Heather had gone into labor. Carol peeked around the corner of a destroyed home. One of the intruders lay dead at her feet, and her heart clenched at the sight of Charlotte and Anna, killed in cold blood, Anna’s arms still wrapped around Charlotte. Memories of Sophia slammed into her—she would have done the same to protect her.

She ensured their heads were pierced to prevent reanimation, then scavenged from the killer—a dark coat and black bandana—and used their blood to write a jagged ‘W’ on her forehead. She tied the bandana around her face, grabbed the murderer’s machete, and moved toward the armory.

Ammo was scarce. Her handgun held twelve rounds, six left. Every shot counted; the machete was for close combat.

Two Wolves with bags of weapons appeared on the street. Mistaking her for one of them, they hesitated—too late. Carol shot them both in the head, stepping over the corpses as she continued. A third tried to flee down the armory steps; she shot them before they could react. Inside, two more charged; she fired twice more. Olivia cowered, hiding. Carol handed her a loaded gun.

“Here,” she said, tossing another bag of weapons. “Arm yourselves. People aren’t allowed guns outside their homes—they’re too easy to kill otherwise.”

She didn’t linger. Wolves littered the streets, and she killed those she came across. Morgan and Tobin had tied up a man; she shot him in the head, handing guns to each.

“I had him bound,” Morgan protested.

“You don’t need to bind them. Kill them,” Carol snapped.

“We don’t have to kill them. All life is sacred,” Morgan argued.

“We don’t have time. Innocent people are dying,” she said, hurrying. Tobin watched, silent, stunned at the coldness he had never seen in her before.

At Heather and Sam’s home, Evelyn worked frantically. The baby had been delivered, but Heather’s condition worsened—high blood pressure, blurred vision, nausea, pain radiating up her right side. Evelyn injected magnesium sulfate, her hands trembling. Panic clawed at her chest; the distant screams outside mirrored the terror she had tried to bury in the past. Memories of Carlos flashed, freezing her for a moment. She shook it off, focusing on Heather and the newborn.

A sudden sound—Sam’s body hitting the floor. Evelyn’s heart froze. Sam’s throat had been slit. She couldn’t hesitate. A Wolf lunged at her; she stabbed him through the head. Another charged—same fate. Heather’s arms tightened around the baby.

“Come on, we can’t stay here,” Evelyn said. She guided them toward the attic, wrapping Heather in a blanket, carrying the baseball bat, and barricading the stairs.

From below, Carol moved like a specter. She found Sam reanimated, milky eyes staring at her. A swift strike ended him. She climbed the stairs quietly, finding Evelyn safe in the attic.

“Carol?” Evelyn’s voice cracked.

“Stay here. Take care of them,” Carol instructed, handing her the bag and a loaded gun. Evelyn nodded, sealing the attic.

She injected another syringe into Heather, willing the medication to work. Heather gasped, sweat beading on her forehead, dark circles under her eyes, soft jagged breaths rattling from her chest. The baby latched again, feeding. Evelyn’s chest tightened; Sam was gone, Heather fading—if she died, the child would be alone.

“Heather…if I die, please…take care of my boy,” Heather whispered, tears glistening.

“Don’t talk like that,” Evelyn said, forcing her voice steady. She held onto the baby, blocking out the screaming and chaos outside.

Elsewhere, Denise struggled to save Holly in the infirmary, Rosita and Aaron helping fend off intruders. Blood slicked the floor. Despite training from Evelyn, Denise’s confidence faltered. Holly’s chest stilled, life extinguished. Rosita leaned down, piercing the skull to prevent reanimation.

Outside the walls of Alexandria, Rick barreled down the road in the RV, blaring music to draw the wandering walkers away. Darkness was falling fast, and he knew they had to move the herd far from the walls. The horn that had sounded from Alexandria had stopped; he hoped the gates held.

Glenn, Michonne, Mark, Nicholas, and David followed behind in a separate car. They hit a fork in the road—Rick went straight, the others turned left. The stragglers from the herd Daryl and the others had been luring were still following them, an unrelenting sea of walkers.

“I overheard Rick’s plan,” David muttered, suspicion sharpening his tone.

“We won’t leave anyone behind,” Glenn replied firmly, but David only scoffed.

Nicholas’s eyes narrowed. “Why should we believe you? Your group’s been trouble from the start. We’ve got our way of doing things, and you haven’t adapted yet.”

“Because you don’t understand the stakes,” Michonne cut in. “If anyone from Alexandria tried this, they’d be dead already.”

Mark gripped his handgun, uneasy. “We can’t fight each other right now. We need to fight the dead if we want to survive and get home.”

David’s voice was hard, defiant. “You might be okay with being a sacrifice. I’m not.”

Michonne snapped, drawing her gun and sweeping the back seat. “Listen up. We get this herd away from Alexandria. Fight among yourselves later. Anyone makes a move—I put a bullet between their eyes. Got it?” Her glare cut through Nicholas, Mark, and David.

Meanwhile, Rick monitored the rearview mirrors, the horde closing in. Bullets suddenly struck the RV’s side. He swerved, then floored the gas—but the tires had been shot. The RV came to a grinding halt. Rick hit the floorboard, pistol ready, bullets ricocheting over him.

The door slammed open. The first intruder came through, a jagged ‘W’ marked on his forehead. Wolves. Morgan had warned him about them—this was their doing. Rick fired, taking him down. Another surged forward; Rick’s gun barked again. A third leapt over the fallen, landing a punch aimed at Rick’s face. Rick ducked, pistol-whipped him, and shot. Two remained—one locked Rick in a headlock, the other pulled the trigger. The gun clicked empty. Rick elbowed the chokehold, forcing air back into his lungs, pressed the barrel to his attacker’s ribs, and fired. The remaining wolf struggled with his jammed weapon; Rick didn’t hesitate—another shot, and he was down.

Walkers pressed closer, clawing at the RV. Rick vaulted out, shoving two into the dirt, and sprinted down the road toward the woods. He grabbed the radio.

“Glenn? Michonne? You there?”

“Yeah. The herd’s still behind us,” Glenn’s voice came through.

“I…was attacked,” Rick said, running. “I’m going back to Alexandria.” The forest ahead swallowed him, walkers still snapping at his heels, but he outran them, praying to get back safely.

Glenn glanced at Michonne, both unsettled, yet pressed onward along the country road. Glenn tried contacting Daryl—static. Sasha’s channel was silent too. Something was wrong. Where were Daryl and the others? Had they gone too far? Or worse, had something happened to them?

Daryl peeled off his jacket, wincing as he examined the road rash bleeding down his arm. A sharp pain ran up his side from the fall, and somewhere in the distance, he faintly heard gunfire—two shots, then silence. He strained to locate them, but everyone was heading west. Half-expecting Sasha or the others to drive past, he noticed the sound of gunfire creeping closer.

He hoisted his bike and pushed further into the woods, away from the road. Exhaustion clawed at him, and when he finally dropped the bike, he collapsed, breathing hard. After a moment, he sat up, eyes on the fallen bike. The brake line was cut—a clean slice, precise. Someone had sabotaged it.

“I’m going to kill that son of a bitch,” he muttered, gripping his crossbow.

A twig snapped fifty feet ahead. Daryl froze, nocking a bolt, creeping toward the sound. Two young women stepped out, hands raised.

“You caught us! Don’t hurt us!” the brown-haired one shouted.

Before he could respond, a heavy blow struck the back of his head, and darkness took him.

“Did you get him?” a short-haired blonde asked, fear lacing her voice.

Another figure appeared, AR-15 in hand, kneeling to inspect him.

“He has to be a Savior—they found us,” the brown-haired woman whispered.

The man shook his head. “I don’t know him. Never seen him at the outpost.”

“Charlie, there’s so many on Negan’s side we don’t know,” a long-haired blonde argued.

“Come on, Dwight. We need a safe place to rest and then get to Patty,” Charlie said, binding Daryl’s wrists before hoisting him over her shoulder like he weighed nothing. Dwight, Sherry, and Tina followed.

Meanwhile, Sasha drove, the herd finally at a distance. The plan was to ditch the walkers in a small town ahead, letting them drift down the road.

A black SUV suddenly barreled from the woods. Gunfire erupted from men stationed in the town. Sasha slammed the gas, weaving as bullets cracked the windshield. Abraham and Thomas ducked, struggling to get their weapons ready amidst the chaos.

Sasha swerved sharply, plowing through a wooden wall. Barrels and debris crashed down, forcing all three to jump from the vehicle. Guns raised, they fired back at the pursuing SUV, riddling it with holes.

Voices echoed from the town. Abraham advanced, knife drawn.

“Leave it! We have to go!” Sasha yelled.

“Just going to finish them off,” Abraham replied with a grin.

“What’s there to grin about?” Thomas spat, glaring.

“We’re surrounded,” Sasha said through gritted teeth. “Daryl could be dead—or heading back to Alexandria. Those people don’t even know who we are.”

The roar of another car approaching made Thomas hiss, “Screw this,” and sprint. Abraham and Sasha followed him into a nearby building, racing upstairs for a vantage point.

From their perch, they watched two cars speed past and about twenty men on foot chasing them.

“Who are those guys?” Thomas whispered.

“They ain’t the Boy Scouts,” Abraham replied grimly.

None had seen this group before—they weren’t from Hilltop. To field this many men and still hold a base, the attackers had to be part of a large, organized group. Sasha’s stomach tightened. Stray walkers began wandering into the town as the men retreated, climbing into cars and speeding down the road.

Chapter Text

Night was falling as Rick sprinted toward Alexandria, weaving through trees and brush to stay hidden from both walkers and Wolves. From a distance, he could see the walls—still standing—but a massive truck had crashed through one section, leaving a gaping hole. The streets were eerily silent.

He reached the gate, scanning the empty towers. Cautious, he approached the wrecked truck, pausing at the driver’s side. Bodies littered the road.

“Rick.”

He spun toward the voice—Maggie, high on a platform, eyes wide with fear.

“Where is everyone?” he demanded.

“Most are at the infirmary. Aaron and Evelyn left for Hilltop. Heather… she’s really sick after having her baby,” Maggie explained, swallowing hard.

Rick’s jaw clenched. He’d worry about that later. “Why are you out here?”

“I’m making sure no one else is coming,” she said.

“Was Alexandria attacked?”

She nodded. “A group came… hacking everyone. They had ‘W’ on their foreheads. Morgan said they called themselves the Wolves.”

Rick’s gaze hardened. “Stay alert.” He sprinted toward the infirmary, where injured and terrified townspeople had gathered. Denise worked furiously to treat the wounded.

“Where’s Carol and Morgan?” Rick asked.

“At the police station. They caught one of the attackers,” Denise replied, nodding toward a man bound to a bedpost. “That’s the leader.”

Rick didn’t hesitate. Drawing his revolver, he fired once. The man dropped instantly.

At the police station, Carol and Morgan argued. Rick cut through the tension. “Where is he?”

Carol pointed to a cell where another feral man with a ‘W’ on his forehead sat.

“Has he said anything?” Rick asked.

“No. Just that we’ll die eventually, that we’re food for the strong,” Carol replied.

Morgan explained they wanted information. Carol shook her head, impatient. Rick approached the prisoner.

“Why attack us?” he asked.

“You’re the sheep. We are the wolves,” the man said, laughing manically, smashing his head against the bars until he slumped unconscious.

Carol stepped forward, gun raised, and ended it. Rick’s eyes never left Morgan, silently judging.

Satisfied, Rick headed home. Carl and Judith were safe, and he learned who had fallen.

Evelyn and Aaron finally reached Hilltop. The road had been clear of walkers, and Evelyn assumed the mission had been successful—that everyone else was back by now. The 25-minute ride had been tense; Evelyn held Heather’s newborn carefully in her arms while Heather drifted in and out of consciousness, trying to stay awake but failing.

“How much longer, Aaron?” Evelyn asked softly, her voice controlled to avoid alarming Heather, who had just become more alert before leaning back again, gasping for air.

“We’re here,” he replied.

Two guards met them at the gate, exchanging a few words before opening it. Evelyn barely had time to notice her surroundings—the layout of Hilltop would be a first for her—before Aaron carried Heather into a trailer, with Evelyn following closely behind. Inside, Dr. Harlan Carson rushed forward to examine Heather.

For over an hour, Dr. Carson worked to stabilize her: IV fluids, antibiotics for the infection, and hypertension medication. Slowly, Heather began to recover. Her eyes opened, and she lay beside her newborn in a proper bed, finally able to rest comfortably. Evelyn sat close, the immediate need to get them to safety fading, leaving her guilt to creep in. She felt responsible for Sam’s death, blaming herself for not paying closer attention. Maybe, just maybe, he could still be alive if she’d acted differently.

“Thank you so much for getting me and my baby here… for keeping us alive,” Heather said, giving Evelyn a heartfelt smile. It twisted Evelyn’s heart even more. She returned the smile softly, tucking the covers over Heather, and told her to rest while a nurse tended to the newborn.

Once alone, Evelyn’s emotions overwhelmed her. Her chest tightened, her breathing quickened, and she felt the full weight of anxiety, anger, and guilt. She stepped outside, almost colliding with someone, and muttered a quick apology before seeking a quiet place. At the back of Hilltop’s walls, she sank to the ground, knees drawn to her chest, letting tears finally fall. Sobs wracked her body, but she tried to stay quiet, hoping no one was awake. Aaron, hearing her from a short distance, paused. Unsure of what to do, he let her be, respecting her need for privacy.

Meanwhile, Gregory approached Aaron, asking about Evelyn. Aaron kept his answers vague, fabricating a story that Evelyn was Heather’s sister and that he had just picked them up along the road. Evelyn was not part of Alexandria. Gregory seemed to accept this, already plotting. He knew the Saviors would be arriving for supplies soon and began scheming to curry favor with Negan by offering the two women—and possibly the baby.

Evelyn finally allowed herself to cry, but the heavy weight of guilt and anxiety remained. She returned to the hospital trailer and cleaned her face, staring into the mirror at red, puffy eyes. Taking a deep breath, she splashed cold water on her face, trying to regain composure.

Aaron opened the door and spotted her, the bathroom door ajar.

“How are Heather and the baby?” he asked.

She patted her cheeks dry, offering a weak, tired smile. “Heather is better. A nurse is helping with the baby… thank you for bringing them here, Aaron.” She hugged him quickly, then pulled back and sank into a chair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern softening his tone.

“Yeah… just tired. It’s been a very stressful day,” she replied, attempting a lighthearted tone. Aaron smiled faintly, though she could tell it was more for her comfort than his belief.

“I didn’t mean to spy, but… I heard you crying. Why?” he asked gently.

Her fingers nervously tugged at a string on her jacket. “It’s my fault Sam died. I… I wasn’t paying attention. I didn’t have his back like I should have. Next thing I know, he’s on the ground dead, and someone was breaking in to get Heather and the baby… I should’ve been stronger.” Her voice was soft, filled with shame.

Aaron’s expression softened. “You must have been through something terrible to feel this way.”

She scoffed. “Everyone’s been through terrible things. Doesn’t excuse my behavior. I shouldn’t have come to Alexandria—I’m a risk to everyone.” She started to walk past him.

Aaron quickly grabbed her wrist. “You’ve saved Heather and her baby. You’ve helped the injured. You brought Daryl back from France. That matters—you matter.”

“I’m not looking for praise. I just wanted you to understand why I have to leave,” she said, pulling her wrist free and closing the door behind her.

Aaron worried silently as she disappeared. Later, he saw her talking to Gregory. Evelyn’s expression made it clear she wasn’t enjoying the conversation.

“I hope to see more of you. You should join Hilltop; we could use another pretty face around here,” Gregory said, smiling flirtatiously.

Evelyn tried not to recoil. “I won’t stay long. Once Heather is better, I’ll return for her and bring her back to Alexandria. I’ll repay Hilltop for any supplies used.”

“I’m glad to hear that. We could use the extra hands,” Gregory replied.

“I meant replacing supplies, not labor. If Dr. Hansen gives me a list, I’ll fetch them myself.” Evelyn avoided his gaze, feeling his scrutiny.

Aaron tried to interject, but Gregory dismissed him, walking away. Evelyn raised an eyebrow.

“Is he always like that?” she asked.

“With me and women? Yeah… he views me as inferior,” Aaron admitted with a shrug.

“Does he seem like a good leader?” she asked, curious. Aaron shared what he knew, giving a basic overview of Hilltop.

“We should get some sleep. We leave for Alexandria tomorrow,” Aaron said.

Evelyn nodded but was already planning to leave before Aaron awoke. He seemed to anticipate her thoughts, insisting they share a room, humorously assuring her she wasn’t his type. Fatigue won out, and she fell asleep.

The next morning, Aaron was awake, packing a small bag. He looked anxious.

“You look nervous,” Evelyn remarked.

“Another group showed up. Hilltop has to give them half their supplies,” he said.

Her brows furrowed. She quickly donned her jacket and tied her hair into a low ponytail, stepping outside. Aaron followed, gun at the ready but uneasy.

The newcomers were imposing. A man with a leather jacket and a salt-and-pepper beard strode forward, a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in hand.

“Dr. Hansen, your brother’s doing great at the Sanctuary,” he said, smiling too broadly. “He’s fitting right in.”

Dr. Hansen offered a nervous smile. “Glad to hear it… I miss him.”

The man clapped Dr. Hansen on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. If anything happens to him, you’ll take his place.”

Evelyn’s stomach tightened. She didn’t like him—egotistical, smug, striding through Hilltop like he owned it. Their eyes met, and he grinned before approaching her.

“My, my. Who might you be?” he asked, ignoring Aaron.

“Evelyn,” she replied.

“That’s beautiful. Fits you perfectly,” he said.

Gregory stepped up, presenting her to the man like royalty. “This is the young lady I told Simon about—Negan.”

Negan’s gaze shifted to Gregory. “Where is her sister?”

“She’s resting,” Evelyn answered, realizing she had been lied about.

“You two girls arrived yesterday, and Gregory wanted to throw you in as extras for supplies,” Negan said.

Evelyn’s hand instinctively went to her scalpel. Negan noticed but didn’t flinch.

“Before this gets ugly, I have a question for you—and for your sister once she’s better. Would you like to come to the Sanctuary and become one of my wives?”

Evelyn stared. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’d be protected, fed… safe. Many women at the Sanctuary would kill for this offer,” he said, serious now.

“I don’t even know you,” she said firmly.

“We have time. I’d like to get to know you better,” he said, stepping closer. She stood her ground. “I don’t need your protection, and I’m already with someone else.”

“Fine. But Hilltop will have to double their supplies next time my men come through,” he said and began to walk away.

“I don’t even belong to Hilltop!” Evelyn protested.

“Doubling supplies will make up for declining,” he said, smirking, then climbed into his truck and left.

Evelyn was speechless. Gregory rushed over. “You should’ve gone with him. Now look what you did.”

“You can’t be mad at her. She had a choice, and you had no right to barter her,” Aaron said.

Evelyn placed a hand on Aaron’s shoulder to stop him. “I’ll return with medicine and supplies for Dr. Hansen… and I’ll do whatever work you need to make up for this.”

Aaron started to protest, but she silenced him, extending her hand to Gregory. He nodded and shook it.

“Please allow Heather and the baby to stay. I’ll return in a few days,” she said. Gregory agreed. She said goodbye to Heather and her baby, promising to return soon.

As they got in the car, Aaron shook his head incredulously.

“I can’t believe you made that deal,” he said.

“I’m trying to make sure nobody else gets hurt. If this is how I do it, so be it. You can head back to Alexandria, but I’m going to look for supplies to bring to Hilltop,” she said.

Aaron sighed but joined her. “I’ll help,” he said, ignoring her protests. “Where should we go next?”

Chapter Text

“Hey! Wake up!” A muffled voice shouted. Something metallic nudged his shoulder, and Daryl’s eyes snapped open. A tall, long-haired blonde man loomed over him, a gun pressed to his face.

He noticed the two women he’d seen before and a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man standing beside the blonde, carrying an automatic rifle.

“We’re sick of your people chasing us. It ends now,” the blonde man said.

Daryl struggled against his bindings. His wrists were tied, a gag muffling his speech. He glared at the group, then caught sight of the two young women from earlier. The sun’s position told him a whole night had passed.

“Charlie, Dwight, we saw Wade’s group—they were chasing some people,” the short-haired blonde woman said.

Daryl’s mind raced. The group herding walkers—they were the ones being chased. Then it hit him. The dark-haired man—he knew him. Evelyn’s older brother, Charlie. Daryl tried speaking through the gag, but only muffled sounds emerged.

Dwight hoisted him up by the arm. “Start walking. If we run into Wade’s group, we can trade you to them.”

Daryl’s eyes stayed locked on Charlie as they walked. He continued to try to speak.

Charlie frowned. “Dwight, what’s he trying to say?”

“Who cares? He’s obviously part of their group. We need to find Patty,” Dwight said, shoving Daryl along.

“Sherry, Tina, keep a lookout,” Charlie instructed. Both women nodded. Tina handed a bag to Charlie, who slung it over his shoulder.

As they moved forward, Daryl yanked the gag down. “Charlie—it’s me, Daryl!” he said.

Dwight swung his gun, striking Daryl in the back of the head and moving to replace the gag, but Charlie held up a hand.

“Daryl Dixon?” Charlie asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. Evelyn’s with me. We can make a deal. I can take you all back to my group—it’s safe,” Daryl said, glancing at Dwight, Sherry, and Tina before returning his gaze to Charlie.

“Stop talking. You’ll say anything to be free,” Dwight snapped, pressing the gun closer.

“Evelyn’s in France,” Charlie said, skeptical, and readjusted the gag himself. Daryl tried again, but Dwight raised the gun threateningly.

“Look, we’re reasonable… but we will kill you if you don’t shut up,” Dwight warned.

They continued until they reached a fenced shipping distribution center.

“Where’s Patty?” Tina asked, scanning the area. No truck was in sight.

“She’s gone,” Charlie said.

“What are we going to do?” Sherry asked, panic rising.

“Calm down. We’ll find another truck,” Charlie reassured them.

“Guys, we should just go back… I’m sure he’ll forgive us if we—” Tina’s voice trailed off. She started to feel faint. Charlie caught her before she fell, and both Dwight and Sherry rushed to her side.

Daryl’s chance came. He grabbed the bag Charlie had dropped and bolted.

“HEY!!” Dwight shouted, firing several rounds in Daryl’s direction.

“STOP! WE NEED THAT BAG!!” Sherry screamed.

Charlie gently set Tina down, preparing to chase after Daryl, but a few walkers stumbled out of the woods, catching them by surprise.

Daryl ran as fast as he could, tugging the gag down. He made it back to the spot where he had first encountered Sherry and Tina, pressed his back against a fallen, burnt tree, and worked at the restraints until they snapped free.

A low moan reached his ears. He turned just in time to see a walker shambling toward him, its rotten arms stretching out. Daryl fumbled with the bag, finally pulling out his crossbow. The bolt flew, hitting its mark, and the walker collapsed.

Breathing heavily, he opened the bag and discovered a red medical container labeled Insulin.

Daryl hesitated. Should he return it? Explain to Charlie that Evelyn had crossed the ocean, that she was safe in Alexandria? They clearly weren’t bad people—they were just trying to escape. That blonde girl must have had a diabetic episode; it explained her fainting. He scoffed at the dilemma, zipped up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and set off back the way he’d come.

Meanwhile, Dwight and Charlie dispatched the walkers. Sherry poured powdered sugar into Tina’s mouth, reviving her slowly. Tina blinked weakly.

“You guys need to just leave me… we don’t even have the insulin anymore,” she whispered, her head throbbing.

“Don’t say that. We’ll figure it out. We can find a new truck,” Dwight said.

“He ran that way,” Charlie said, pointing.

Sherry frowned. “How do you know that guy?”

Charlie’s expression softened. “He used to be childhood friends with my baby sister, Evelyn. I went to school with his older brother, Merle.”

“Do you think he’s a Savior?” Dwight asked.

“No… he’s not. He probably has his own group somewhere,” Charlie replied.

Tina weakly chimed in, “He said your sister was with him. If you want to go find her, Charlie, we’ll understand.”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m staying with you guys. I don’t believe Daryl, Evelyn was in France when the outbreak happen and she never made it back home.”

Charlie’s thoughts raced. Evelyn alive and back in the States, a doctor no less—it sounded too good to be true. “Go find a truck. I’ll go after Daryl,” he decided. They needed that insulin fast. Dwight stayed with Sherry and Tina while Charlie followed Daryl’s trail, knowing the burnt ground would leave clear tracks.

The trail led him to a clearing. He froze as he heard a gun cock. Daryl stepped out, the bag of insulin over his shoulder, a gun leveled at Charlie.

“Put it down,” Daryl ordered.

Charlie raised his hands and kicked his gun toward Daryl. “You ready to listen?” Daryl asked.

Charlie frowned. “It’s a far-fetched story,” he said.

“Not far-fetched—it’s true. I was in France. Evelyn found me, patched me up. Louis, a guy in her group, had a boat—we took it and came back. She’s a doctor, fresh out of med school, went to France to join Doctors Without Borders when the outbreak happened.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. That only made sense if Evelyn herself had told him. He lowered his hands, staring at the ground. “My baby sister… she’s alive…”

Daryl kept the gun leveled. “I can take you to her. She’ll want to see you. We even talked about going to New York to find you.”

Charlie let out a breathy chuckle. “I believe you, Daryl… We’ve been running from a group. Their leader wanted to make Sherry and Tina his wives. We’re sick of his tyranny.” He noticed the bag. “Tina needs the medicine. Please… give it back.”

Daryl took the insulin from the bag and handed it to Charlie. “Come on,” he said, moving toward where Dwight and the girls were.

Charlie fired off question after question as they walked, until both men froze at the sound of voices ahead. Peering through the trees, they saw a group of men around a truck—Wade’s group—and caught sight of Dwight, Sherry, and Tina.

“They found them,” Charlie whispered.

“Ain’t for long,” Daryl replied, noticing a horde of walkers staggering toward Wade and his men.

Shouts rang out. Sherry and Tina begged for Dwight’s life, while one of the men fired at the approaching walkers. Chaos erupted, and Daryl and Charlie used the distraction to sprint toward their friends. They fired at a couple of men who noticed them, then kept running, hearing walkers tearing into Wade’s group behind them.

Finally, they reached the spot where Daryl had crashed. Dwight raised his gun at Daryl, but Charlie stepped in front of it. “Dwight, Daryl’s telling the truth. We should join their group.”

Dwight’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure he isn’t part of their group?”

“I ain’t who you think I am,” Daryl said, frustration in his voice. They could hear walkers faintly in the distance. “We need to move.”

Daryl pushed his motorcycle, and the others followed. Along the way, Charlie helped Tina with her insulin. She immediately perked up.

“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Tina said.

“No trouble. I just wish Dwight would listen. We’d be safer behind walls than out here,” Charlie said.

“Maybe I can convince Sherry… if she wants to stay, Dwight will stay,” Tina added.

Before Charlie could respond, Tina approached her sister and brother-in-law. She pleaded with Sherry, urging them to give Daryl’s group a chance.

Dwight scoffed. “It’s only a matter of time before they kneel.”

“I ain’t kneeling for anyone,” Daryl retorted. Dwight’s jaw tightened. “Everyone he meets… they kneel or die.”

Daryl asked, “Who are y’all running from?”

Tina spoke quickly. “The Saviors. They’re huge, heavily armed, and they take half of every community’s supplies. If a community can’t pay, Negan kills them.”

Daryl’s face darkened. “Those were the guys?”

Sherry nodded. “He wanted us as wives in exchange for insulin.”

Daryl’s lip curled in disgust. “Manipulative asshole.”

“That’s why we need to get out,” Dwight said. “If your group is smart, you’ll leave too.”

They walked until they reached a burned-down home with a small green house beside it. Tina stopped, staring at the place. “This is where we used to live… some kids I watched before the outbreak.”

Inside, the two children lay in an advanced stage of decomposition. Tears streamed down Tina’s face. “We need to bury them.”

Dwight shook his head, but Daryl and Charlie stepped forward. “We’ll help,” Daryl said. Tina bent down to pick a flower, but suddenly the eyes of one of the corpses snapped open. It snarled and sank its teeth into her neck.

Time seemed to freeze. Daryl reacted immediately, stabbing the walker in the head and kicking it off her. Charlie yanked Tina away, while Daryl took out the second walker.

“TINA!” Sherry screamed, rushing forward. Blood poured from the wound, and everyone knew there was nothing they could do. Charlie held Tina as she clung to him, offering a weak, warm smile before slipping away.

Sherry wailed, Dwight holding her tightly. Charlie gently set Tina on the ground, driving a blade into her skull to ensure she wouldn’t reanimate. Daryl looked at the trio, sympathy etched across his face.

“It never gets easier,” he whispered.

Charlie, blood on his shirt, looked down at Tina. “Can you help me bury her?” he asked Daryl, who nodded. Dwight joined them, while Sherry gathered flowers for the gravesite.

“We’re going back,” Sherry whispered to Dwight.

“Back there?” he asked.

“No, we can’t go back,” she said.

“He’ll forgive us… I’ll be his wife, you’ll be spared. We can tell him that Charlie and Tina didn’t make it. It’s not entirely untrue,” Sherry added, eyes full of grief.

“Your plan is to sell yourself because she’s dead?” Daryl asked, incredulous.

“You don’t know Negan… he’ll find us. It’s better if we go back willingly,” Sherry said.

“I’m going back with Daryl,” Charlie pleaded. “Please—Sherry, Dwight—come with me. It has to be better than this.”

Dwight and Sherry exchanged a glance before Dwight spoke. “We’ll go with you, Charlie.”

Charlie’s face lit up with hope, and Daryl nodded. “I need to get back to my bike,” Daryl said, leading the way, with Charlie beside him and Sherry and Dwight trailing. Daryl started pulling branches off his bike—but before he could mount, Dwight pressed his gun to Daryl’s head, while Sherry kept her gun trained on Charlie.

“What are you doing?” Charlie asked, stunned.

“Sorry, Charlie. We’re not going back with you. Sherry’s right—Negan will forgive us if we go back,” Dwight said.

“You’re being stupid,” Daryl muttered. Dwight started the bike, confiscating Daryl and Charlie’s weapons, leaving them defenseless. Sherry mounted behind him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“Not as sorry as you’ll be,” Daryl said, watching them speed away.

Charlie shook his head. “I can’t believe they did that.”

“Joke’s on them—some asshole cut the brake line on that bike. That’s why I crashed,” Daryl said, his tone grim.

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Tension in the ranks?”

“You could say that. Evelyn used to lead her group, and some guy named Thomas doesn’t like that me and her are together,” Daryl replied.

Charlie stopped dead, eyes wide. “You and Evelyn?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Daryl muttered, moving in the opposite direction of Sherry and Dwight.

Charlie caught up. “She’s always had feelings for you. That part’s not a shock. But you rejected her… so why now?”

“Just happened. She’s always been kind to me, treated me like I mattered—and that hasn’t changed.” Daryl’s tone grew harder as he remembered the chase. “The Saviors… you said they were after a group. Know what the group looked like?”

Charlie shook his head. “No… we just saw them shooting at a ’94 Buick Roadmaster.”

Daryl stopped in his tracks. “That’s the car my people were driving. We were luring a huge herd of walkers from Alexandria. Which way did they go?”

Charlie pointed. “Southwest from here.” Daryl nodded and started walking in that direction.

“Aren’t we going back to Alexandria?” Charlie asked.

Daryl shook his head. “Gotta make sure they’re okay. Besides, I’ve got some business with the guy they were driving with.” His jaw tightened, and Charlie sensed Daryl’s anger.

“We should find something for protection,” Charlie suggested.

“Second time I’ve lost my damn crossbow,” Daryl muttered.

“There’s a hunting store about ten miles from here—we can find another,” Charlie said. They reached an abandoned house and cautiously banged on the window before entering.

“Was Evelyn part of the walker herd?” Charlie asked.

“Nah. She stayed at Alexandria. Aaron and I brought a young couple—she was about to have her baby,” Daryl explained.

“How long have you two been together?” Charlie asked.

“Not long. She went through some heavy shit in France… hiding from a psychopath with other people. One of her people had a boat, name was Louis. Took us a month to get back,” Daryl said.

Inside, the house was quiet. No walkers pressed against the glass. They scavenged carefully—Daryl found a hunting knife, Charlie grabbed a baseball bat.

“This is as good as it’s gonna get until we’re back,” Daryl said.

Charlie led Daryl through the woods, heading southeast toward the town where Sasha, Abraham, and Thomas were last seen.

“What business you have with someone from your group?” Charlie asked.

“The sum of a bitch cut my brake lines on my bike,” Daryl muttered.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “The same bike Dwight and Sherry took?”

“Yup. Serves them right,” Daryl muttered.

Despite the betrayal, Charlie still wanted to give Sherry and Dwight a chance to escape Negan. “They’re scared… they just wanted a way out. Could’ve killed you, but they didn’t. We weren’t looking to kill anyone.”

“They shouldn’t have been stupid. Alexandria would’ve welcomed them, protected them,” Daryl said.

Charlie stayed quiet, walking alongside him, keeping off the main road, using the forest as cover.

Chapter Text

They were on foot now—the car they had been driving was surrounded by walkers, forcing them to run. The walkie-talkie had been left behind, glimpsed briefly as Glenn sprinted past, but there was no time to dwell on it. Survival came first.

Michonne slashed at walkers with her katana, clearing their path, while David and Nicholas struggled to help Mark, who had twisted his ankle in a hole.

“Just leave me!” Mark shouted, panic rising in his voice.

David shot a glare at Glenn and Michonne, knowing the orders: leave someone behind if necessary. But Glenn ignored it. He knelt, grabbed Mark by the arm, and hoisted him over his shoulder. “Come on!”

Up ahead, a pet store loomed like a sanctuary. They sprinted across the road. Michonne swung the door open, ushering everyone inside, then slammed it shut behind them. Glenn carefully lowered Mark to the ground and examined his ankle—it was bruised and swollen. Mark winced as Glenn wrapped it with gauze.

For a moment, there was silence—too quiet. Outside, the sound of hundreds of walkers shuffled past, scraping against walls and growling, the bulk of the herd hunting them down.

Then, from behind the cash register, two dormant walkers stirred. They lurched upright, snarling.

“Shit,” Nicholas whispered, raising his gun. He fired twice before anyone could react.

The shots echoed. The walkers outside turned their attention to the pet store, pounding on walls, windows, and doors.

“You’ve killed us,” Michonne hissed, eyes blazing at Nicholas.

Glenn and Michonne rushed to help Mark up, with David lending a hand. Nicholas glared at Michonne. “Go ahead and leave us behind then. That’s what Rick would’ve done, right?”

Glenn’s temper flared. “Are you seriously having this discussion now? We are not leaving anyone behind. You don’t understand why Rick made the choices he did until you’ve seen what he’s had to do. If anything, you’re the ones who’d leave people behind!”

Nicholas went quiet, realizing Glenn was right. Michonne scanned the store, looking for any way out. Suddenly, the front window shattered—walkers tumbled in, some impaled on jagged glass shards.

Mark’s eyes widened. He knew this distraction could give the group a chance. He looked at Glenn, giving him a sad, determined smile. “Protect Alexandria,” he whispered. Then, he yanked himself free from Glenn and David.

“NO!” Glenn shouted as a walker lunged at Mark. Mark screamed, his final moments horrifyingly brief as the horde descended on him, tearing him apart.

“Come on! We need to go!” Nicholas yelled, snapping the group back into motion. They raced toward the back of the store, hearts pounding, the chaos of the walkers echoing behind them.

Nicholas kicked the back door down, shoving a few stray walkers aside. Fortunately, the back of the store was less crowded than the front. But the noise had attracted the walkers outside, and more were closing in.

“Get back to Alexandria!” Glenn shouted to Michonne and David, even as he and Nicholas were being pushed further away by the pressing horde.

“Come on!” Michonne yelled, grabbing David’s arm as they dashed toward an opening. She glanced back, catching sight of Glenn and Nicholas racing down an alley. Her heart tightened—she didn’t want to leave them behind, but now wasn’t the time to make a plan.

Her eyes landed on a propane store next to the pet shop. Fumbling for the flare gun in her back pocket, she fired, watching as the building erupted into a towering inferno. The walkers, drawn to the explosion, turned and shuffled toward the flames.

Glenn and Nicholas reached a dead end, blocked by a tall chain-link fence and two dumpsters. They climbed up, almost slipping, as the sound of the explosion distracted the walkers behind them. But a few remained, clawing at their feet, trying to pull them down.

Nicholas froze, recognizing a walker—Will, someone from Alexandria left behind on a supply run. His eyes locked on the familiar face, and a strange calm settled over him. Glenn shook his shoulder.

“Nicholas! Snap out of it!” Glenn shouted.

Nicholas turned his empty gaze on Glenn, raised the gun to his head, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Before Glenn could react, a gunshot echoed. Nicholas collapsed. The remaining walkers surged, and Glenn was knocked into the horde. Screams and the sickening sound of tearing filled the alley.

Michonne and David reached the fence, horrified at the carnage. They watched helplessly as Glenn disappeared into the swarm. David’s voice trembled. “We… we have to get back to Alexandria.”

Michonne’s chest tightened. “Mark… he sacrificed himself for us. Glenn… he saved all of us countless times. And now… they’re gone.”

David placed a hand on her shoulder. “We’re still alive. That’s what they wanted. That’s what they gave us. We can still make it back. We have to.”

Silence fell as they moved through the woods toward Alexandria. They paused at a gas station, hoping for supplies. A sound from the back made Michonne freeze. David followed her gaze. Slowly, they approached and found Glenn, leaning against a wall, covered in blood, a deep gash on his arm.

“You’re alive,” Michonne whispered.

Glenn gave a faint nod. “Nicholas shot himself…and knocked me down into the herd. They… ate him.”

Michonne worked quickly, pressing a handkerchief to his wound. “You’re not bitten?” she asked.

“No… just injured,” Glenn replied.

“We need to get you back to Alexandria,” she said, helping him to his feet. David offered his shoulder for support, and they moved cautiously toward the community, passing the damage left by a large truck at the wall.

At the gate, Rick and Maggie appeared. Maggie rushed to Glenn, helping him to the infirmary, while David reunited with Betsy. Rick and Michonne stayed behind.

“What happened?” Michonne asked, surveying the destruction.

“The Wolves attacked while we were herding walkers,” Rick explained. “We lost a lot of people.”

Michonne’s eyes fell. “Mark and Nicholas didn’t make it.” Rick nodded gravely.

“Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, and Thomas haven’t returned,” Rick continued. “And Evelyn and Aaron went to Hilltop with Heather after her complications. They’re not back yet either.”

Michonne nodded. “I’ll lead a party to find Daryl.”

Louis and Hugo approached, concerned. “Where’s Mark?” Louis asked.

Michonne’s eyes softened. “He didn’t make it. He sacrificed himself to give us a chance.”

Hugo gave a small, sad smile. “That sounds like Mark. Evelyn always said he was one of the good ones.”

Rick added, “Once Evelyn returns, we’ll hold a memorial for him—honor his memory and his sacrifice.”

Louis and Hugo headed to check on Glenn, while Michonne and Rick returned to the police station. Morgan was still there, staring at a dead Wolf.

“Sad your friend is dead?” Michonne asked, her tone sharp.

Morgan looked up calmly. “I stand by my choices. We didn’t have to kill them all. These cells exist for a reason.”

“No,” Rick countered, “they’re for our own, not our enemies.”

Morgan left, walking past the body. Deep down, he questioned if his choices had cost more innocent lives. He remembered Carol’s words about protecting Alexandria, and the weight of the violence he’d witnessed pressed heavily on him.

He arrived at Carol’s house, knocking on the door. It was unlocked. Inside, everything looked normal, yet he sensed her absence. Furniture and drawers were slightly displaced, and clothes were missing—she had left.

Without a word, Morgan slipped out through the fence line, moving silently into the dark woods, careful not to alert the guards.

Chapter Text

Evelyn spread the map across the table inside the abandoned house, dust motes floating in the sunbeams cutting through broken blinds. “Is there any universities or vet offices around here?” she asked Aaron, tracing the lines with her finger.

Aaron leaned over her shoulder, tapping a city on the map. “There’s the UVA School of Medicine Inova Campus—about 16 miles west of D.C., Falls Church.”

Her finger hovered along the route, calculating. “It’d take… about 35 minutes if everything goes perfectly.” She listed the supplies they needed, mentally ticking off what Dr. Carson had sent her to replenish at Hilltop.

Eric frowned from the corner. “The UVA’s massive. Something that size should have more people on the run.”

“How big is it?” Evelyn asked.

“Fifty thousand square feet, give or take.”

She nodded, weighing the risk. “Yeah… we need smaller targets first. A vet office or a pharmacy.”

Aaron scanned the map again. “There’s a pharmacy on Holton Street—about a mile from here. And a vet hospital five miles down the road, turns onto Levington Street.”

Evelyn’s jaw set. “That’s our plan. Grab as many medical supplies as we can for Hilltop.” She folded the map and tucked it into her bag.

Aaron hesitated. “Why do what Gregory asked? The guy’s a coward… tried to sell Heather and you to Negan’s group.”

“It’s not about Gregory,” she replied, her eyes fixed on the cracked floorboards. “I’m trying to help Heather and her baby. If this is the price, so be it.” She paused, glancing at Aaron. “Besides… when Negan said he’d double their rations because I refused to go with him, I feel like it’s my fault.”

Aaron softened. “It’s not your fault. Gregory should be out here since he started this mess. You’re… too nice sometimes.”

She laughed softly. “I hear that a lot. Back in France, my group warned me—it could get me killed one day. But kindness isn’t weakness.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean to you?”

Evelyn looked out the broken window, sunlight hitting her face. “I don’t want this world to change me. Tragedy can twist people inside, make them someone they aren’t. I chose this career to help people, if they accept it.”

“Even if you have to kill?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to kill. But if it’s a choice between someone I care for and another life… I protect the first.”

Aaron nodded, recalling the people he’d lost before joining Alexandria. “You know if you left… it would kill Daryl.”

She looked at him steadily. “He would move on. He has too many people depending on him. My leaving wouldn’t mean I don’t care—it’d mean I care enough to make the right choice.”

Aaron let the words sink in. For a moment, the abandoned house was quiet except for the distant hum of the world outside, waiting for them to act.

He frowned, clearly not understanding. “Daryl and I… we’ve been out recruiting people for Alexandria because we need as many as we can. That’s how we survive—by sticking together. We build each other up, watch each other’s backs.”

Evelyn’s eyes didn’t leave the map spread across the table. “I thought the same once. If someone belongs in Alexandria, you hold onto them, give them purpose, help them grow. But… if someone is so flawed that they put others in danger, then maybe they don’t belong.”

Aaron’s gaze sharpened. “And what is so deeply flawed about you that you think you shouldn’t stay?”

Her hands tightened into fists at her sides. “I get PTSD when I hear people scream. I… freeze. Tunnel vision takes over. Every time it’s happened, someone dies because I can’t pull myself together.” Her voice cracked. “When Heather had her baby… Sam and I were trying to fight off the attackers. Sam… he was killed. I didn’t even see it. I only came to my senses after he was gone.”

Her breathing hitched, voice lowering to a haunted whisper. “And the guy who killed him was breaking down the door where Heather and her baby were hiding… they would have died if I hadn’t snapped out of it. It’s only a matter of time before it happens again… and next time, who dies because I can’t get my shit together?”

“Have you told anyone about this?” Aaron asked, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

Evelyn shook her head. “No… I haven’t hidden my past from anyone in Alexandria. I actually thought I was getting over it when Deanna interviewed me. I could talk about what happened in France without breaking down… I thought I’d moved past it.”

“Denise was a psychiatrist before the outbreak,” Aaron said. “Not sure if you knew that, but maybe she could help you.”

“I didn’t know… she hasn’t really opened up about her past, only that she never fully trained as a medical doctor,” Evelyn replied.

Aaron nodded. “Deanna thought having two doctors would be useful in case something happened, but Pete… he never gave Denise the time of day.”

Evelyn smiled faintly. “Denise will make a great doctor. She’s learning fast, and even with self-doubt, it doesn’t stop her.” Her mind briefly flicked to Alexandria—hoping her student was safe.

The pharmacy came into view: a Walgreens, eerily untouched. A few walkers shuffled aimlessly near the entrance. Evelyn slid out first, knife in hand, and drove it into the head of the nearest walker. Aaron took the second, their movements fluid, efficient.

The front doors were locked. “Locked,” Evelyn said, eyebrows knitting in surprise.

“Maybe a back door,” Aaron suggested. They circled the building, only to find it secured as well. Evelyn frowned, suspicion prickling. Who hasn’t scavenged this place yet?

Aaron’s expression mirrored hers—too good to be true. They approached the drive-thru window. Evelyn slid it open, relief flickering on her face… until a deafening crash echoed from above.

Ten walkers dropped from the split canopy like falling statues.

“It’s a trap!” Aaron shouted. They both dove, Aaron smashing into a divider, gasping as pain shot through his ribs. A piece of debris struck Evelyn in the head, sending her crashing to the asphalt. Blood seeped down her temple, her vision blurring, ears ringing violently.

The walkers struggled to rise, their broken limbs crunching with every movement. They crawled, twisted, dragged themselves toward them. Evelyn fought to steady her breathing, panic clawing at her chest. She was on the ground, disoriented, the stench of decay filling her nostrils, drowning out everything else.

Aaron groaned behind her, struggling to his knees, each movement labored. Together, they had to push past the fear—and the pain—if they were going to survive the trap closing in around them.

Aaron grabbed a piece of the broken canopy, swinging it at a walker that lunged at him. He crushed another walker’s skull with his boot, hissing in pain as a sharp jab shot through his ribs. Evelyn struggled to make sense of the chaos, shapes and colors blurring. The stench of death hit her like a wall, snapping her back to reality. A walker’s jaws gaped inches from her face; she rolled, drove her knife into its skull, and scrambled to her feet.

Together, Aaron and Evelyn fought off the remaining walkers, breathing hard, bloodied and bruised. They stared at the drive-thru window—unlocked and ominously inviting.

“Who would set a trap like this?” Evelyn muttered. Pain and suspicion tightened around her chest. She glanced at Aaron. Both knew going inside was dangerous. Someone was guarding this place.

“Gregory never gave me a deadline,” she said, trying to steady herself. “I only promised we’d be back in a couple of days.”

“We need to regroup,” Aaron said, voice low and urgent. “We’re injured. If we push further, one of us could die.”

Evelyn helped him up, pressing her fingers along his rib cage. “You’ve cracked a rib,” she said grimly. Their eyes met—mutual understanding passing silently between them. “We need to move before more walkers are drawn here.”

Aaron climbed into the passenger seat. Evelyn slid behind the wheel, but her vision doubled. “I’m seeing double,” she muttered. Aaron immediately switched places with her, preventing another injury.

The drive back was tense and quiet. Evelyn rested her head back, noting the deep gash on her temple. “I probably have a concussion,” she murmured, frustration mixing with exhaustion.

Aaron tried to reassure her. “We can go back to Hilltop and ask Gregory to delay the supplies until you’re better. That asshole isn’t going to dictate your recovery.”

Her mind turned to Hilltop—and to Rick. “We need to tell Rick about Negan and his group. Why hasn’t Gregory mentioned Alexandria?”

Aaron shook his head. “I’ve been the only one speaking with Gregory. He’s spineless—he’d tell Negan everything if I gave him a chance.”

They noticed a car approaching, weapons instinctively raised. Relief surged as the window rolled down—Michonne’s face appeared. “Thank God you’re alright.”

“We’re heading back to Alexandria,” Evelyn said.

Michonne’s eyes fell on her bloodied head. “What happened?”

“A trap,” Evelyn said shortly. “I got hit. Aaron’s rib is cracked.”

“You both head back to Alexandria and see Denise. I’m going to look for Daryl and the others.”

Evelyn started to protest, but Aaron stopped her. “You’re injured. You’d only get in the way.”

Michonne nodded, firm. “He’s right. Go back, get checked, and let Rick know you’re safe.”

Dread lingered in Evelyn’s chest as they drove. She hoped Michonne would find Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, and Thomas.

They arrived at Alexandria just as Rick and Maggie prepared to leave. Maggie greeted them, relief evident in her embrace. Evelyn explained the encounter with Michonne, and Aaron mentioned their injuries. Rick’s eyes narrowed as he absorbed the news.

Evelyn explained the deal with Gregory: Heather and her baby’s stay at Hilltop depended on her delivery of supplies. Rick’s frown deepened.

“Did something happen to Deanna?” she asked.

“She turned… after the attack,” Rick said grimly.

Evelyn felt the weight of it all—the constant chain of deaths, threats, and responsibilities. Her attention turned to the new threat: the Saviors and their leader, Negan. She recounted her encounter with him, the coercion, and the unsettling ease with which he exerted power.

Rick listened intently, calculating, already strategizing. “Did you give Gregory a return date?”

“Yes, two days,” Evelyn admitted, gently pressing her hand to her sore head.

“Don’t worry. I’ll renegotiate with him,” Rick assured her. Evelyn trusted him, as she did Daryl—both leaders who inspired loyalty and action.

She watched Rick leave to speak with Aaron and plan the next steps. Alone, she stared at the ceiling, Daryl’s face surfacing in her mind. He can handle himself… but he’s still human. Her thoughts flickered to Sasha, Abraham, and Thomas, and worry coiled in her stomach.

Daryl and Charlie were running, lungs burning, sweat stinging their eyes. The sound of walkers groaning and snapping branches grew louder behind them. Daryl glanced at Charlie, chest heaving. “Damn, these fuckers are relentless,” he whispered.

“Well, when you’re dead, I guess you’ve got all the time to give chase,” Charlie replied.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?” Daryl growled, wiping sweat from his brow.

“If you find it funny…” Charlie shrugged.

“I don’t,” Daryl said, eyes narrowing as five walkers stumbled out of the woods, teeth bared, moaning.

“We can probably take all five… easier than running,” Charlie said, hefting his bat.

Daryl raised his knife, lunging at the nearest walker and driving it into its skull. Charlie swung his bat, smashing another. Daryl stomped the last walker’s head in, breathing heavily. “Where did you see those guys attacking?” he asked, voice low and tense.

“Closer up the road, about half a mile,” Charlie said, pointing.

They reached the attack site, and Daryl’s gaze fell on spent shell casings scattered across the dirt. Not their guns. Not Sasha’s.

“Yeah, there was an attack here… Sasha couldn’t fire back,” Daryl muttered, his hands balling into fists. Following the trail, he noticed tire marks and then the car Sasha had been driving— riddled with bullets.

“This car… belonged to the Saviors,” Charlie said, voice tight. He squinted at two men trapped in the front seat, now walkers, clawing at the doors.

Daryl crouched, eyes narrowing as he spotted Sasha’s footprints—they were deliberate, guiding him. “Look… she left clues on purpose,” he said.

“She’s smart,” Charlie replied.

“Most of our group is,” Daryl said, following additional footprints. Then he saw them—another set, smaller, erratic. Thomas.

“Son of a bitch is alive,” Daryl hissed, stomping on the footprints with a mix of relief and pure, burning rage. His fists shook as memories of Thomas’ recklessness came flooding back: the sabotage, the crashes, the lives put at risk.

Every step he took along the path was heavy, deliberate, each stomp punctuated by a growl of anger. His teeth clenched, jaw tight, mind boiling with the need to confront Thomas. This wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was about reckoning.

Charlie caught up, glancing at Daryl with concern. “You okay?”

Daryl’s eyes were dark, a storm brewing. “Yeah… I’m fine,” he muttered, but his voice was low, dangerous. “But when I find him… he’s gonna regret every single choice he made.”

“Hey, look at this,” Charlie said, stopping abruptly. He walked over to a fuel truck with the faded letters “A.A. Pattrick Fuel Co” on the side. He squinted at the license plate and let out a short laugh. “It’s Patty,” he said.

Daryl abandoned the trail he’d been following and approached, eyes scanning the truck. “Was this the truck you were looking for?” he asked, voice low, controlled—but there was steel beneath it.

Charlie nodded. “Yeah… I wonder why it’s just sitting here,” he muttered, shaking his head. He opened the driver’s side door, climbed in, and spotted the keys still in the ignition. “This is almost too good to be true,” he said, turning the keys. The engine roared to life.

Daryl stayed outside for a moment, eyes darting toward the direction Sasha and Abraham had gone. “Drive that way,” he said, climbing in beside Charlie as the truck rumbled forward.

Meanwhile, in a nearby town, Sasha, Abraham, and Thomas were holed up in an office building. Sasha had spray-painted Daryl’s last name on the door—an unmistakable marker so he could find them. Tension buzzed through the air like static. Sasha’s irritation with Abraham’s recklessness was matched only by her frustration at Thomas’ detached, apathetic behavior. She wanted Daryl here—now—so they could leave.

“Who’s to say he’s even alive?” Thomas said lazily, eyes fixed on a trapped walker clawing at a window.

“You don’t know Daryl very well. I’ve seen him survive worse,” Sasha snapped, her patience thinning.

“Besides,” Abraham said with a wry grin, “he’s got that fine-ass doctor waiting for him. That’s motivation enough.”

Thomas glared, scoffing at Abraham before shifting his attention back to the trapped walker. “You seem to have a bone to pick with Daryl,” Abraham said, voice tense.

“Your point?” Thomas shot back, lazily.

Sasha’s gaze flicked between them, sharp. “The point is, we need to be aware of what’s coming, and we sure as hell don’t need your apathy making things worse.”

Thomas crossed his arms, his smirk infuriating Sasha further. “I have more of an issue with Evelyn. Since we got here, she doesn’t act like she’s our leader anymore. She’s too busy with Daryl.”

“Didn’t she promise to get you all to a safe place? She fulfilled her end of the bargain. Besides, Rick’s the leader now,” Abraham said, jaw tight.

Thomas’ eyes narrowed, venom in his tone. “From what I heard, Alexandria was safe, and then Rick and you guys showed up. Since then? Nothing but problems.”

“And from what Evelyn told us,” Abraham shot back, voice rising, “you were playing hide-and-seek with a psychopath who wanted to kill her—and all of you. Better to be with people who can defend themselves than hiding like scared rabbits.”

Thomas opened his mouth to argue, but Sasha cut him off sharply. “Enough! We wait for Daryl. End of discussion.”

The three of them froze, hearing the approaching rumble of a truck. Sasha sprinted to a window, Abraham at her shoulder, and they saw the unmistakable vehicle. The fuel truck slowed to a stop in front of the office building. Every hand went to a weapon, hearts racing… until Daryl stepped out of the passenger seat.

“Thank God,” Sasha whispered, relief washing over her as she bolted past Thomas and Abraham and headed downstairs.

Daryl’s eyes locked on Thomas for a fraction of a second—cold, dangerous, and unforgiving. The tension between them crackled, a storm waiting to explode.

Daryl had the door open, and Sasha met him in the lobby. “Ya’ll alright?” he asked, voice tight.

She nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah… more or less.” She kept her distance, wary of the tense atmosphere that lingered like a storm around the three of them.

Charlie followed close behind. Sasha’s eyes widened, and she instinctively raised her gun, pointing it at him. Daryl stepped forward sharply, planting himself between them. “He’s Evelyn’s older brother,” Daryl said, voice low but firm.

Sasha’s grip faltered. “How…?” she asked, eyes narrowing in surprise.

“Long story. We’ll tell you on the way,” Charlie said with a strained smile, holding out his hand. “I’m Charlie.”

Sasha hesitated, then shook his hand slowly. “Sasha,” she replied, her voice guarded.

Abraham came down the stairs next, brushing past the tension with a smirk. “You’re as durable as a cockroach,” he commented, patting Daryl on the back. His eyes then flicked to Charlie. “Who’s this?”

“Charlie, Evelyn’s older brother,” Daryl said, glancing past Abraham toward the top of the stairs. His eyes hardened. He didn’t see Thomas immediately, and his jaw tightened. “That fucking pussy… he upstairs?” Daryl growled.

Sasha and Abraham exchanged confused glances, and before they could react further, Daryl snatched Charlie’s bat and stormed up the stairs, leaving them scrambling behind him.

“Daryl, what’s wrong?” Sasha called out, trying to keep up.

“That asshole cut my brakes! I crashed my bike, got tied up—and now I’m gonna make him pay!” Daryl’s voice was a roar, raw with fury.

Abraham’s face shifted from concern to grim determination. “We got your back,” he said, his own anger igniting.

“Won’t need it. Not when I’m done,” Daryl shot back, eyes blazing.

All four reached the top of the stairs with Daryl in the lead and he kicked open the door and stormed inside, raising the bat. The room was empty. Sasha, Abraham, and Charlie scanned frantically. Then Charlie’s voice cut through the tension. “There! He’s running down the alley!”

Daryl didn’t hesitate. He shoved Charlie aside, snatched Sasha’s gun, and fired, each shot echoing with controlled rage. Thomas, serpentine and calculating, turned, shooting back from behind a dumpster, trying to draw Daryl out.

“Come out and face me, Thomas!” Daryl bellowed, fury vibrating in every word. The sound of walkers moaning somewhere in the distance barely registered—his focus was pure and lethal.

“Daryl… don’t shout,” Sasha hissed, but Daryl didn’t care.

“Good! Maybe they’ll chew on this asshole!” he shouted, letting the anger fuel him further.

Abraham lunged, grabbing Daryl and yanking him back from the window. Charlie slammed it shut.

“Let go!” Daryl yelled, kicking and twisting, his chest heaving with rage.

“Daryl, I know you want to get him, but not now! We need to get out of here and back to Alexandria!” Sasha said, urgency lacing her voice.

Daryl slammed his feet against the floor, trying to throw Abraham off, but Abraham held firm. “You’ll get your licks in… but not today,” Abraham said, voice firm.

Daryl’s chest heaved. Slowly, he relaxed, tapping Abraham’s arm before snatching back the bat and handing it to Charlie. His eyes were still fire, burning with the promise of revenge. “Let’s go,” he said, voice low, dangerous.

The four of them headed downstairs. Abraham grabbed the RPG, Charlie held the keys. Daryl’s eyes flicked to the alley one last time, hoping, waiting… but Thomas had vanished. The emptiness of the street did nothing to calm the storm still raging inside him.

“We should’ve killed him. He knows where Alexandria is,” Daryl muttered, fists clenched.

“Knowing that piss-ant, he probably won’t make it through the night,” Abraham said, his jaw tight.

Daryl noticed the truck had a radio. He flipped it on and tuned to Rick’s channel. “Rick?” he said, voice low but tense.

Static crackled, then Rick’s voice came through. “Daryl?”

“Hey Rick, we’re heading back to Alexandria,” Daryl said. Relief in Rick’s sigh was obvious. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“No… Thomas isn’t with us,” Daryl said, scowling.

“Did he get bit?” Rick asked, concern threading his voice.

“No, the asshole cut my brake lines. I crashed, got tied up by these people running from someone named Negan… found Evelyn’s brother, he’s coming back with us. Is she okay?” Daryl’s words came fast, sharp.

“Yeah, she’s fine, she’s in the infirmary,” Rick replied.

Daryl frowned. “Why?” Charlie glanced from Daryl to the road, worry written across his face.

“Long story. Aaron and Evelyn were doing a supply run… got hurt, but they’re both fine,” Rick said.

“Did we lose anyone?” Daryl asked, voice tight.

“Mark’s dead,” Rick said. Daryl’s eyes flicked to Sasha and Abraham.

“Anyone else?” Daryl pressed.

“Quite a few at Alexandria.” Rick answered.

Daryl was silent for a moment, jaw tightening, before finally saying, “Alright… over and out.” He hung up and sat back, gripping the wheel.

“Wonder what happened?” Sasha whispered.

“I don’t know… if it’s got anything to do with Thomas, I’m going back for him,” Daryl said, voice dark, simmering with anger.

Charlie swallowed hard, hoping Evelyn really was okay. He wasn’t sure if Rick had reassured Daryl just to keep him from going off the rails.

The truck rumbled down the road in tense silence until Charlie slammed the brakes. “It’s the Sons of Anarchy,” Abraham joked, attempting to lighten the mood.

Charlie gulped. “No… it’s the Saviors,” he said, voice low, eyes fixed on the bikers blocking the road.

“Come on out!” the man on the lead bike shouted.

Abraham glanced at Daryl and Sasha. “We could ram them,” he said. Sasha’s look said everything—no.

Charlie killed the engine and pocketed the keys. “Best not,” he muttered.

All four climbed out. The leader’s gaze swept over them, stopping briefly on Charlie. Charlie tensed, hoping he hadn’t been recognized. The man gave nothing away.

“Give up your weapons and the truck,” the leader demanded.

“Why should we?” Daryl asked, voice low and dangerous.

“Because it belongs to Negan now,” the man said.

Daryl froze at the name. Abraham and Sasha didn’t know it, but Charlie’s hands trembled at the mere mention.

“Come on now. Give it up willingly, or we take it by force.” Guns leveled at them.

Four against ten. No chance of walking away alive. Charlie was the first to lower his bat. Sasha followed. Abraham reluctantly did the same. Daryl’s hands stayed on the bat, knuckles white.

“What’s in the back?” the leader asked.

“Fuel,” Daryl said evenly.

“Go check, take him with you. Anyone tries anything, my man kills him,” the leader ordered. One of the bikers pushed Daryl’s shoulder, forcing him toward the back of the truck.

Chapter Text

The leader of the bikers sauntered over to Sasha, Abraham, and Charlie, picking up their weapons while his men kept their guns trained on them. Abraham didn’t bother hiding his contempt, and the leader just smiled.

“I know it’s hard to accept when you’ve lost,” he said, voice smooth, almost mocking. “But hey—swallow the crow all at once instead of nibbling at it. Makes it easier.” He handed their weapons to one of his men and walked back to his group.

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way,” he continued, “the next step is for you to take us to wherever it is you’re camping out.”

All three stiffened. Charlie’s stomach sank. If Negan and his men ever found Alexandria…

“We don’t have a settlement. Not many of us,” Charlie said quickly, hoping the lie would hold.

The leader’s eyes narrowed. He leveled his gun at Charlie. “That’s a lie. Why else would you need a whole truck full of fuel? And if memory serves, some deserters from Negan were planning to use it to leave… guess that plan backfired.”

He smirked. “Normally, we just kill whoever we find and take their stuff. But I’m feeling generous. You all seem… reasonable. It’d be awkward if we went to your camp and one of you was dead. Ask a question, lie again, and I’ll deal with that awkwardness too.”

Charlie exchanged a quick glance with Sasha and Abraham. “Wait, you don’t have to do that. We can work something out,” Sasha said, her voice steady but sharp.

The leader chuckled and pulled another gun. “Strike two. Another one, and I’ll kill both your boy and you.” He laughed. “Actually… never mind. I’ll just kill you both right now.”

Before the trigger could be pulled, a massive explosion erupted where the bikers had been. All three ducked instinctively. Behind them, Daryl emerged, walking calmly toward them with the RPG Abraham had found. His arm had a fresh cut, blood streaking his sleeve, but his eyes were cold, unyielding.

“Your cut,” Sasha said.

“Yeah, ain’t deep… what a bunch of assholes,” Daryl replied, lowering the RPG.

Abraham looked past him. “I’m guessing you handled your friend back there.”

Daryl nodded, grim. Charlie exhaled, relief flooding him.

“Come on,” Charlie said. “We need to leave. There could be more of his men nearby.”

“Who is Negan?” Sasha asked, urgency creeping into her voice.

Charlie slid into the driver’s seat while Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham piled in beside him. “Bad news,” Charlie said. “That’s what he is. I used to be part of his group, until I left with a few others. That’s how I ran into Daryl. He’s got an army—more firepower than you can imagine. He goes to neighboring communities and demands half their supplies. If they comply, fine. If not… he kills people at random, lets walkers in, keeps terrorizing them until he’s taken seriously.”

“Sounds like a real charmer,” Abraham said, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Daryl said nothing. He knew this wasn’t the last time they’d run into Negan’s men. Charlie felt a cold pit in his stomach, the memory of the tyranny he had helped enforce still fresh—rules that were twisted, “protection” that wasn’t protection, children harmed while adults obeyed out of fear. Negan was a monster, and now Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, and Charlie were in the path of it.

Michonne received a crackling radio call from Rick. “Daryl and the others are heading back to Alexandria,” he said.

“I’ll turn around and head back,” Michonne replied, slowing her car and making a U-turn toward the community.

In the infirmary, Denise was struggling to keep Evelyn calm. “Doctors really do make the worst patients,” she muttered after telling Evelyn to lay down for the fourth time. “If you don’t, I will handcuff you to the post,” she added, lightly nudging Evelyn back onto the bed.

“I can handle this… you trust me, right?” Denise asked, her voice edged with insecurity, questioning if she was doing enough.

“Of course,” Evelyn replied, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her cheek against them. “You’re doing great. I just… I feel guilty leaving after Alexandria was attacked.”

“You had to,” Denise said gently, sitting beside her and placing a hand on her back. “Don’t feel guilty about helping someone else.”

Evelyn hesitated, then spoke softly. “In the spirit of helping… I may need to take some of our supplies to Hilltop. They helped Heather and her baby.”

“We’re running low here,” Denise admitted. “I was just talking to Rick about putting together a supply run. That attack drained our stock of medicine and bandages.”

Evelyn looked around at the infirmary. Beds that had once been empty were now filled with five people, each in need of care. She ran a hand through her hair, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes to calm herself. “I’ll have to go back to Hilltop with Rick. Try to renegotiate a timeline with Gregory,” she said, weighing her next steps carefully.

“I’m sorry, Evelyn,” Denise murmured.

Evelyn smiled softly. “It’s not your fault. We have to take care of our own. Maybe I can bring Heather back early—she’s past the dangerous part of her condition and could recover here.”

The infirmary door creaked as Louis and Hugo stepped inside, their faces brightening at the sight of Evelyn. She returned their smiles, and Denise quietly left, giving them space to catch up.

“Mark’s dead,” Louis said, voice heavy.

“I heard… he saved Glenn and the others,” Evelyn replied, sorrow and admiration mixing in her tone.

“He told both Louis and me that this place… it was worth dying for,” Hugo said.

Evelyn recalled the memories of Mark, Louis, Hugo, Thomas, Charlotte, and Anne—all discussing Alexandria and its significance. Mark had believed this was the right place to fight for, a community worth protecting.

“Alexandria isn’t like Carlo’s group,” she remembered Mark saying. “They tried to build a façade of a utopia. This place… it’s real.”

Thomas scoffed, leaning back with arms crossed. “At least Carlo’s group was upfront about being terrible. They weren’t pretending.”

Evelyn’s patience thinned. “Nobody is making you stay here,” she said firmly.

“I crossed an ocean to be here. I’m not leaving,” Thomas snapped, rising and storming to the front door. He turned, glaring at Evelyn and Mark, then slammed the door behind him.

Hugo sighed, disappointed. “Do you have to provoke him?”

“I’m just tired of hearing him complain,” Evelyn said quietly. “It’s not perfect, and maybe it never will be. But we have to make the best of what we have. Otherwise, Carlos would have found us eventually, and what then?”

Anne held Charlotte closer. “I know we won’t leave. I feel safe for the first time in a long time… Charlotte’s even starting to make friends at school.”

Evelyn gently rubbed Charlotte’s head, a small smile on her face. “That’s good. You can grow up with them. Your generation will inherit the world after we’re gone.”

Charlotte returned her smile, hope filling her eyes—a fragile, shining promise of the future.

Evelyn didn’t have time to properly mourn Charlotte, Anne, or now Mark. The weight of their deaths pressed on her chest, each memory a knife twisting deeper. She glanced at Louis and Hugo, talking quietly among themselves, barely noticing her. She stepped between them.

“I’m fine,” she said softly, her voice cracking despite her attempt at calm. “Come back later and we can plan Mark’s memorial… we also need to honor Charlotte and Anne.” Without waiting for a response, she walked away, down the hallway, to her office. She closed and locked the door behind her, pulling the blinds down to carve out a private space.

Hugo and Louis exchanged glances, the silence between them heavy. They knew she was now mourning three losses at once. Inside her office, Evelyn sank into her chair, one leg pulled up, forehead pressed against her knee. Hot tears streaked her face, falling onto the floor as she let out a choked sob.

Denise didn’t follow. She understood that Evelyn, like everyone else after the attack, needed her own time to grieve. Innocent people had died, some injured, some gone entirely—an arbitrary cruelty that weighed on everyone.

A soft knock broke the quiet. Louis, standing near the door, spoke gently. “Evelyn…”

She shook her head, muffling a sob. “Go away. I need to be alone… I’ll check in with Hugo and you later.”

Louis nodded, understanding. “We’ll be waiting. We won’t start anything without you.” He retreated, rejoining Hugo as they left for their home.

Moments later, Michonne returned to Alexandria, followed closely by Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, and Charlie with the fuel truck. Daryl was the first to step out, scanning the area before spotting Rick.

“Where’s Carol?” Daryl asked, noticing her absence at the gate.

Rick’s face was grim. “I think she left. Morgan went after her.”

“Needed some time?” Daryl asked, tension coiling in his shoulders.

Rick shrugged. “Not sure. She seemed… unsettled. I’ll follow up after heading to Hilltop.”

“Why Hilltop?” Daryl pressed.

“That’s where Evelyn and Aaron went for Heather’s care. Gregory, their leader, said Heather can only stay if supplies are delivered. I need to discuss terms with him.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Sounds like an asshole. Want me to go with you?”

“Nah. I need you here. I’ll take Maggie. Evelyn will come too if she’s well enough. Right now, you’re needed for a medical supply run—we’re almost out.”

Rick’s attention flicked to the figure beside Daryl. “And who are you?”

Charlie stepped forward, a small smile on his face. “I’m Evelyn’s brother.”

“Oh, right,” Rick said, relief softening his tone. “Evelyn’s in the infirmary. I’ll take you to her.” Daryl followed.

Evelyn had emerged from her office, eyes red and puffy but steadying. She sank back onto her bed.

“Feeling better?” Glenn asked, voice gentle.

She gave him a weak smile. “Somewhat… I guess I’m kind of a crybaby.”

“You’ve got a lot to cry about,” Glenn said, offering quiet comfort. “If it helps, cry all you need.”

His words steadied her. She moved closer to his bed, inspecting the bandages covering him. “How are you?”

“I’ll live. Mark saved everyone… I want to be at his memorial.”

“He would’ve wanted that,” Evelyn whispered.

Their attention shifted as Rick, Daryl, and another figure entered. Her heart froze. The stranger—the unmistakable presence—was her older brother. Color drained from her face. Her mouth fell open.

Charlie’s grin broke the tension. He ran forward, enveloping her in a tight, protective hug.

“Evelyn,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

She trembled in relief, finally returning the embrace. Questions tumbled through her mind—how, when, why—but for now, she simply held him. He released her gently, cupping her face to take in the sight of her, noting the bandaged head, but relieved that she was alive, whole, and safe.

“I ran into Daryl. He brought me back,” Charlie said.

Evelyn’s gaze flicked past her brother to Daryl and Rick. Relief flooded her, and without thinking, she practically ran to Daryl and threw herself into his arms. He didn’t hesitate, returning the hug with equal intensity. For a moment, nothing else existed—just the weight of being together again.

“You alright?” Daryl asked, cupping her face gently.

She nodded, letting out a shaky breath. “I’m hurt, but I’ll live… I can’t believe you ran into Charlie.” She pressed a quick kiss to his lips, then noticed the deep cut on his arm. “What happened?” she asked, lifting his arm to inspect it.

“Some asshole,” he said, voice low and rough. “They won’t be a problem.”

Evelyn guided him to an empty bed, quickly assessing the wound. “Thankfully, it wasn’t too deep.” She cleaned it with careful, practiced motions and dressed it, tossing the disposable gloves and soiled gauze into the trash.

Daryl’s eyes studied her, cautious. “You going back to Hilltop?”

She nodded. “I am… with Rick and Maggie.” She caught his frown and forced a reassuring smile, hiding the worry churning in her chest. “It’ll be okay, Daryl. Rick said he wouldn’t go for a few more days—enough time for me to heal.”

He grunted, the sound half agreement, half frustration. Then his eyes darkened. “Carol’s missing… so’s Morgan.”

Evelyn froze for a beat, realization sinking in. “She was still in Alexandria when Aaron and I left,” she said, more to herself than him.

“Before we got here, she was already trying to go off on her own. Felt like she didn’t belong anymore… because of everything she’s done,” Daryl said, his voice tight with unspoken emotion.

Evelyn didn’t pry. She knew enough about Carol—how she hid her strength behind an act of vulnerability. She placed a gentle hand on Daryl’s cheek. “We can go out and look for her, if you want,” she offered, her voice soft but firm.

Daryl’s eyes met hers, a mixture of gratitude and lingering worry. For a moment, the chaos of the world outside paused, and it was just the two of them, tethered by relief and unspoken understanding.

“How are you going to have any time… don’t you have to get supplies for Hilltop?” Daryl asked, worry lining his voice.

“I can make time… especially if it’s for you,” Evelyn said softly, a small, reassuring smile tugging at her lips.

Daryl gave a faint smile in return and gently placed his hand over hers. Glenn, ever the tease, piped up. “And people think Maggie and me are gross to watch,” he said. Both Daryl and Evelyn turned to him; Daryl rolled his eyes and released her hand, guiding her to lie back on the bed.

“Get some rest. Charlie can stay with me,” Daryl said, his voice firm but caring.

Charlie, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with Rick. Judging from the tense expressions on both their faces, whatever they were discussing was serious. Evelyn glanced at them briefly but didn’t linger; Daryl pulled the covers over her and told her to rest, his hand lingering a moment on her shoulder before leaving.

Outside the infirmary, the men’s conversation continued in hushed tones.

“If that prick at Hilltop thinks Evelyn’s going to be his supply mule, he’s got another thing coming,” Daryl growled.

“I’m going to Hilltop with Evelyn and Maggie,” Rick said, voice tight. “Try to renegotiate some deal. She can’t be going on runs when she’s supposed to be running the infirmary.”

Charlie shook his head. “Good luck telling her that. If she thinks going out will save someone, she’ll do it without thinking of her own safety.” His voice was soft, but filled with frustration and concern. He loved his sister dearly, and this trait—her unflinching willingness to help—was both admirable and terrifying.

“Denise said we’re low on supplies,” Rick added. “She’ll go with Rosita. Evelyn stays here to care for the injured.”

“You sure Denise is ready for that?” Daryl asked.

“She has to be. The people here need to be ready for what’s out there,” Rick said firmly.

Daryl nodded. “Alright. We can run in a few days.”

“About Carol and Morgan… I’ll put together a search party. But Carol’s okay. That woman’s a force of nature,” Rick said.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Yeah, I know… but she should be here. She’s been with us since Atlanta.” He looked at Charlie. “You can stay at mine and Evelyn’s place.” Rick took that as his cue and left for his own home.

Charlie followed Daryl, taking in the settlement as they walked. “So… was this place already running when the outbreak hit, and they just walled it off?”

“Something like that,” Daryl said, unlocking the front door and letting Charlie in first. “Lot of these people are getting a crash course in survival.”

Charlie sank into the plush couch, letting out a long, appreciative sigh. “Man… this is nice.”

“Make yourself at home,” Daryl said, a teasing lilt to his tone as he poured himself a glass of water.

“So… my room?” Charlie asked.

“Mine and Evelyn’s is downstairs, second door on the right. You’ll want one upstairs,” Daryl said, setting his glass down.

Charlie chose the bedroom with an attached bathroom, then returned downstairs. “Where can I get clothes? All my stuff’s back at Hilltop,” he asked, leaning on the counter.

“You can see Olivia,” Daryl said. “She’s in charge of supplies.”

They stepped outside to the supply building. Olivia looked up from her inventory. “How can I help?”

“He needs clothes. He’s new,” Daryl said.

Olivia nodded, selecting several outfits. “These should fit. Welcome to Alexandria,” she said, extending her hand. Charlie shook it firmly.

“I’m Charlie, Evelyn’s older brother.”

“Oh! Dr. Evelyn’s brother! What a reunion,” Olivia said with a smile.

Daryl tugged on Charlie’s arm. “Come on, we need to go.” Charlie waved goodbye, following him.

“Everyone seems nice,” Charlie said quietly. Daryl grunted, exhaustion weighing him down as he headed to his room, flopping onto the bed.

Charlie went upstairs, hung his new clothes, and ran a hot bath. As the water ran over him, he pressed his forehead to the tile, letting out a deep, reflective sigh. He thought of Evelyn—reunited at last—and of the fragility of this world. This place could not fall to Negan. Not while they had a chance.

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since Evelyn and Aaron returned to Alexandria. Glenn was still in the infirmary, recovering from his extensive wounds. Evelyn wasn’t fully healed from her concussion, but she was able to return to work as Alexandria’s doctor and Denise’s mentor. Glenn was asleep when Maggie arrived, walking past his bed without her usual greeting. Evelyn noticed and followed her.

“Can I talk to you in private?” Maggie asked.

Evelyn nodded. “Let’s go to my office.” She led Maggie down the hall and closed the door behind them. Maggie sank into an empty chair. Evelyn leaned against her desk, trying not to show the worry creeping into her expression.

“I missed my period,” Maggie said softly.

Evelyn already knew where this was headed. She opened a locker, pulling out an unopened box of pregnancy tests. “Are your cycles usually regular?” she asked.

“Yes, like clockwork. Between the 10th and 13th of each month.”

Evelyn handed her the test, placing a gentle hand on Maggie’s shoulder as she knelt to meet her eye level. “If you are… we’ll take care of you and the baby,” she said, offering a warm smile. Maggie returned it, and Evelyn pointed to the bathroom. “Knock when you’re done,” she instructed.

Maggie washed her hands and stared at the test on the counter. Five minutes stretched like an eternity. She knocked softly, and Evelyn closed the bathroom door behind her, setting a timer.

“I haven’t told Glenn yet,” Maggie admitted.

“That’s normal,” Evelyn said. “Usually women confide in another woman or a doctor first.”

“Guess I’m lucky to have both,” Maggie laughed softly. “I just… I don’t want what happened to Lori or Heather happening to me.”

“Who’s Lori?” Evelyn asked.

Maggie’s voice faltered. “Before Alexandria, we were at a prison in Georgia. Lori was Rick’s wife, Carl’s mother. She got pregnant during the outbreak with Judith. I had to cut her open… she died. Carl shot her to prevent reanimation.”

Evelyn’s eyes softened. “That must’ve been devastating for Rick and Carl.”

Maggie nodded. “For a while, Daryl and Glenn ran the prison until Rick pulled himself together. It was… hard.”

Daryl had only told her snippets—how the prison fell and that he escaped with Beth, Maggie’s younger sister. Maggie’s gaze dropped to her hands. “I thought she was dead. I never got to say goodbye… to her or my dad.”

Evelyn reached out, placing a comforting hand over Maggie’s. “In this world, you rarely get to say goodbye. That’s why the little things—reuniting, surviving, having a quiet day—make life worth living.”

The timer beeped. Maggie held up the test, staring in disbelief at the two lines. Evelyn leaned over her shoulder. “You’re pregnant.”

Maggie placed a hand over her lower abdomen, overwhelmed. “We’ve always been careful.”

“Things happen. We’ll start prenatal vitamins. And today we’re going to Hilltop—the doctor there can give you an examination.” Evelyn asked the date of her last menstrual cycle. Maggie told her the 10th of last month. Evelyn counted the weeks. “About six weeks and three days. That would put delivery around late November.”

Maggie tossed the test into the trash. “Rick wants to leave in an hour.”

As they walked down the hall, Glenn stirred from his nap. Maggie sat on his bed. “When are we leaving?” he asked.

“In an hour. I have something to tell you—I’m pregnant.”

Glenn’s eyes widened. He blinked, unsure he heard right. Then he smiled, pain forgotten for a moment. He pulled her into a tight hug. “We’re going to have a baby,” he whispered, cupping her face and kissing her gently.

Outside, Daryl, Charlie, and Rick approached the infirmary. Daryl had brought Eugene along to help with supplies, giving him experience with runs.

“What if Gregory refuses the new terms?” Charlie asked nervously.

“He’ll have to agree. We’re not giving up half our supplies, but we can help him get more,” Rick said.

“I still don’t like Evelyn, Maggie, and you going without backup,” Daryl said.

“We’ll be fine,” Rick said. “You focus on catching Denise, Rosita, and Eugene up for the supply run.”

Charlie looked uneasy, but Daryl reassured him: Rick had a plan. Charlie opened the infirmary door first and blinked at the scene: Maggie and Glenn, radiant with joy, surrounded by congratulations from Denise, Evelyn, and the recovering Aaron.

“What’s happening?” Rick asked.

“I’m pregnant,” Maggie said, beaming.

Rick hugged her. “Congrats, I’m so happy for you two.” Daryl clapped Glenn on the back. “Another little asskicker on the way,” he joked.

Rick glanced at Maggie with concern. “You sure you’re okay to go?”

“I’ll be fine. The doctor there can examine me and do an ultrasound,” she said.

“Okay, let’s get going,” Rick said.

Evelyn kissed Daryl quickly. “See you later,” she whispered. He stared, wanting her to stay but knowing she had duties.

“Don’t let that prick push you around. Stay firm,” he said.

She smiled, kissed his cheek, hugged her brother Charlie, and followed Maggie and Rick outside.

Michonne waved at them from Rick’s house. Evelyn gave her a small nod; she shared her worries about Hilltop but trusted Rick’s plan. Maggie drove, with Evelyn giving directions. At the Hilltop gates, Evelyn stepped out, ready to negotiate under the pressure of this new world—and her responsibility to protect her people.

“Your back!” Gregory barked from atop the front gates, his eyes narrowing at Evelyn.

She didn’t return his fake smile. The man was slimy, repulsive, and arrogant. “I am. Open the gate. We need to talk.”

His grin vanished, replaced by incredulity, before he barked an order and the gates creaked open. Rick drove the car inside as Evelyn walked behind it, the gates closing with a solid clang. Gregory approached, forcing a cheerful expression that barely hid his annoyance—and his eyes immediately darted to the empty back of the vehicle. No supplies.

“We had an agreement. You would bring medical supplies for Heather and her baby,” he said, voice sharp.

“That’s why we’re here,” Rick cut in. “We need to renegotiate the plan.”

Gregory’s attention shifted to him, skeptical. “Who are you?”

“Rick Grimes. Evelyn joined my group and told me about your deal. We need to discuss it.”

Gregory squinted. “Leader of your… mysterious group? I’ve met Aaron. I let Evelyn inside my community to heal someone not even part of Hilltop, and I still don’t know your group’s name—or where you’re from. You know Hilltop, yet you hide your cards.”

Maggie spoke up, calm but firm. “We don’t reveal everything until we know you better.”

Gregory’s gaze lingered on her before he smiled thinly. “Sweetheart, that’s all fine, but my deal hasn’t been honored yet.”

Evelyn stepped forward, her eyes hardening. “I will uphold my end of the bargain, but I need more time. Heather and her baby are leaving with us today so you won’t have to expend more of your supplies.”

Dr. Carson helped Heather to her feet, holding her baby. She felt stronger now, the danger past, and her eyes lit up when she saw Evelyn who moved quickly to Heather’s side, Rick and Maggie trailing. “How are you feeling?”

“A lot better… am I really going home?”

Rick nodded. “Yes, but we have a discussion with Gregory first.” His eyes flicked to the stunned man.

“I can take him,” Maggie said, lifting Elijah with ease. Heather’s relief was palpable. “I named him Elijah.”

“That’s a good name,” Evelyn complimented.

Gregory stormed forward. “Excuse me! We were having a conversation!” His tone dripped with false authority, but his eyes betrayed frustration.

Rick cut him off coldly. “How about inside? It’s hot out here.”

Gregory hesitated but followed them into the brick building that served as Hilltop’s headquarters. Dr. Carson returned to his office. Evelyn helped Heather sit and handed Elijah back to her, then stood beside Rick.

“The deal hasn’t changed. We’ll get supplies for you, and we should set up a trade,” Rick said.

Gregory frowned. “We don’t need a trade. We’re self-sufficient.”

“Is that so? Because we hear you’re giving half your supplies to another group,” Maggie said.

Gregory stiffened, his frown deepening. “Not your concern. I want what Eve—” He caught himself and glared at Evelyn, “—I want what was promised to me.”

Evelyn leaned forward, hands on his desk, voice steady. “It’s Evelyn. You have enough supplies; you just want more to give to the Saviors.”

Gregory slammed his hands on the desk. Rick and Maggie reacted instantly, moving to flank Evelyn. Rick’s hand hovered over his gun; Maggie’s knife gleamed. Gregory froze, then backed off, clearing his throat. “Dr. Carson treated Heather, and a deal was made,” he muttered.

Rick leaned in, firm and unyielding. “Here’s my proposal: we help you rid the Saviors. In exchange, the debt is covered. We establish a trade route between Alexandria and Hilltop. Your doctor will provide prenatal care to Maggie.”

Heather, Maggie, and Evelyn all looked surprised.

Rick didn’t waver, his eyes fixed on Gregory. The man hesitated, weighing freedom from the Saviors against trusting outsiders. “So your group is called Alexandria?”

Rick nodded. “Guess you’ll know soon—we’re trading partners now.”

Gregory slumped back in his chair. “Fine. Deal. You rid the Saviors, and I’ll consider the debt paid.” He extended a hand.

Rick shook it—but leaned close, his voice a deadly whisper. “Betray us or alert the Saviors, and I’ll disembowel you in front of everyone.”

Gregory’s eyes widened, and for the first time, the air of control he carried slipped. Evelyn stood tall beside Rick, ready for whatever came next. The stakes were clear, the battle lines drawn.

Gregory went pale, almost yelping as Rick crushed his hand in a vice-like grip before yanking it away. Maggie, Evelyn, and even Heather stared, stunned by the audacity of the new deal. Evelyn helped Heather to her feet, guiding her back toward the car.

“Rick…why make a deal like that?” Evelyn asked quietly as they walked. “We don’t even know the Saviors. They had numbers when they took Hilltop supplies.”

“Exactly. They’re a threat, and who knows when they’ll find Alexandria,” Rick said, voice grim. “We need to strike first.”

“So this is war now?” Maggie’s voice trembled slightly with disbelief.

Evelyn helped Heather and Elijah into the car, shutting the door behind them. “Rick, this is a bad idea. If they can intimidate Hilltop into giving half their supplies, they’re dangerous. Engaging them now could be suicide.”

“I’ll get intel from Gregory,” Rick said. “You two take Heather back to Alexandria. I’ll stay here, find out what I can. I’ll be back today.”

Both women stared at him like he’d lost his mind. Evelyn’s hands went to her hips. “Did anyone else hear this hair-brained plan, or did you just make it up on the spot?”

“I discussed it with Daryl, Charlie, and Aaron. If it makes you feel better, Aaron and Charlie thought it was a bad idea,” Rick said.

Evelyn didn’t feel better—she felt worse. Only one of them thinking it was a bad idea? Terrifying. “Rick…we’re supposed to have Mark’s memorial service today,” Maggie said, urgency in her voice.

“I’ll be back before it starts, I promise.” Rick’s tone left no room for argument.

Maggie exhaled sharply. “We’ll discuss this plan later, as a group.” She walked to the driver’s side, started the car. Evelyn lingered at the passenger side. “Rick, please. Let me go get supplies. I can handle it.”

“No. If we strike first, we hold the advantage. We can set up trades with Hilltop, maybe others too. Besides, you’re Alexandria’s main doctor. You’re still teaching Denise—she’s got a lot to learn, right?” Rick said, a teasing edge in his voice.

Evelyn cocked an eyebrow. “That’s a little low,” she muttered.

“You know it’s true,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

She exhaled, running a hand through her thick hair, biting her lip in thought. “Fine. You’re right.” She slid into the passenger seat. “Just…make sure you’re back before six.”

Maggie turned the car around, and they headed home. Heather looked between them. “I’m sorry for all the trouble,” she murmured.

“It’s not trouble,” Evelyn replied, smiling. “Just…people making things more complicated than they need to be.”

The drive back was quiet and uneventful. Back home, Evelyn and Maggie helped Heather settle in. The house was clean, her husband buried in the churchyard—no evidence of the chaos that had upended everything. “I’ll meet you at the infirmary after the service,” Maggie said.

Elijah barely cried, only for food or a diaper change. Evelyn made sure Heather’s home was stocked with baby essentials. “Come to the memorial if you can. If not, I’ll check on you afterward,” she said.

Heather smiled, placing Elijah in his swing. “Thank you…for everything. And for Aaron, too.”

Evelyn hugged her briefly before heading to the infirmary, but paused when she spotted Daryl on the porch.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, taking the top step beside him. “Are you really okay with Rick’s plan?”

“He told you?” Daryl asked, voice low.

“Yeah. The big reveal in Gregory’s office. He agreed.”

Daryl hummed, thoughtful, then stood. Evelyn followed inside. “This is a bad idea, Daryl,” she said firmly.

“No, it’s not. We let a threat live once, and it came to our gates. I won’t make that mistake again. Rick agrees.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes, matching his glare.

Charlie sat on the couch, silent and tense, heart pounding. He’d seen them fight before, but this was different—their voices were sharp, filled with fear and frustration. He felt like an intruder in a storm, watching his sister and her partner clash over a decision that could cost lives. Every heated word made the pit of his stomach twist tighter, and a cold knot of worry grew in his chest. If these two were this divided now, how could Alexandria hope to stand against the Saviors?

 “So this is…some redemption thing? For you or Rick because of Georgia?!” She shouted.

“You weren’t there! Don’t pretend you know what’s going on!” Daryl snapped.

“Guy, let’s calm down—”

“STAY OUT OF THIS!” both Evelyn and Daryl shouted, silencing him. He sank back into the couch, wanting the floor to swallow him.

Their focus returned to each other. “You don’t know what it’s like to let a dangerous person live!” Evelyn shouted. “I didn’t kill them, and people died because of it!”

“Maybe if you had finished that psycho off, they’d still be alive!” Daryl yelled, immediately regretting the words.

Evelyn’s anger dissolved into heartbreak. Tears welled in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She stormed forward, standing inches from him, face upturned. He braced for a scream, a curse, or even a strike—but she only whispered, voice barely audible.

“I know…”

She stepped past him, moving to their room, slamming the door. Daryl froze, chest tight. Charlie watched, the knot in his stomach tightening. He knew this wasn’t just an argument—it was a preview of what war might do to them all. If even the people he loved most could fracture under pressure, what hope did they have when the Saviors came?

Charlie’s eyes drifted toward the front gate. The sun dipped low, casting long shadows over Alexandria’s walls. He felt a shiver crawl up his spine. If Daryl and Evelyn were already at odds over strategy now, what would happen when bullets flew and lives were on the line? The thought gnawed at him, fear settling in like ice in his veins. Survival wasn’t just about strength—it was about keeping the threads of trust and unity from unraveling, and right now, those threads felt perilously thin.

Before Charlie could speak, Daryl stormed out, slamming the front door behind him. He remained on the porch, staring at the wood, silently cursing himself. And Charlie, sitting alone in the living room, realized just how fragile they all really were—and that the coming storm would test every single one of them.

Charlie knocked gently on the bedroom door. “Eve…come out,” he said.

Evelyn stayed seated on the bed, knees pulled up to her chest, silent. No tears, no sobs—just a tight, suffocating quiet. Charlie opened the door and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, keeping a careful distance.

“You wanna tell me what happened in France?” he asked softly.

Evelyn shook her head, hating the ache in her chest and the sharp sting across her ribs.

Charlie’s voice softened. “It might help to talk, you know? We could get it off our chests…share what’s been weighing on us.”

She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve told this story too many times, to too many people. It doesn’t change what happened. And it won’t change how I feel,” she murmured, voice steady but fragile.

Charlie didn’t know what to say. He knew only one person could help her feel even a little lighter right now—and that was Daryl.

Outside the bedroom door, Daryl lingered, fists clenched at his sides. He muttered under his breath, forcing himself to move. Stop being a little bitch…just go back inside.

He closed the door behind him, and both Evelyn and Charlie glanced toward him. Evelyn quickly averted her gaze, still wrapped in her own wall of emotion. Charlie rose, giving Daryl a reassuring pat on the shoulder before stepping outside to give them space.

“It ain’t your fault what happened,” Daryl said finally, his voice low. “Rick just…wants Alexandria to be safe, and he ain’t never let us down before.”

Evelyn studied him, reading the slump of his broad shoulders, the way his eyes darted to the floor, the tight line of his mouth. He felt guilty—she could see it in every move.

“Can you look at me?” she asked gently.

His eyes lifted, meeting hers. Slowly, she stood and walked over, wrapping her arms around him. For a moment, he didn’t respond, his body stiff, as if he feared he didn’t deserve comfort. Then, inch by inch, he relaxed, pressing his face into her shoulder and tightening his hold.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice rough and broken.

“I know,” she replied, pulling back just enough to look at him. If a kicked dog had a human form, it would be how he looked now—slumped, contrite, full of quiet remorse.

She let a teasing smile break through the tension. “If you had a tail, it’d be between your legs.”

Daryl let out a short, grudging tsk. “Yeah, yeah…kicked dog, got it.”

Evelyn laughed softly, the tension between them easing slightly. For the first time since the fight, there was a flicker of peace—a fragile understanding that they were still on the same side, no matter what storm lay ahead.

“I think that was our first big fight.” She said.

“We should get it framed.” He joked and walked into the bathroom connected to their bedroom.

“Are you going to take a shower, you need one." She said. 

“Your one to talk.” He retorted as she walked into the bathroom, standing in front of him and started to unbutton his shirt. He stared down at her, feeling his jacket and shirt fall to the ground. Evelyn's hands wondered over his chest, running down his stomach before her fingers found the button to his pants.

“Why don’t you take a shower with me.” She whispered softly.

“Ain’t looking like your giving me much a choice.” He replied, his voice was low and husky.

She smiled and pulled her shirt over her head, taking off her bra along with it and let it dropped to the floor and pulled her pants and underwear down. He’s eyes drank in her naked form and she walked past him, bending over to turn the hot water on as she heard his own remaining cloths fell to the floor. She didn’t get in yet, he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her backside to his front while his other hand was exploring all of her. She let out a moan when he cupped her breast, squeezing the mound of flesh and she parted her legs as his hand left her chest and moved in between her legs.

“We should get in-“ She whispered in between moans as his fingers rubbed at her most sensitive spot. “The hot wat-“ She couldn’t finish, she felt her knees start to buckle but he supported her with his arm around her waist. He reached over with his free hand and turned the shower head off.

“Let’s take this to the bed.” He whispered hotly in her ear.

She didn’t argue and let out a whine when he stopped touching her and followed him back to the bed. She sat on the edge and was about to push herself back further, but he grabbed her hips and yanked her forward, getting on his knees and she moaned loudly, gripping his hair as he started pleasuring her in between her legs.

Two hours later.

Her hips finally stopped moving after they shared the, whatever, she had lost count orgasm and she laid her head on his shoulder, completely exhausted. He shared her fatigue and laid back with her falling with him. He was still inside of her and she didn’t bother disconnecting with him as she laid her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his fast heart bear finally slowing down.

“We should really take a shower.” She whispered.

“We should burn this bed.” He added.

She was the first to stand up, her legs were slightly wobbly but she caught herself and headed back into the bathroom, turning the water on and stepped inside. Daryl joined her a minute later and both wondered if Charlie was home, if he was he surely heard them going at it.

After showering, drying, and putting on clean clothes, Evelyn walked down the hallway and didn’t see Charlie in the living room. “Charlie!” she called, but there was no reply. Glancing at the clock, she realized it was already 3 p.m.

“I’ll see you at the service,” she said, giving him a quick kiss before leaving.

She found him talking with Olivia. He avoided her gaze, likely having slipped back inside while Daryl and Evelyn had been… otherwise occupied. She spared him further embarrassment with a simple wave before heading to the infirmary.

Denise handed her the inventory report, and it wasn’t good. “Me, Daryl, Rosita, and Eugene are going on a run in a few days,” she said.

Evelyn nodded. “Have you gone on any runs before?”

Denise shook her head. “No, this would be my first time,” she admitted, and Evelyn could tell she was nervous, maybe even scared.

“You’ve got good, reliable people going with you. You’ll be fine,” Evelyn reassured her.

Glenn was up from his bed, still injured but feeling well enough to move. Denise had told him to get his body moving if possible. “How are you feeling?” Evelyn asked.

“Better… I can’t believe I’m going to be a dad,” Glenn said, his smile quickly fading into a shadow of sadness.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just… I know Maggie would like her dad and Beth to be here for this,” he admitted.

“Maybe you two could name the baby after one of them. If it’s a boy, her father; if a girl, her sister,” Evelyn suggested.

Glenn nodded. “Yeah… we talked about doing that.” He reached over and held his pocket watch. “Her dad, Hershel, gave this to me before he died.”

Evelyn sat across from him. “It’s a beautiful watch. He clearly cared for you and seemed happy that you and Maggie are together.”

Glenn smiled, opening the watch and watching the second hand tick before closing it. “I think I’ll give it to the baby when they’re old enough. Something to remember their grandfather by.”

“Maggie and her dad would like that,” Evelyn said, hugging him before moving on to her next patient, Aaron.

“Denise said you’re healing well—you can probably go home,” she told him as she unrolled his bandages and gently pressed on his ribs. He winced less than before.

“Eric will be glad. He gets stir-crazy when I’m gone long,” Aaron said.

“I heard you didn’t agree with Rick’s plan to attack the Saviors,” Evelyn said.

He nodded. “Yeah. From what people at Hilltop told me, the Saviors have tons of men and more than enough firepower. I know Rick thinks we can take them, but what if we can’t? We’d just be stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

“Gregory agreed too. I didn’t think he had the guts for something like this,” Evelyn said.

Aaron scoffed. “Knowing him, he’s probably hoping the Saviors and us will kill each other.”

Evelyn said nothing. That, more than anything, confirmed her doubts. Rick had made up his mind, and Maggie wanted a meeting to discuss it further—she didn’t like it either.

After finishing with Aaron, Evelyn gave him the okay to go home and some pain relief. Only Glenn remained. “It almost feels like when we first started working together,” she said, handing Denise some equipment for cleaning.

“I hope it stays that way,” Denise said.

The front door opened, and Father Gabriel entered. Evelyn hadn’t interacted with him much since Deanna’s disastrous meeting. He approached her with a warm smile, carrying a Bible.

“The memorial service is ready,” he said. “I thought we should honor not only Mark but everyone who’s died protecting Alexandria.”

Glenn frowned. “Mark sacrificed himself to save me and the others.”

“Yes, I know,” Father Gabriel said. “But Deanna, Nicholas, Charlotte, Anna, Sam… so many others died during the attacks. We should honor all of them.”

Evelyn nodded. “I agree. Thank you for thinking of them.”

Father Gabriel nodded to Denise and left. Glenn remained quiet. “He’s right. We should pay our respects,” Denise said, hoping he’d see it that way.

“Yeah, I know… it just started with Mark. He threw himself at walkers to save me, Michonne, David, and Nicholas,” Glenn said softly, not wanting to argue further.

“Mark didn’t do it for praise. He wanted you to see another day and to keep Alexandria safe. Out of everyone here, Michonne and you are two of the best protectors,” Evelyn said.

Glenn didn’t look at her but nodded. “I’ll still honor Mark the most, in private.”

Evelyn and Denise smiled and continued their work. Hours passed, and it neared 5 p.m. Evelyn stood outside the infirmary as the gate slid open. Rick walked in, approached by Daryl and Michonne first. She watched their discussion; Michonne’s surprise faded to neutral, and Daryl glanced at Evelyn before returning to the conversation.

Once Rick and Michonne headed to their shared home, Daryl made his way to her. “Did Rick tell Michonne about the deal?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yeah, she was surprised but agreed.”

Evelyn had hoped Michonne would side with Maggie and her. Maggie had arranged a meeting for the next morning to discuss moving forward with the plan. From what Evelyn saw, most of the group either disagreed but would go along, or they agreed outright.

By 6 p.m., Evelyn hung up her white lab coat as she, Denise, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and others headed to the church. Everyone in Alexandria attended, including Heather and Elijah. Father Gabriel stood at the podium, reading names of those lost to the Wolves and recent runs, inviting loved ones to speak.

Heather spoke first, honoring her late husband and thanking everyone who helped Elijah. Spencer spoke next, expressing frustration toward Rick’s leadership. Evelyn held Daryl’s hand to calm him, while Rick remained passive.

“Thank you for those words, Spencer,” Rick said. “I’ll finish the service with 1 Thessalonians 4:13–18…” He read with clarity, closing the Bible and announcing a small reception outside.

Outside, tents and tables of food recreated a sense of normalcy. Though Evelyn wanted to join, Maggie called a meeting at Rick’s home to discuss the attack on the Saviors. Attendees included Maggie, Glenn, Aaron, Tara, Heath, Daryl, Charlie, Michonne, Evelyn, Rick, and Carl.

“Maggie called this meeting because of the Hilltop deal,” Rick began. “I gathered more information about the Saviors. They have a satellite outpost 15 miles south of Hilltop and are extorting The Kingdom. Hilltop and The Kingdom must give half their supplies every two weeks; if they can’t, people die. We must strike first.”

The room was heavy with the weight of anticipation as everyone gathered at Rick’s home. Maps were spread across the table, marked with colored pins and rough notes. Evelyn could feel the tension radiating off the group—some silent, some quietly shifting, as if bracing for a storm.

“Maggie called this meeting because of the deal Hilltop made,” Rick began, his voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency. “While I was there today, I gathered more information about the Saviors. And what I’ve learned gives us even more reason to strike first.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. Evelyn could see the flicker of doubt cross some faces, the barely hidden fear in others. She noticed Glenn clenching his fists, jaw tight, while Tara’s hands trembled slightly at her sides. Daryl’s eyes were sharp, calculating, and Charlie’s gaze was distant, replaying memories of his time with the Saviors.

Rick continued, his finger tracing lines on the map. “They have a satellite outpost, about fifteen miles south of Hilltop. And they’re extorting another community—the Kingdom. Hilltop and the Kingdom are forced to hand over half their supplies every two weeks. If they fail… people die. It doesn’t matter who it is.”

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the occasional rustle of maps or shifting feet. Evelyn felt her stomach knot. The reality of their enemy—the Saviors—was worse than she had imagined. Their cruelty was methodical, indiscriminate, and terrifyingly efficient.

Charlie was the first to speak up, his voice tight. “I know where one outpost is, but that isn’t the only one. There’s another I was stationed at.”

Rick leaned in, eyes sharp. “How many outposts?”

Charlie hesitated. “I only know the one I was stationed at. I was there a couple of weeks before I left. There’s… there could be more.”

Glenn’s brow furrowed. “That probably means a main headquarters exists. We’re not dealing with a handful of men here. We’re dealing with a well-organized, dangerous network.”

Evelyn’s mind raced. Too many unknowns. Too many variables. This could go wrong in a dozen ways.

Rick’s tone softened slightly, but there was no mistaking the urgency beneath it. “I know this is dangerous. I know the odds aren’t in our favor. But if we wait, they’ll continue to grow stronger. They’ll keep taking, keep killing, and one day, it might be too late. We have a chance now to end them before it’s too late.”

Maggie’s voice cut through the tension, firm and unwavering. “We can’t let them control us. This is our home. We fight, or we watch everything we’ve built fall.”

Evelyn could see the conflict in Glenn’s eyes. He wanted to protect Maggie, to hold her back—but he also understood why she felt she had to act.

Rick stood, sweeping his gaze across the room, meeting each person’s eyes. “We’ll plan the attack carefully. Hilltop is on our side, and we’ll reach out to the Kingdom for support. We’ll bring Carol and Morgan back to strengthen our numbers. Once we strike, we make sure they can’t hurt anyone ever again.”

Tara shifted uncomfortably, biting her lip, and Evelyn placed a calming hand on her shoulder. “You okay?” she whispered.

Tara nodded, though her face was pale. “Just… remembering something,” she said, glancing away.

Rick gestured toward the table. “We take a vote. Who’s in?”

Hands went up—Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, Michonne, Charlie. Evelyn hesitated, her heart pounding, then lowered her hand. She felt a pang of isolation, the crushing weight of being the lone voice of caution.

“Outvoted,” she murmured under her breath, a bitter taste in her mouth.

Rick’s gaze lingered on the map. “It’s decided. We strike the two outposts. No survivors. We’ll coordinate with Hilltop, the Kingdom, and anyone else willing to join. This is our chance to protect Alexandria.”

Charlie leaned closer to Evelyn, his voice low but firm. “We have to do this. If the communities band together, we can end them.”

Evelyn felt a cold knot in her chest. Alone. Completely alone in this. She looked around the room at the faces of friends and allies, everyone seemingly ready to risk everything. The fear, the anticipation, the grim resolve—it all pressed down on her.

She walked over to Glenn and Maggie. “Since this plan is going forward anyway… make sure no one survives at those outposts. If anyone’s left, it will come back to bite us,” she said, her voice tight with urgency.

As she left the room, the air seemed heavier, the stakes impossibly high. Outside, the quiet of the evening mocked the chaos that was about to descend.

Outside, the church reception was disbanding. Sasha, Abraham, and Rosita stood guard. Rosita’s binoculars picked up movement on the road.

“Shit…” she whispered.

“What is it?” Sasha asked.

Rosita handed over the binoculars. Sasha’s jaw dropped. Thomas rode a motorcycle, constantly stopping to keep a massive horde of walkers moving toward Alexandria.

Abraham climbed a platform to get a better view. Sasha lined up her scope, aimed, and fired. Thomas fell, and some walkers faltered, but most stumbled onward, relentless in their advance.

Chapter Text

Sasha, Abraham, and Rosita fired relentlessly at the approaching horde, their bullets tearing through decaying flesh as the walkers shuffled forward. The monsters didn’t hesitate, their rotted arms stretching toward the defenders, jaws opening and closing with wet, guttural growls.

“We’re up a shit creek without a paddle,” Abraham muttered, his voice tight with panic, lowering his gun. Sasha and Rosita followed suit, realizing there was no way to stop the sheer mass of undead before they reached the gates.

Abraham snatched the radio, voice urgent. “Rick! We’ve got a massive walker horde coming! The walls aren’t stable yet!”

Rick’s hand went to his radio, heart pounding. “How many?”

“Hundred… maybe more. Thomas was leading them before Sasha put him down,” Abraham replied, eyes flicking nervously to the towers where the women still fired.

Rick’s chest tightened. “How much time?”

Rosita raised one finger. Abraham’s throat constricted. “One minute, maybe less.”

“Shit!” Rick yelled, the tension spilling into the room. Daryl pressed against the window, watching Abraham sprint down the street toward the reception, panic echoing in his every step.

“Everyone! Get inside the church! Huge walker horde!” Abraham shouted.

Panic erupted. People scattered, sprinting toward the church or any nearby homes. Sasha and Rosita continued their deadly dance, cutting down walkers one by one, but the horde was relentless, staggering forward like a tidal wave of decay. Abraham pushed into the church, slamming the doors and locking them. Around twenty people huddled inside, wide-eyed and trembling, most too frightened to fight. Father Gabriel’s hands shook as he helped shepherd them.

Outside, walkers breached the walls, paying little attention to the sniper fire above. Abraham froze in horror as he watched a pair of walkers take down a man and a woman trying to escape. His weapon hung uselessly at his side—any shot would draw more toward the defenseless crowd inside. His gaze flicked to the people huddled within: women, children, and the terrified priest.

Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Charlie, Maggie, Heath, and Aaron poured out of Rick’s house, weapons at the ready. They fought their way through the chaos, pulling some survivors to safety. Abraham exhaled slowly, tension easing slightly. I can hold them here. I can protect these people.

Elijah’s sudden cries pierced the air. Heather gasped, fumbling to lift her shirt and calm him.

“Shut that baby up!” hissed a panicked woman. Father Gabriel moved swiftly, taking Elijah and positioning him against Heather’s chest. The baby latched on, his cries muffled into soft suckles, the danger momentarily held at bay.

But the sound hadn’t gone unnoticed. The walkers outside shifted, their heads snapping toward the church, stumbling forward with renewed hunger. The group inside held their breath, hearts hammering as the creatures slammed against the doors and walls. Even the stained windows couldn’t hide the sound of life within, and Abraham’s jaw clenched in anger.

“This is your fault,” the woman whispered harshly to Heather, shaking her arm.

Heather’s eyes filled with guilt. “I’m sorry… he was hungry.”

Abraham stepped forward, gripping the woman’s arm and planting himself firmly between her and Heather. “Hold your damn horses,” he growled, his voice low, dark, and unyielding.

The woman stared at him, disbelief etched across her face, but she said nothing further. Heather adjusted Elijah, holding him safely against her chest. This time, the baby didn’t cry.

Abraham exhaled, keeping his eyes on the advancing horde. The calm was fragile, each second a countdown to chaos.

“You two should hide out in my office,” Father Gabriel said urgently, guiding Heather toward the small, windowless room in the back of the church. The only way in or out was the door, and it offered a rare sense of security. “Thank you,” Heather murmured as Gabriel shut it behind them.

Abraham stepped forward, gripping his handgun and knife. “You think you can protect your flock, Father?” he asked, his voice sharp.

Gabriel’s stomach twisted with fear. He had always avoided confrontation with walkers, and now he was surrounded by them—but when he looked at the terrified faces around him, he realized they were far more panicked than he was. Swallowing his fear, he nodded reluctantly, accepting the weapons Abraham handed him.

“I’m going to sneak out the back,” Abraham said, his eyes hard. “Lure any stragglers away from here… take care of it.” He disappeared toward the rear of the church. A lone walker staggered past the back door. Abraham kicked it in the chest, then shot it cleanly in the head. A child cowered behind the door, quickly closing and locking it as Abraham circled to the front. The horde outside, momentarily distracted, turned their attention from the church to him.

Meanwhile, Rick sprinted down the street toward Jessie’s house, cutting down walkers in his path. He reached her just as one nearly latched onto her arm. With a swift, brutal strike, he killed it, then helped her and her children inside. “You okay? Anyone bitten?” he asked, voice tense.

Jessie shook her head, catching her breath. Her eyes went to the dead walker Rick carried. “Why… why did you bring that in here?”

“We can’t stay outside. Those walkers will tear a house apart,” Rick replied, dropping the corpse on the floor.

Sam and Ron stumbled down the stairs, their eyes wide with terror. Ron’s glare was fixed on Rick. Sam froze behind him, horrified.

Rick’s voice was firm, calculated. “It’s a trick. If we cover ourselves with walker guts, it camouflages us. We can get past them.” He drew his knife, slicing the walker open. Jessie gagged, and Sam’s face twisted in horror until Ron clamped a hand over his mouth.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ron spat, his distrust raw. “You killed our dad—why should we trust you?”

Rick didn’t flinch. “Right now, I’m the only shot you’ve got. If your father were here, you’d be dead. Now grab anything—garbage bags, plastic—whatever you can wear.”

Jessie disappeared into the kitchen, fashioning holes for their heads, sliding them onto Sam and Ron, then herself. Rick donned his own, smearing himself with the walker’s entrails.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows. Evelyn, still at the infirmary, was preparing to leave when a figure lurched at the door. She yanked it shut with all her strength, slicing the walker’s arm in half. Heart hammering, she bolted to her office, arming herself with a gun from the drawer and keeping a scalpel at her side. Already, a group of walkers clawed at the front door, relentless and unrelenting.

Daryl and Charlie broke off from the main group, heading down another street toward the infirmary. They counted ten walkers massed at the entrance, moaning and scratching at the windows. Daryl lunged at the nearest one, yanking it backward by its matted hair and driving his knife into its skull. Charlie ripped another down beside him, but more were still coming.

Daryl tried the door, locked tight. “Evelyn!” he shouted.

Evelyn heard the urgency in his voice and sprinted, fumbling with the lock just as Daryl and Charlie reached the steps. She yanked the door open, letting them in, and slammed it shut, bolting it as the horde closed in.

“What… what’s happening?” she panted.

“Thomas led these walkers straight to us,” Daryl said grimly, his eyes scanning the street for the next threat.

Evelyn’s voice trembled with disbelief. “Are you serious? Thomas led them straight here?”

Daryl’s hands curled into fists, jaw tight. He slammed a chair against the wall. “I should’ve made sure that bastard was dead,” he growled, rage coursing through him.

Charlie pressed against the window, eyes scanning the swarming mass outside. The walkers pressed against the infirmary walls, their rotted hands clawing, gnashing teeth scraping glass. “If they push any harder, they’ll break in,” he warned, heart hammering.

Daryl’s mind raced. “We need to lure them all—away from the town.”

“How?” Evelyn asked, panic sharpening her tone.

Daryl’s eyes darted to the fuel truck parked a short distance away, its metal glinting in the dim light, and then to the pond behind it. His expression hardened. “Fuel, fire, pond. We dump it, light it, draw them like moths to a flame.”

Charlie followed his gaze. “Keys are in the ignition…we can make it.”

Daryl nodded. “Stay here, Evelyn. Keep the front clear. People may need medical help.”

They bolted out the back, shadows melting into the darkness. Walkers snarled and lunged at them, and Daryl’s knife sliced through the first one, metal flashing. Charlie dropped a walker with a clean shot, eyes never leaving the creeping mass behind.

The truck loomed ahead, its tires pressed into the dirt. Daryl vaulted into the cab, gun ready, and revved the engine. Charlie sprinted to the hose, straining under its weight, heart hammering. Fuel hissed into the pond, slick and shimmering, while Daryl shot back any walker foolish enough to approach.

Charlie flicked the lighter. Sparks kissed the surface, and flames erupted, the water reflecting a molten orange inferno. Heat licked their faces, the scent of burning fuel sharp in their nostrils. The walkers stopped, drawn like iron filings to a magnet. Their groans filled the air, hungry, unthinking.

Daryl leapt from the cab, landing in a crouch, breath ragged. Charlie followed, rolling to avoid a snapping jaw. The truck, now fully ablaze, creaked and groaned, a massive explosion ripping through the air seconds later. Fire and smoke twisted into the night sky. The ground shook beneath their feet.

The walkers’ attention snapped to the pond. They shuffled toward the fire, drawn to the heat and light, some even slipping and falling into the water, thrashing uselessly, dragging themselves down into the murky depths. Daryl and Charlie exhaled, tension still coiling tight in their bodies.

A gunshot cracked, snapping their heads toward the sound. Rick’s voice carried over the chaos—he was helping Jessie and her boys.

“Go check that out,” Charlie said, nodding toward the sound. “I’m heading back to the infirmary.”

Daryl sprinted off, knife flashing, gun barking in short bursts. Each walker felled was a heartbeat closer to safety. The screams and moans of the undead mingled with the hissing fire, the scent of charred flesh filling the air.

Charlie hesitated for a moment at the pond’s edge, watching the chaos unfold, sweat streaking his grime-covered face. The flames reflected in the walkers’ milky eyes, hypnotic and terrifying. One stumbled too close, legs entangled in the slick mud, and Charlie shot it point-blank, the head exploding in a crimson mist. He barely had time to breathe before he pivoted, scanning for the next threat.

Finally, he darted back toward the infirmary. The air was thick with smoke, burning lungs and the metallic tang of blood. Every step felt like walking through a living nightmare, and yet the plan worked—the pond was an inferno of distraction, the horde drawn away from the town.

He reached the infirmary and Daryl arrived moments later, breathing hard, adrenaline still surging. “Fire’s holding ‘em,” he said, shoulders sagging. “Let’s see who’s left.”

Charlie nodded, wiping soot and sweat from his face. “Too close,” he muttered, still scanning the perimeter. “Could’ve gone south any second.”

They leaned against the infirmary wall, listening to the crackle of the fire and the distant groans of walkers fighting the flames. The night was far from over, but for the moment, they’d carved a fragile margin of safety.

Meanwhile, Carl had slipped away from Michonne’s protection, making a break for Jessie’s home. Rick’s breath caught when he saw him. “I told you to stay at the house!”

“Michonne’s back with Judith,” Carl said, resolute.

Rick clenched his jaw but couldn’t argue now. He grabbed a plastic bag, fashioned a hole for Carl’s head, and smeared him with walker guts. “We’re heading to the infirmary. Evelyn’s alone,” Rick instructed.

They stepped outside cautiously, shuffling like the undead, eyes to the ground, mimicking walker movements. Sam froze, overwhelmed by fear, and began to cry. Walkers honed in on him instantly, ripping into him before Jessie could react. Ron’s horror and rage boiled over; he raised a shotgun at Rick.

Maggie intervened, stabbing Ron and as he fell, his gun discharged. Rick’s relief turned to horror when he saw the bullet had gone through Carl’s eye. “Dad…” Carl whispered, collapsing into Rick’s arms. Maggie and Daryl formed a protective shield around them as they raced to the infirmary.

Evelyn met them at the door. “Get him to the surgery table!” she ordered, pointing to a stainless-steel surface. Rick laid Carl down while Maggie and Daryl closed the door behind them. Evelyn’s hands went to work, controlling the bleeding.

“The eye is gone,” Evelyn said calmly, “but the bullet didn’t hit the brain. He’ll survive.” Rick slumped, the tension finally breaking.

Rick shook his head. “Ron shot him… Maggie stabbed Ron… the gun went off. It almost hit me.”

Evelyn looked at the ruined family in front of her. “I’m sorry, Rick. You were trying to help.”

Rick gave her a tired nod. “I owe you and Denise. Thank you both.”

Daryl finally entered, checking on Heath and Carl. “He’ll be okay?”

Rick nodded, leaning toward Daryl. “I’m glad you brought her from France.”

Outside, the survivors slowly emerged, surveying the devastation. Two dead, two wounded, the night still ringing with the echoes of chaos. Father Gabriel unlocked the church doors, ushering Heather and Elijah safely home.

Gabriel returned Abraham’s weapons. “Here… you should take one of them back,” Abraham said, taking the gun but leaving the knife. Gabriel accepted silently, retreating to the relative safety of the church.

Charlie climbed the guard tower beside Sasha. “We haven’t really talked…” he said.

Sasha didn’t look at him. “Talks are pointless. Actions speak louder.”

Charlie smirked slightly. “Evelyn used to call me a social butterfly when we were younger.”

Sasha raised an eyebrow. “Then let’s play the quiet game. Listen with your eyes and ears, not your mouth.”

Charlie nodded, eyes scanning the darkness for movement. The night was far from over, but for now, the chaos had quieted, and Alexandria’s survivors clung to the fragile sense of order they had fought so hard to reclaim.

Chapter Text

The car came to a screeching halt, tires crunching over gravel. Morgan killed the engine and slipped out, his senses on high alert. The road ahead was littered with bodies, sprawled grotesquely in unnatural angles. Gunshot wounds had riddled them; the smell of blood and gunpowder lingered in the air. He bent down, picking up a familiar rosary tangled in the dirt. Carol’s—he recognized it immediately from Alexandria.

Two blood trails streaked across the road, disappearing into the tall grass of a field. Fresh and dark, one seemed recent, the other drier. Morgan’s heart hammered in his chest. Knowing Carol, the drier trail was probably the one she left behind, the fresher one belonging to whoever she had incapacitated. Whoever she injured… was still out there, and the walkers were already coming, drawn by the scent of blood.

Morgan tightened his grip on his staff and moved forward cautiously, every step measured. The walkers’ guttural moans grew louder, teeth gnashing, arms flailing. One staggered too close, and Morgan struck swiftly, staff cracking against its skull. The smell of rot and decay was thick, choking him as he pressed on, following both trails.

The blood trails led him to a farm, its gate swinging open as if inviting danger. From behind a weathered barn, he could hear walkers shuffling and moaning, some trying to climb the slope. Morgan crouched low, staff at the ready, every nerve on fire.

Suddenly, a figure appeared—a man in protective armor, as startled to see Morgan as Morgan was to see him. The man wasn’t wounded, and his hands rose in surrender.

“I’m looking for my horse—they’re coming!” the man shouted.

Morgan barely had time to ask “Who’s coming?” before the man bolted, five walkers surging behind him. One lunged at Morgan, jaws snapping; he drove his staff through its skull with a sickening crack, moving fast enough to keep the man in sight.

A sharp interruption: a woman on horseback appeared out of nowhere, gun leveled at him. Morgan stumbled back, almost losing balance.

“Why are you chasing him?” she demanded.

Morgan raised his hands, staff dropped. “I’m looking for someone… Carol. I thought he might know where she is,” he explained.

Her eyes narrowed, then softened with recognition. “An older woman… short grey hair… injured?”

Morgan nodded, tension leaving him in a small wave of relief. “Yes. Is she okay?”

“She’s injured—passed out from blood loss. We were going to take her back to our camp when walkers kept appearing.” She lowered her gun slightly, but her gaze stayed sharp.

“I’m Morgan. I know Carol. Let me help,” he said. She nodded cautiously.

Outside, the group quickly arranged a makeshift stretcher, Carol strapped to a mule. The Kingdom was only a couple of miles away, but danger pressed in from every side. Morgan walked alongside, keeping close, glancing down at Carol’s pale, sweat-streaked face.

A sudden ambush of walkers jarred the stretcher, sending Carol to the ground. She awoke disoriented, gripping her side, squinting at the unfamiliar faces. She staggered, weak and confused, moving toward a small house at the roadside. A figure in the window flickered—a woman? No… a walker.

Morgan reacted instinctively, killing it before it could reach her. Carol’s legs buckled, and he caught her effortlessly, the warmth of her blood staining his hands. Once she was secure, the group pressed on, mule dragging the stretcher over rough ground.

Carol drifted in and out of consciousness, murmuring faintly, lost to the ringing in her head. Morgan’s eyes never left her, scanning the forest edges for more danger, until they reached a sturdy building. Inside, the doctor worked quickly, tending to her wounds, his hands precise and efficient.

“She’s going to need a lot of rest,” he said, eyes meeting Morgan’s. “She’s lost a lot of blood.”

Morgan’s relief was short-lived when a tall figure approached, announcing, “King Ezekiel requests your presence.”

Morgan followed, stepping into a grand auditorium, the ceilings high and the room cavernous. Rows of empty seats stretched into darkness, but his attention was immediately drawn to the stage. Sitting regally in a chair was a man with dreadlocks, a gleaming chain linking him to a massive tiger. The animal’s low growl vibrated through the floorboards, echoing off the walls.

“You may approach,” the man said, voice calm yet commanding. “I am King Ezekiel. Welcome to the Kingdom.”

Morgan’s steps were careful, deliberate. Every nerve on edge as the tiger’s growl rolled over him again. Ezekiel’s hand gave a gentle signal, and the tiger obediently laid down, though its eyes never left Morgan. The tension in the room didn’t abate; danger and awe coiled tightly in the air as Morgan finally allowed himself a cautious breath.

Morgan sat on the edge of the bed, staff across his lap, and stared at the ceiling. The Kingdom felt surreal, almost too perfect to be real. Outside the window, he could see children running through the gardens, their laughter piercing in its normalcy. Adults moved about with quiet purpose, tending crops, washing clothes, cooking, singing together in the gazebo. It was a tableau of peace, but Morgan’s instincts screamed at him: nothing this orderly could exist in a world like theirs without a hidden cost.

He rose and pressed his hand to the glass, scanning the horizon. The sunlight glinted off the walls, the fences, the people. Everything seemed alive with a careful, almost theatrical sense of safety. Morgan’s mind wandered to Alexandria—had it ever been this serene? Or had the outside world already crept in, undercutting the illusion?

Three days later, Carol’s eyes fluttered open. The light hurt, and for a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Shadows pooled in the corners of the room, and the air smelled faintly of antiseptic.

“You’re awake.” Morgan’s calm voice broke the silence, and Carol turned toward him.

“Where… am I?” Her voice was hoarse.

“It’s called the Kingdom.”

Carol’s gaze swept over the room. The faint golden light of morning streamed through the window, illuminating the Bible verse painted on the wall. She swung her legs over the bed, wobbled, and nearly fell. Morgan appeared instantly with a wheelchair.

“You’ll need this to move around safely. You need to regain your strength,” he said.

Grudgingly, she lowered herself into it. The wheels creaked as Morgan guided her through the hallways, out into a sun-drenched courtyard. Carol’s eyes flicked across the scene, taking in the thriving gardens, the carefully swept paths, the smiling faces.

“Why… why are they acting like nothing is wrong?” she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.

“They seem well-protected,” Morgan replied.

Carol’s jaw tightened. So this is just another illusion, she thought bitterly. “I want to warn you… the leader here, he’s… a little much,” Morgan added cautiously.

She scoffed, scanning the courtyard. Children ran and shrieked in carefree delight, men and women carried baskets of produce, and the faint smell of fresh bread drifted from somewhere nearby. “A little much? That’s putting it lightly,” she muttered.

They approached the great doors of a massive church. Carol’s eyes widened at the sight before her. On the stage, an African American man with dreadlocks sat upright like royalty, a gleaming chain connecting him to a massive tiger. The animal’s low, vibrating growl made her chest tighten, her instincts screaming that something was off.

“Enough, Shiva. The fair maiden has been through enough. She is our guest,” Ezekiel said, his voice calm, commanding. The tiger growled once more but obeyed, laying down beside him.

Carol forced a polite smile. “Welcome… I guess. I am… Carol,” she said, though every instinct in her body told her not to trust the show. The grandeur, the tiger, the theatrics—they all reeked of an act, a story carefully constructed to command obedience.

“You were injured, fair maiden, but rest assured, you will be safe here,” Ezekiel said.

“I… I feel safe,” she lied smoothly, her mind racing. This place is a trap waiting to happen. I need to leave.

Morgan turned her wheelchair gently toward the exit. Outside, she allowed herself to drop the polite facade. “Is he for real?” she asked, voice low, a sharp edge in it.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, exasperated. “Yeah. I think he’s for real. He’s been talking like this since we got here,” he said, shaking his head.

Carol’s eyes narrowed. “I have to get out of here… this place, it’s a joke,” she muttered.

“Like Alexandria?” Morgan asked softly.

She turned her face away. “I didn’t leave Alexandria because it was a joke… I left because I’m tired of having to kill and fight to survive and protect others,” she admitted, voice tinged with weariness.

Morgan nodded, understanding the weight of her words. “You know Daryl, Rick, Maggie… they’re probably worried about you. They may even come looking.”

“If they did, they would’ve found me by now,” Carol said. She didn’t flinch at the thought of being alone. “Rick has enough problems.”

Morgan felt the weight of her words, the gravity of her decisions. “You sure about this?” he asked.

“I’m sure,” she said quietly. “I’ll be gone as soon as I can. Please… respect that.”

He nodded, turning her back to the room. Carol rested, staring at the ceiling, the sound of her heartbeat loud in her ears. Outside, Morgan’s thoughts lingered on the strange Kingdom: its people, its order, its danger hidden beneath cheerful smiles.

Later, Richard approached Morgan. “We could use your help if you’re going to stay here,” he said, guiding Morgan to a truck with another man.

“We’re going to catch some pigs,” Richard added casually, as if this were an everyday chore, though the tension in the air suggested otherwise.

Morgan followed, watching as the pigs scattered down the street. The men from Hilltop corralled them into a building filled with incapacitated walkers. The pigs charged, squealing, tearing into the corpses. Morgan’s stomach churned at the noise, the smell of blood mixing with the rot.

“You’re going to feed these pigs to people?” he asked, incredulous.

“No. Not yet,” Richard said. Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he thought of the Saviors—those people Carol might have crossed paths with. These men were efficient, everywhere, and Morgan’s gut told him this Kingdom, for all its grandeur, had its own dangerous rhythm, one that he had yet to fully understand.

Chapter Text

The walker attack Thomas had led to Alexandria left Eugene shaking. He crouched in the shadows of the church, ears ringing from the cries of Heather’s newborn, the tiny wails cutting through the chaos like a knife. Every screech of the baby made his stomach knot tighter, every groan of the undead outside a hammer on his panic. He could feel the oppressive weight of fear pressing down on him; if the horde had breached the doors, the building would have crumbled in seconds.

Father Gabriel, of all people, seemed braver than Eugene. The priest had guided Heather and her baby into the office without flinching, standing as a shield between them and the threat. Eugene’s gaze followed Abraham outside—he was a storm of movement, gunfire echoing off the walls as he tore through the advancing walkers. Others from Alexandria had joined him, fanning out from their homes, and Eugene realized that protection came from those willing to act, not from those paralyzed by fear.

When the last walker fell and silence returned to the streets, Eugene felt an eerie stillness. The city smelled of decay and gunpowder, scattered corpses strewn across lawns and cracked pavement, sun glinting off the pale, blank eyes of the dead. He shook the images from his mind. In a few days, he would be out on a run with Denise, Daryl, Rosita, and Abraham. His plan had been clear for weeks: slip away at some point, make his way to the old mechanic shop Aiden had told him about. He knew the route; the challenge was finding a way to leave without drawing attention. Traveling with a group would be safer—but knowing some of these people, getting permission to break off on his own was out of the question.

Eugene was yanked from his thoughts when Daryl called him over. They would take a car to their first stop: a small apothecary Denise had known about before hitting the university. It was twenty minutes away, and Eugene’s stomach fluttered with equal parts dread and anticipation.

Denise, seated nervously beside Rosita in the passenger seat, fidgeted with her fingers. This was her first real run outside Alexandria, and Eugene could see the tension coiling her shoulders. Abraham and he took the middle seats of the SUV, while Daryl claimed the third-row bench, a sentinel in the back.

“You just take Route 10, five miles out,” Denise said quietly, her voice steady despite her pale face. “The apothecary will be on the right-hand side.”

The drive passed in tense silence, punctuated by the occasional click of seatbelts and the soft hum of the engine. No walkers appeared in the parking lot when they arrived, but every one of them moved like predators on high alert. Daryl rapped the knuckles of his fist against the glass, ears straining for any sound. When no answer came, he nudged open the door, silent as a ghost.

Denise led the way, finding a back-room door tucked into the corner. She pushed it open, revealing darkness so thick it seemed almost solid. Stacks of boxes loomed above them, forming narrow corridors like a maze. Something tapped against the far wall, a soft, hollow rattle that made her pulse jump. Shining her flashlight, she froze: a door, slightly ajar, and behind it, the unmistakable groans of a walker.

Her breath caught in her throat as she edged closer. The walker lay collapsed on the floor, its leg trapped in a makeshift cast. Fear prickled down her spine, yet something more chilling drew her attention—the red letters scrawled across the wall: HUSH.

Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the small pack-and-play shoved against the wall, photographs of a smiling toddler pinned to a desk. A cold dread settled over her chest. Then her gaze fell to the sink: black water, curling around a small, pale shoe, and a gasp escaped her lips. She stumbled backward, knocking over boxes in her retreat, heart hammering as she slammed the door shut behind her.

Daryl and Rosita rushed to the source of the noise, weapons raised. They paused when they saw Denise, tears streaking her face, trembling with terror.

“Keep it down,” Daryl growled, his voice low but firm.

Denise swallowed hard, brushing away the tears. “Sorry,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

Eugene, watching from the back seat, felt a cold, sinking weight settle in his gut. The world outside Alexandria was brutal, relentless, and even a routine run could turn deadly in an instant. Shadows shifted unnaturally between the trees, silence was punctuated by the faintest of taps or groans, and every snap of a twig sent his pulse racing. Death had a way of hiding in plain sight.

“What happened?” Rosita asked quietly, glancing at Denise.

Denise shook her head, eyes fixed on the map spread across her lap. “Nothing… just a little scared,” she said, half-truth and half-lie blending together. She couldn’t bring herself to tell them about the back room in the apothecary. The image of the female walker, leg in a crude cast, and the small blackened shoe floating in the water, haunted her thoughts. Was that the mother? Had she killed her own child before succumbing to the virus?

Eugene’s voice broke the silence. “You witnessed something traumatic.”

Denise swallowed hard, lips pressed tight. “There was a walker… a woman. And I think… she drowned her child before… you know.” Her voice trembled.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. He had seen plenty of horrors, but children… children always hit differently. Abraham and Rosita exchanged hard, knowing glances, the weight of what she said settling between them like smoke in the air.

“I wish I could say it gets easier,” Daryl muttered, eyes flicking toward the woods outside.

Rosita turned her gaze on Denise. “Listen, if you want, we can turn back to Alexandria. Skip the university—“

“No. I’m fine. I need to do this,” Denise interrupted firmly, shaking her head.

“Then let’s get the pony show on the road,” Abraham said, slapping the dashboard and starting the engine. The SUV rumbled down the road, tires crunching over gravel. Denise gave directions, navigating through the narrow, winding streets.

Fifteen minutes in, a loud bang echoed, followed by the unmistakable flapping of rubber. Rosita swore under her breath and pulled the SUV to the side, heart hammering. Daryl was the first out, kneeling beside the driver’s side tire, his eyes scanning the road.

Something glinted in the dirt. He picked it up—a square of jagged metal, a makeshift spike strip. “Someone laid this out,” he said, voice low.

“Are we being watched?” Denise whispered, panic rising in her chest. Her fingers clenched the edge of the doorframe.

“Safe to assume we always are,” Abraham said grimly. “Especially with that new group calling themselves the Saviors in the area.”

“Think it’s them?” Rosita asked, tension coiling her jaw.

“Could be,” Daryl replied, eyes narrowing. “But if they were watching us right now, we’d know.”

Eugene’s gaze stayed fixed on the strip. He looked past it, into the thick trees lining the road, calculating. One mile into the woods lay the mechanic shop he’d been planning for, the perfect place to work on ammo without interruptions.

“There’s a pit stop I need to make before we continue to the university,” Eugene said, voice calm but determined.

The group exchanged confused looks. Abraham stepped forward, arms crossed, eyes narrowing.

“That’s a negative. Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

Eugene didn’t look at him, eyes locked on the path ahead. “Mechanic shop. One mile straight into the woods. I can manufacture ammo there… ensure we’re ready.” He sidestepped Abraham, moving decisively.

Daryl and Rosita called after him, but he didn’t respond. Abraham growled, muttering, “Shit,” before following closely behind Eugene.

Daryl exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “We’re really letting them go like that?”

Rosita shrugged. “Eugene’s always felt like he didn’t contribute. This is his way of proving he can. And hey, he’s got Abraham with him—should be fine. We’ve got supplies to get to the university.”

Denise picked up the spike strip and tossed it into the ditch, brushing dirt off her hands. The forest around them felt alive with unseen eyes, the crunch of leaves underfoot echoing too loudly.

“If we had a spare, we could’ve fixed it,” Daryl muttered. “Guess we’re walking.”

“Maybe we go back to Alexandria, get another car,” Denise suggested. “It’ll take over an hour now, and who knows what delays we’ll hit on the way.”

Daryl shook his head, determination etched into his face. “Nah. We’ll find another car, hotwire it. This is nothing. Let’s get moving.”

He spotted a narrow trail winding through the trees. “Come on, right there. That’ll get us as close to the university as possible.”

Rosita folded the map, and they packed the supplies, slipping into the woods. The forest seemed to close around them, every shadow a potential threat, every snapping twig a reminder of what waited out there. They moved silently, every muscle tense, the distant groans of walkers echoing faintly, a chilling reminder that danger never slept.

At Carol’s home, the weight of the world felt lighter, though it had not completely lifted. The constant dread and guilt that had shadowed her days had eased slightly, replaced by a fragile calm. Ezekiel had become a near-daily visitor, his presence almost routine, so when a knock sounded on her door, she expected to see him. Instead, she was met with a sight that made her blink in mild surprise: Rick.

Her voice was quiet, soft. “Hey.”

Rick offered a small, almost tentative smile. “Hey back.”

She stepped aside, letting him enter, shutting the door behind him. He followed her into the kitchen. The house, though lacking electricity, was clean, orderly. Water still ran from the tap, a small comfort in a world that had lost nearly all of it. The generator rested silently in a corner, a tool reserved for necessity, and she wondered briefly how long fuel would last if she ever had to use it.

“I made some tea, if you’d like some,” she said, moving to the cupboard and placing two cups on the counter.

“Tea sounds good,” Rick replied. She poured his first, then her own, and they sat across from each other, the silence stretching comfortably before Rick broke it.

“Morgan said you left because you couldn’t stay in Alexandria anymore… care to elaborate?” His tone was gentle, but firm.

Carol sipped the green tea slowly, eyes downcast, tracing the petal pattern on her cup. “I’m always having to kill people to protect… everyone,” she said, voice low and steady. “It’s… weighing me down. I need peace, Rick.”

He understood. After everything she had done for them, he wouldn’t ask her to return if she didn’t want to. “Daryl misses you… I miss you too. So does everyone else in the group.”

“I miss them too,” she admitted quietly. “They can come visit me anytime.”

Rick hesitated, thinking of the upcoming battle with the Saviors. Morgan and Carol hadn’t been present for the planning session, but Rick knew he couldn’t ask her to join without acknowledging her need for peace. And yet, her skill could mean the difference between life and death for Alexandria.

“I hate to ask this,” Rick began carefully, “but when you were gone, we had a meeting… about attacking this group called the Saviors.”

Carol’s cup paused mid-air. “You’re… going to attack someone?” Her eyes widened slightly, disbelief mingling with curiosity.

He nodded. “Evelyn told me about her encounter with them. The leader—Negan—demanded that she come back with him as one of his wives. She refused. Now he’s doubled the order of supplies on Hilltop.”

Carol’s brow furrowed, thoughtful more than angry. “Order of supplies?”

“He goes around to communities, demanding half of what they have. If they don’t comply… he kills the people there.” Rick’s words landed heavily, each syllable a chilling weight.

Carol’s lips pressed into a thin line, considering the implications. “So you want me to help you attack them?”

“Yes,” Rick said simply, though the weight behind it was clear. “I hate asking, but with you, our chances of success increase.”

Carol’s mind raced. If this failed, countless innocents at Alexandria and the Kingdom could die. But if the Saviors were allowed to continue unchecked, the threat would inevitably reach them anyway. Slowly, she nodded. “I’ll help.”

Rick’s relief was palpable, his shoulders easing slightly as he stood. “Thank you. I’ll come back with details—when, where…”

He paused, hesitating. “Can I stay a little longer? Or do you have things to do?”

She smiled faintly. “I have things to do… and you should get back to Alexandria.” She took their cups to the sink, silencing any further small talk.

“It was good seeing you,” Rick said, walking toward the door. They exchanged a brief nod of understanding, and as she watched him disappear down the road, most likely disappearing into the woods beyond, Carol felt the familiar tug of responsibility—but now tempered with a quiet, controlled resolve.

Abraham trudged behind Eugene, the forest around them quiet except for the crunch of leaves underfoot. He tried to strike up some small talk, but Eugene’s mind seemed locked elsewhere, focused on the straight path ahead. Abraham’s instincts pricked at him; something about this felt off. The tire had popped at exactly the right spot. Too convenient.

“You’re awfully lucky that tire popped right where you needed to go,” Abraham said, his tone casual but edged with suspicion.

Eugene didn’t glance back. “A one in ten thousand chance,” he said coolly, continuing forward as though the world held no influence over him.

Abraham muttered under his breath, pacing himself to keep up. The mechanical shop loomed half a mile ahead. Small remarks about the tire and the timing gnawed at Eugene, but he maintained his rigid composure. Finally, he turned his head, fixing Abraham with a sharp glare.

“If you have a charge against me,” Eugene said, his voice clipped, “I kindly ask you speak it plainly.”

Abraham raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Fine. Straight shooter—did you plant that strip so the tire would pop and you could sneak off without any issues?”

Eugene’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Interesting theory. But that would have required foreknowledge, which I did not possess. The event was… unfortunate, yet fortunate. For the record, not my doing.”

Abraham scoffed and shook his head, following him in silence. Soon, they emerged into a small, abandoned town. Eugene’s eyes immediately found the mechanic shop tucked between a crumbling storefront and an empty lot. Behind it, a tall chain-link fence enclosed the yard. Several walkers lurked inside, their rotting hands clinging to the metal as they hissed and snapped at the intruders.

“Should be easy to handle,” Abraham said, pulling out his knife.

But Eugene ignored him, striding confidently to the gate.

“Hey!” Abraham barked, too late. Eugene slipped through, knife raised, facing the first approaching walker. The thing had metal bolted to its head—a grim, makeshift helmet of some sort. Eugene jabbed at it, miscalculating, the knife bouncing harmlessly off the metal. The walker lunged, teeth snapping inches from Eugene’s neck.

Abraham reacted instantly, plunging his knife into the base of the walker’s skull with precise strength. The creature collapsed in a heap.

“I had that!” Eugene shouted, more indignation than fear.

“That’s a nice way to say thank you,” Abraham replied, finishing off a second walker with swift efficiency.

“I did not request your assistance in coming with me or saving me!” Eugene snapped, irritation cracking his voice as he spun to face Abraham.

Abraham’s eyes narrowed. “Fine, Mr. Macho. Enjoy getting back to Alexandria on your own.” He wiped blood from his knife and strode off, leaving Eugene standing in the yard, his chest rising and falling with controlled frustration.

Once the yard was clear, Eugene entered the mechanic shop. The interior was a treasure trove—working equipment, tools scattered across benches, and raw materials in neat stacks. He immersed himself in the work immediately, oblivious to the faint creak of the floorboards behind him.

“Looks like we got a rat.”

The voice was deep, commanding, echoing off the concrete walls. Eugene spun, knife ready, to see four figures emerging from the shadows. Their leader was a tall man with blonde hair, half of his face scarred and burned, holding a crossbow that looked eerily familiar—like the one Daryl had once carried.

Eugene’s stomach clenched. This wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought.

Chapter Text

“Almost there,” Rosita said, folding the map and handing it to Denise. They were trudging along the railroad tracks, just ten minutes from the University. Denise’s legs ached, not from exertion, but from the gnawing fear that had been building inside her. The walls of Alexandria had been a safe haven, but they’d also been a cage, and she knew that if Alexandria fell, she would be utterly unprepared.

She watched Daryl and Rosita take the lead after Eugene and Abraham had split off. It didn’t make sense to her that they allowed the group to fragment so easily. She questioned Daryl, but he only shrugged, his gravelly voice telling her they had to keep moving.

Her thoughts drifted to Evelyn. The stories she’d pieced together from Mark and Louis painted a woman who had endured horrors Denise couldn’t imagine—forced to conduct brutal experiments in France, watching her patients die, yet somehow escaping and surviving against the odds. That courage, that sheer will to live and protect, inspired Denise.

“I’m glad I’m on this run with you guys,” she said softly, her voice carrying in the quiet of the forest.

Daryl and Rosita stopped walking. Daryl glanced at her, uncertain. Rosita’s eyes softened.

“I can see why Evelyn trusts you,” Denise said. “After everything she’s been through, feeling safe with someone is everything. I… I feel safe with you too. You remind me of my brother before he died.”

Daryl shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Denise smiled at Rosita. “I want to be stronger. I can learn from you, from your group. I had self-doubt before, but now… I think I can be stronger and—”

A sudden, searing pain shot through her neck. Her words cut off abruptly as she looked down, her eyes widening in shock. The sharp tip of an arrow protruded from the front of her throat.

Daryl reacted instantly, catching her before she collapsed. Rosita yanked her gun free, but a group of men emerged slowly from the shadows, calm and deliberate. Denise felt the world narrow down to a terrifying focus: outnumbered, outgunned, trapped. Eugene was bound nearby. One of the men held Daryl’s crossbow, his half-burned face illuminated in the fading sunlight.

“I was aiming for you,” the man said. His voice carried an edge of cold amusement. Daryl’s eyes narrowed.

“I should’ve killed you,” Daryl spat.

“Yeah, you really should have,” the man—Dwight—replied with a smirk.

Daryl’s fists clenched, his mind racing for a solution, but Rosita’s soft whisper stopped him. “Don’t pull it out.”

Denise’s vision blurred, pain and shock threatening to overtake her. A strange calmness washed over her, a fleeting peace as she wondered if this was what death felt like.

Daryl gently laid her down on the tracks. She was barely conscious, her breaths shallow. Dwight, with a cruelly casual precision, fired another bolt. It struck Denise squarely in the head, ending her struggle instantly.

“She was suffering,” Dwight said, shrugging, as Daryl and Rosita leveled their weapons at him. The other Saviors mirrored them, guns trained on the pair.

Dwight pressed a hunting knife against Eugene’s neck, the metallic edge biting into his skin. “Hand over your guns, and you’ll take us to your group. Negan’s very keen on finding your hideout… and he’s looking for another wife.”

Daryl’s anger flared, but Dwight’s knife drew a thin line of blood, forcing him to pause.

“You think this has anything to do with us?” Daryl growled.

Dwight’s smirk widened. “He wants Evelyn. Charlie’s sister. She’s with your group.”

Daryl’s step forward was menacing, but Dwight pressed the knife harder into Eugene’s neck. Blood trickled down, searing Eugene’s shirt. Rosita knelt, placing her gun down slowly, her eyes never leaving Dwight.

“Good,” Dwight said, lowering the blade slightly. “I’m a reasonable man.”

Eugene’s mind raced. He couldn’t allow the Saviors to find Alexandria. With a surge of desperate courage, he twisted his body and bit down with everything he had on Dwight’s groin. Dwight screamed, staggering back, dropping the knife. The other Saviors scrambled, caught entirely off guard by Eugene’s bold, chaotic attack.

Chaos erupted on the railroad tracks, and the fragile balance of power shifted in an instant.

Abraham had followed the tracks, remembering from the map that the railroad could lead them to the University. A loud, agonized shout pierced the air from over the hill. Abraham dropped low, peeking over the ridge, and saw his group engaged with another—and from the sounds, it was clear this group was not friendly.

Eugene was locked onto the blonde’s groin, teeth sunk deep, as the man screamed in pain and swung wildly, striking Eugene in the face and head. Abraham opened fire, forcing the Saviors to scatter. Rosita and Daryl ran into the woods, guns at the ready. Bullets tore through the air, and one by one, the attackers fell. Eugene finally released his grip when Dwight struck him across the forehead with the butt of his crossbow and sprinted into the woods.

Abraham continued firing in pursuit of Dwight, then quickly helped Eugene to his feet. Daryl and Rosita provided cover fire as the four of them ran, pushing hard to create distance from Dwight and his men.

Daryl was the first to stop, chest heaving, sweat and blood mingling on his face. He glanced back; the path was empty. “It was just them out here,” he said. “If there were more, they’d have fired.”

“Did you know that guy… the burnt-face blonde?” Rosita asked, still catching her breath.

Daryl nodded grimly. “Yeah. He was running from Negan with two women and Charlie. I tried helping them… but they betrayed me—or maybe they were found.” His eyes darkened as the memory hit: Denise was dead. She was dead because he hadn’t killed Dwight when he had the chance. Guilt swarmed over him like a living thing. How could he tell Evelyn that her apprentice had been murdered—and that it was his fault?

Abraham noticed Daryl retreating into himself and caught his arm. “You gotta let that go.”

Daryl jerked free, eyes narrowing at the redhead. Without a word, he stormed off. Rosita, Eugene, and Abraham had no choice but to follow. Abraham grabbed the bag Daryl had dropped; they didn’t dare go back for Denise’s supplies. Another run would have to wait. The Saviors had to be dealt with first.

“We have to get rid of them,” Daryl muttered, fists clenching. “Every run we go out, we run into them. It’s only going to keep happening… until one day, they make us take them back our people.”

“I say sooner rather than later,” Abraham said. “This group’s been nothing but trouble from the start.”

Eugene’s eye was swollen shut, a bruised purple blossoming across his temple. Pain radiated down his cheek. He muttered weakly, “I need to see Evelyn.” No one responded. They were all lost in their own thoughts, their minds heavy with grief, fear, and frustration. They needed to get back to Alexandria.

Daryl’s thoughts kept returning to the same dark place: He’d failed Denise. She could’ve been saved if Dwight hadn’t killed her. Her innocence, her effort to help their people, all gone in a single, senseless act. He remembered Evelyn’s pride in Denise, how she had been preparing a small, intimate party to celebrate her accomplishments as a doctor. Tara was going to be there—Tara, who had been Denise’s partner, would be devastated.

“Tara is going to be devastated,” Rosita said softly, voice breaking slightly.

Daryl clenched his fists. Evelyn was going to mourn, Tara was going to mourn, and he had to live with the fact that Denise had died for no reason at all. She had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Nothing anyone could say would make it right.

In the infirmary, Evelyn kept pacing, glancing out the window every few minutes. Anxiety knotted her stomach as darkness began to settle. They should have been back by now. Rick had returned from his visit with Carol and updated Glenn, Maggie, and Evelyn on her condition and location.

“Daryl and I should go see her,” Evelyn said, her pace quickening again.

Rick gently caught her shoulder and turned her to face him. “How about I bring them back here once they return? It’s a long trip—they could be back later tonight, or even early tomorrow.” His words eased her slightly, but the familiar tightening in her chest returned—the same fear she had felt the first time she tried running away from Carlos.

The journey back to Alexandria had been tense and quiet. Daryl’s anger was palpable, like a thick mist surrounding him. The other three kept a careful distance. As the gate slid open, Glenn and Maggie stepped forward to greet them, but Daryl didn’t acknowledge anyone, walking straight toward the infirmary.

“Daryl… what happened?” Rick called after him.

Daryl stopped but avoided Rick’s gaze, staring at the ground. “Denise is dead,” he said, continuing without pause even as Rick tried to reach him. Evelyn heard his name and immediately sensed something was wrong. Daryl’s eyes were downcast, a shadow of the fear he once carried as a child under his father’s wrath.

Evelyn met him at the infirmary steps, placing her hands gently on his chest. His blue eyes bored into hers, heavy with anger and grief.

“I’m sorry… it’s my fault she’s gone,” he said softly.

Evelyn felt a tear slide down her cheek and covered her mouth with her hand. “How could it be your fault?” she asked, lowering her hand and wiping away the tear. Daryl shook his head, silent, on the verge of tears. She pulled him into a tight hug, feeling his shoulders shake as he clutched her shirt.

Rick knew it was best to leave them alone. Evelyn glanced over Daryl’s shoulder as she held him, and Rick gave a curt nod before walking away. She gently released him enough to cup his face, meeting his eyes. Wordlessly, she led him into the infirmary. There were no patients tonight, just them.

Daryl sat on one of the beds, recounting everything that had happened to Denise, every detail of who had done it. Evelyn listened, overwhelmed by the story, and then sat across from him, lifting his chin so they were eye to eye.

“This isn’t your fault,” she said softly. “You were trying to do the right thing. Don’t ever think for a second that doing the right thing is wrong.”

Daryl wanted to believe her, but a small voice inside insisted it was his fault. “Where’s Tara?” he asked.

“She’s at home, I’ll go tell her,” Evelyn said, standing. Daryl grabbed her wrist. “Let Rick tell her,” he whispered. She nodded, sitting back down and looking up as someone entered the room.

Eugene, unable to tolerate the pain any longer, stepped forward. “I apologize for intruding, but I need medical attention for a contusion on my left orbital bone structure,” he said formally.

Evelyn immediately moved to him, guiding him to a chair. She examined him carefully and concluded he had an orbital fracture, but it didn’t require surgery. He would need to rest for a few weeks and apply ice to reduce swelling. She handed him strong pain relievers.

“Thank you, doctor,” Eugene said, glancing briefly at Daryl before leaving.

Daryl remained seated, and Evelyn wrapped her arms around him again.

“Negan wants you,” he muttered, muffled in her shoulder.

“What?” she asked, looking down at him.

“Dwight—the one your brother was with, the one I tried to help—told me Negan wants you. If he finds Alexandria, he may take you. I know you don’t want to attack them first, but we need to get rid of them. The longer they’re out there, the more chances they have to find us.”

Evelyn considered his words. “If he wanted me, he could have forced me at Hilltop. More likely, he’d try to manipulate the situation so I’d go willingly… but you’re right. This group needs to be dealt with,” she said softly. It went against her nature, but she knew the Saviors were becoming a threat to Alexandria’s very survival.

Chapter Text

The Saviors were becoming a huge problem for Alexandria. Every time the group went out on a run, they ran into someone from the Saviors, and someone from their own community was injured—or worse. Fear was spreading through Alexandria; some people worried the Saviors already knew their location, using psychological warfare to terrorize them even before physically attacking.

The infirmary was filling up fast—six injured, ten dead. Rick called a meeting that night; the attacks were getting out of hand. Evelyn remained at the infirmary, tending to the injured, while Daryl promised to give her an update after the meeting.

“Rick, we have to do something. These Saviors will keep hitting us on every run,” Glenn said.

Glenn had recovered from his last injuries, and Evelyn had cleared him for normal duties, but he had been among the most recent victims of a run gone wrong. One of their people had died and had to be left behind. If the Saviors knew Alexandria’s location, they hadn’t yet acted on it, though even traveling to Hilltop was becoming too dangerous. Maggie, as the liaison between Alexandria and Hilltop, spent most of her time there. Glenn hated that she wasn’t home, but it was safer for her.

“We’ll attack in two days,” Rick said. “These raids have to stop. We’ll hit them at their outposts—Charlie will lead one group to his old outpost, and I’ll lead another to the other. Volunteers from the Kingdom and Hilltop will meet us at a halfway point. From there, we split into our groups and take everyone out.”

Rick glanced at Glenn. “How’s Maggie?”

“She’s doing okay. They did an ultrasound yesterday; the baby looked fine,” Glenn said, smiling faintly. “I just wish I could be there with her.”

Rick clasped his shoulder. “Hilltop is the safest place right now. With these attacks happening, I don’t want her out there.”

Glenn nodded, knowing he could try to visit her tomorrow. Rick knew he’d go anyway if denied.

After the meeting adjourned, Daryl headed toward the infirmary. Charlie caught up with him.

“Think this plan will work?” Charlie asked, skepticism in his voice.

Daryl shrugged. “People can think what they want. We’ve pulled off bigger missions than this.”

Charlie hesitated. “I’m impressed with how your group works together. I just don’t want this to fail. If it does, it’ll be all of our heads.”

“It won’t fail. We can’t let it,” Daryl said firmly.

Evelyn had just finished dressing a stab wound from the latest Saviors attack. She wondered just how many of them there were; Charlie’s old outpost had been huge, and he suspected the other one was just as large.

“Meetings over,” Daryl announced.

“And?” Evelyn asked, washing her hands.

“We’re attacking in two days,” Charlie replied.

Evelyn nodded. “The sooner the better. These attacks are affecting our supplies.”

Charlie added, “I’ll lead a team to the outpost I came from. Rick’s leading the other.”

“Are you on Rick’s team?” she asked Daryl.

He only nodded, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, staring at the floor. Evelyn recognized the look—he was lost in thought again. Denise’s death weighed heavily on him.

“You’ll get wrinkles if you keep furrowing your brows like that,” she teased, tapping the space between his eyes with a small smile. He didn’t respond, but his face relaxed slightly.

“Tara’s been wanting to talk to you,” Evelyn added.

As if on cue, Tara appeared in the infirmary. Daryl tried to leave, but she grabbed his vest.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” she said.

“You two should talk in my office,” Evelyn suggested. Tara led Daryl down the hallway and closed the door behind them.

“I don’t blame you,” Tara said. “Blame the Saviors for Denise’s death. Stop thinking it’s your fault—you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Dwight killed her. I tried helping him back when I met Charlie…she probably would still be alive if he were dead,” Daryl said.

“Denise wasn’t cut out for this world,” Tara replied. “She was happier learning from Evelyn. She wanted to prove herself, but if it wasn’t Dwight, it would’ve been someone else.”

“Are you even upset? You act like it’s just another death,” Daryl asked.

“I feel like a piece of me died when Rick told me. I was looking forward to seeing her complete her training. But…she didn’t die in vain. She died trying to help us,” Tara said softly.

“I hope the asshole who shot her dies a slow, painful death. I want to be the one to do it, but not everyone gets that luxury,” she added, sitting beside him.

“Also, you tried helping Dwight and his group. Don’t think that makes you the bad guy. You’re a good man, Daryl,” she said with a smile.

Charlie, watching, whispered to Evelyn, “You think Tara can convince him?”

Evelyn sighed. “I hope so. I love Daryl, but sometimes I don’t think anyone can reach him like Tara can.”

“You help him in ways nobody else can,” Charlie continued. “You’re the drive that keeps him going. What Dwight said, about Negan wanting you, made him furious. He wants to burn the Saviors to the ground to keep you safe.”

“How would you know that?” Evelyn asked.

Charlie told her about the night Daryl returned with Eugene, Rosita, and Abraham, and how Daryl had promised to protect his sister at all costs.

“Do you love her?” Charlie asked Daryl.

Daryl stopped pacing, faced Charlie, and remained silent for a long beat.

“I’ve never felt this way about a woman before,” he finally said.

Charlie knew that was his code for yes. “You should tell her. Evelyn probably thinks she can’t help you,” he advised.

Daryl didn’t respond—he stormed out instead. Charlie shrugged and returned to his book.

Evelyn, biting her lip and pacing, was left to process everything. Charlie left to meet Sasha, leaving her alone.

Tara and Daryl finally emerged from her office. Their talk seemed to have gone well. Tara said her goodbyes, leaving now just Daryl and Evelyn, alone in the infirmary. 

“You’re not useless,” he said. She widened her eyes. He stepped closer.

“Sometimes you’re so far away from everyone…even I can’t reach you,” she admitted.

Charlie had been right—Evelyn did sometimes feel powerless when it came to Daryl, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t trying. She understood him in ways no one else could. He had cared for other women in the group, but it had always been different with her. Carol was family, a friend he trusted with his life but never loved that way. Beth had softened him at times, but their connection had never cut this deep. With Evelyn, it was something else entirely—a tether he couldn’t ignore, even when he tried.

“You always reach me,” he said finally, his voice low and raw. “It… it gets harder and harder every time we lose someone.”

Evelyn’s heart tightened at the weight in his words. She reached for his hand, letting him feel her presence, grounding him. “I know you do. And I know you need time. You process things differently than anyone else. But don’t ever think I won’t be here, Daryl… I’ll always be by your side, through every fight, every loss.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, and for a moment the world outside the infirmary disappeared—the chaos, the Saviors, the losses—they didn’t exist. Only her. Only the way her eyes softened when she watched him, the quiet strength in her hands, the steady heartbeat she offered when his own felt like it would tear itself apart. He pulled her closer, instinctive and desperate, as if holding her could somehow stop the weight he carried from crushing him.

“I… I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he admitted, his voice breaking, rough with emotion he rarely let escape. “I’ve never… never felt this way about anyone.”

Her chest ached at the vulnerability he revealed. She pressed her forehead to his, feeling the tremor in his body, the quiet storm of guilt and grief he carried. “You’re not alone, Daryl. You never have to be. Whatever comes, whatever we face… we face it together.”

He leaned down then, closing the gap, and kissed her—slow, almost reverent, like he was afraid if he moved too quickly the moment might vanish. Evelyn returned it with equal intensity, wrapping her arms around him as if anchoring herself to him. When they broke apart, barely, he whispered, a note of wonder and fear in his voice:

“I love you.”

Evelyn’s breath hitched, and tears pricked at her eyes. “I love you too,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with the depth of everything she felt—fear, hope, relief, and a quiet certainty that somehow, together, they could survive the world outside.

Outside the window, Rick paused, seeing the two of them. He felt a rare smile tug at his lips. Daryl had found someone who could reach him, someone who could steady him. It was a moment of fragile peace amidst the chaos. Rick turned and walked toward his home, knowing Michonne and his kids were waiting, while inside, Daryl and Evelyn clung to each other, a small sanctuary of love in a world that constantly demanded their strength.

Chapter Text

Waiting for them to return was unbearable. Evelyn tried to keep her hands busy, tending to patients, wrapping wounds, checking vitals—but even with her body moving, her mind refused to stay still. Every shadow, every distant sound, whispered a single terrifying question: what if something went wrong? Almost everyone capable of fighting was at the two outposts. If they succeeded, it could rid them of the Saviors. But a nagging fear wormed its way into her thoughts: what if there are more Saviors than just at those outposts?

If the Saviors survived—or worse, if Negan himself discovered how many of his people had fallen—the retaliation would be merciless. Evelyn shivered at the thought of Alexandria burning and her friends killed. The weight of responsibility pressed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Um… Evelyn? That’s a little too tight,” Louis said, wincing as she finished wrapping the bandages around his arm.

“I’m sorry, Louis,” she said quickly, loosening them just enough to restore circulation.

“I know you’re worried,” he admitted quietly, his gaze soft. “I’m worried too.”

They hadn’t spoken much since arriving at Alexandria. Louis kept to his duties, to the runs. Glenn had trusted him to be reliable, capable, quiet, and quick—traits that had saved lives before. Now, injured and resting, he was vulnerable, and Evelyn couldn’t help but feel a pang of helplessness.

“Almost everyone is gone,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “If this doesn’t work… who knows how Negan will react if he finds out it was us. If a lot of his people were killed… I can’t even imagine.”

Louis let out a shaky breath. “The Saviors… they remind me of Carlo’s men.”

Evelyn chuckled softly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You think we crossed the Atlantic on your boat to escape him… but maybe all we did was trade one nightmare for another. We’ve got an American version of Carlos now.”

Louis shivered and sank deeper into the pillow. “Honestly… I don’t know anymore. I think wherever we go, trouble finds us. Someone always wants what we have—or they’re just a psychopath who wants to kill everything in sight.”

Evelyn’s mind circled back to Negan. Where did he fall? Was he greedy, or was he insane? From her single encounter, he seemed pragmatic, calculating, but cruel. He wanted resources—and when he didn’t get them, he punished people mercilessly.

“When we left France,” she said softly, “I thought… maybe Alexandria would be safe. For a while, it was. But you’re right. No matter where we go… we’ll always have to fight, always have to protect our own.”

She leaned back, letting herself exhale a slow, quiet breath. There would never be a garden of Eden—not for them. All they could do was fight, protect their homes, their people, and those they loved.

“I’m going to turn in for the night,” Louis murmured, rolling onto his side, back to her, eyes closing.

Evelyn rose silently, shutting the door to her office behind her. She sank into her chair, resting her head on her folded arms. “Just a few minutes… just close my eyes for a bit,” she whispered. Fatigue pulled at her, insistent and unforgiving. Soon, the quiet of the infirmary and the soft weight of exhaustion overtook her, and she drifted into a deep, restless sleep.

“This isn’t over,” Charlie whispered, his voice tight with unease. The outpost had been completely cleared—the Saviors inside were dead—but as he rifled through the offices and storage rooms, his chest tightened. Maps, papers, lists of names… this outpost was just one of many.

Charlie’s stomach sank. Killing everyone here wasn’t a victory—it was a provocation. He snatched up the radio, pressing the talk button with trembling hands.

“Rick!” he shouted, voice cracking.

“Rick here,” came the reply, steady but tinged with concern.

“Rick, we fucked up,” Charlie said, his words clipped and harsh. Silence stretched on the other end, and then he continued, his voice low, almost strangled by disbelief. “The outpost we hit… it’s just two out of a dozen.”

Daryl’s head snapped up, his jaw tight. He snatched the walkie from Rick’s hands. “How do you know that?” he demanded, gruff and sharp.

Charlie gestured toward the papers. “I’m looking at this map. There are eleven other outposts, not including this one. And these papers… they list every person stationed there, the shifts, who stays and who returns to the main base.”

Daryl’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to throw the walkie across the room. He had thought that taking these outposts would weaken Negan, that it would send a message. Instead, it felt like pouring gasoline on a fire.

Rick swallowed hard, stomach twisting as the truth settled over them all. “We need to leave,” he said finally, voice taut with dread. Without waiting for responses, he turned and strode toward the truck, stepping over the bodies of the slain Saviors, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Those left behind exchanged uneasy glances. Fear and anger mingled in the air. Volunteers from Hilltop and the Kingdom were among the tensest, their expressions tight with worry and frustration.

“All we’ve done is kick a hornet’s nest,” one Hilltop man muttered, bumping into Daryl’s shoulder as he passed. Daryl didn’t respond; what could he say? Words wouldn’t undo the danger they’d invited.

“We need to get out of here… and get Maggie from Hilltop,” Glenn said, worry etched into his face. His mind immediately went to his pregnant wife—safe for now, but with the Saviors alerted, nothing could be guaranteed.

Carol’s voice was barely audible as she walked past. “This… this is going to lead to an all-out war.”

Unseen by them, a lone Savior watched from the trees, hidden and silent. He studied the group, noting familiar faces and identifying the leaders. Only when the last car drove away did he speak into his walkie.

“Negan,” he said, calm and precise.

“What is it, Simon?” came the sharp, expectant reply.

“Outpost 10… hit. Everyone dead.”

Negan chuckled darkly. “Really? You caught them?”

“Yeah. Looks like the people from Alexandria. They had help from Hilltop and the Kingdom.”

Negan’s smirk widened, his amusement chilling. “Oh, this is going to be fun. Time to re-educate them… and find out where this Alexandria group is. Can’t wait to introduce myself.”

Simon relayed the second outpost’s fate, and Negan laughed again, a low, dangerous sound. “Charlie boy… we’re going to have a long talk. Lucille’s got a few words for him, too.”

Simon left to handle the bodies and collect the paperwork. Negan poured himself a drink, surveying the names. “Damn… almost sixty dead. That’s a lot of fuel for a fire.”

“We should inform the families,” Simone said quietly.

Negan nodded, commanding them to assemble in the main hall. When the Saviors gathered, he stood tall, holding up the papers. “These people are dead,” he announced, voice carrying across the room. “Killed tonight by three different groups.”

The hall erupted with cries of grief and anger, but Negan’s booming voice cut through. “Quiet! I will handle this personally. We know who did this. We will find the others, and they will pay.”

Once the room emptied, Negan turned to Simone. “First stop, Hilltop. You can handle that, right?”

Simon nodded silently. Negan’s gaze shifted to Alexandria. That was his true target. He wanted to know where they were, what they had, who they were. And when he found them… he would take it all.

Back at Alexandria, the quiet felt heavy, almost suffocating. Carol had not returned with Rick’s group, choosing to distance herself for now, leaving Daryl and Charlie to walk in tense silence. The weight of failure hung between them, and both were relieved that Evelyn was not home.

Charlie collapsed onto the couch, leaning back and running both hands down his face, then hiding it in his palms. “We’re fucked,” he mumbled, voice tight with fear.

“No shit,” Daryl replied, his jaw rigid, fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to scream, punch, anything, but there was no one to vent at. This was their mistake, and now they had to figure out a way to fix it.

“We’ll come up with something… try to fix it,” Daryl said, though even his own words sounded hollow.

Charlie scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothing you can do to fix this. We should’ve planned better… done more research… or maybe we shouldn’t have done it at all,” he admitted, voice raw.

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “You really that scared of one guy?”

Charlie stood, shoulders tense. “Yeah, I’m terrified of Negan. It’s not just him… it’s all of them. That group isn’t like anyone you’ve ever met. Hilltop and the Kingdom supply them because they don’t want to die—they know what happens if you cross Negan.”

“He’s not taking anyone,” Daryl said hotly, voice firm and unyielding.

Charlie shook his head. “If they find us, he’ll take whoever he wants. If Dwight isn’t just fucking with your head, and Negan really wants Evelyn… he’ll do it. He may not make her his wife, but he’ll take her.”

Daryl’s glare could have burned through steel. “He ain’t taking anyone.”

Charlie walked toward the door, glancing back. “Tell Rick he better get ready,” he said before leaving, leaving Daryl alone in the house, stewing in a mix of fear, rage, and helplessness.

Later, Evelyn returned home, lights off, a quiet unease settling over her. She found Daryl sitting in the dark on the couch, shoulders hunched, fingers nervously rubbing together. He didn’t greet her. She sat beside him anyway.

“Are you going with Rick and them tomorrow to get Maggie?” she asked softly.

“Mhmm,” he grunted, eyes cast downward.

Her heart ached at the weight he carried, the guilt and worry etched across every line of his face. “I’m going too. I heard Negan took Dr. Carlson, and I offered my services.”

Daryl jerked his head up, disbelief and frustration flashing across his features. “You’re really going out there?”

“I’ll be with you guys, not alone,” she said gently, eyes steady.

He scoffed, irritation laced with fear. “As Charlie said… we fucked up. Who knows if we even make it to Hilltop without getting ambushed, and you want to help people you don’t even know?”

Evelyn’s gaze hardened, unwavering. “I can’t just stay here. Hilltop needs help. I’ll come back when you leave, but I’m going to help those who need it now.”

Daryl’s chest tightened. This stubborn compassion, this refusal to put herself first, was part of why he loved her—and part of why he wanted to shake some sense into her. He reached out, taking her hand, the tension in his fingers giving away his worry. “You gonna be going back and forth between groups… it’s dangerous.”

“I’ll play it by ear,” she said softly, leaning slightly against him.

Daryl exhaled heavily, finally allowing himself to relax just a fraction. “You exhaust me,” he muttered.

Evelyn smirked, teasingly brushing a hand along his arm. “I don’t see how… we haven’t even gone to bed together yet.”

For the first time all night, a small, fragile smile broke across Daryl’s face. In the darkness of their home, amidst the uncertainty and danger outside the walls, they found a brief moment of solace in each other—a reminder of why they fought, why they endured, and why they loved.

Chapter Text

“He’s chest sounds clear, and there’s no blue tint on his fingernails or the corners of his mouth, so he’s getting enough oxygen,” Evelyn said, carefully placing the stethoscope back in her bag. She had stopped by on a house call for Elijah after Carl mentioned the baby was sick. The little three-month-old was coughing, congested, and running a fever. Evelyn checked inside his mouth—moist, healthy—but her heart still tightened at the sight of his tiny frame struggling.

“He’s still eating, but his appetite has gone down,” Heather whispered, wringing her hands nervously.

“I’d spoon or syringe-feed him a little at a time if he won’t take a bottle. Hydration is crucial. Watch for any trouble breathing,” Evelyn instructed, her voice steady but tinged with concern. She gave Elijah some infant Tylenol to soothe his discomfort and handed him back to Heather. The baby settled quickly, curling into sleep like he trusted no one else but them.

The women left the room quietly. Heather poured coffee, her hands shaking slightly. “Are you really going to be a go-between doctor… especially now, after the attack didn’t go as planned?”

Evelyn sighed, holding her coffee tightly. “I’m not sure anymore. I’ll need to talk to Rick first—this only made sense if the attack worked.”

“I don’t think you should go at all. Alexandria needs you,” Heather said, her eyes flickering with worry.

Evelyn shook her head, her jaw tight. “Everyone needs a doctor, Heather. Even non-Alexandrians.” Heather opened her mouth, but Evelyn cut her off gently, knowing she couldn’t dissuade her.

Outside, Rick was organizing the group. “I’ll get Evelyn,” he said. Daryl handed Abraham a gun. Rick entered Heather’s home to find Evelyn finishing her coffee.

“We’re leaving,” Rick said firmly.

Evelyn nodded and handed the cup back to Heather. “Take Elijah to the infirmary if you need to,” she told her friend. The plan was simple—go, help where needed, and return before nightfall. Everyone knew staying at Hilltop with the Saviors hunting them was a death trap.

She was the last to climb into the RV, pressing her back against a cabinet to steady herself. “We can’t stay long… do what you can, then we leave,” Rick instructed. Evelyn swallowed, bracing herself. She couldn’t ignore anyone in need, but this mission would test her limits.

The road back to Hilltop was tense, every mile thick with anxiety. Eyes scanned the woods, watching for ambushes, for traps, for any sign of danger.

At Hilltop, Evelyn ran straight to the doctor’s office. Patients were already waiting. The first was a young man with a deep, partially infected stab wound.

“This is going to hurt. I need to clean and drain it,” Evelyn warned.

He tried to endure silently, but she encouraged him to let out the pain. Once cleaned, she stitched the wound and bandaged it carefully. “Change this daily. Take the antibiotics I gave you.”

The next patient had a broken ankle. Evelyn used the limited supplies to splint it as securely as possible. “It’s a closed, stable fracture. Six weeks at minimum to heal—don’t overexert yourself.”

Meanwhile, in Gregory’s office, tension erupted. “That wasn’t part of our deal!” Gregory shouted, slamming his hands onto his desk. Rick and the group remained calm, but the anger simmering in the room was palpable.

“You promised the Saviors would be gone! How many were there?!” Gregory demanded, his voice trembling with fear and frustration.

Rick’s tone stayed even. “We thought we could weaken them by taking out the two outposts, but there are ten more… plus their base.”

Gregory’s face twisted with rage. “You made us take this deal!” He shouted

”We didn’t make you do anything.” Maggie interjected hotly.

”Look Marsha-“ Gregory began before Glenn interjected, firm and controlled. “It’s Maggie, not Marsha.”

”Whatever, your group promised to get rid of the saviors and you failed and your lady doctor didn’t keep her end of the deal all this group does is make deals they can’t keep.” Gregory said. “The new deal is this, Evelyn stays here and she’s our doctor, least then she can start repaying her debts.”

”Evelyn agreed to come here and help when needed, not to stay here permanently. Her home is Alexandria.” Rick said.

”Either she stays here or our deal is over.”Gregory threatened.

”She ain’t staying.” Daryl said, his voice low and filled with a deadly steel. 

“You’re all a bunch of liars!” Gregory shouted. the façade cracking, and Daryl snapped. Before anyone could react, he struck Gregory, fury boiling over. Rick and Abraham restrained him, Glenn holding him back as he struggled to contain his rage.

Evelyn rushed to Daryl, grabbing his arm. “Come with me,” she said, her voice firm but calm. She guided him to a back room, Jesus following silently.

“What happened?” she asked, arms crossed. Abraham and Glenn explained.

“We don’t expect you to stay here, Evelyn,” Glenn said gently, concern lacing every word.

“I can help them find another doctor. This is my fault in part,” Evelyn admitted, guilt twisting her gut.

Daryl’s jaw clenched, anger and fear warring in his eyes. “You won’t be doing anyone favors by staying out of guilt. You belong in Alexandria.”

“You think Gregory would protect you if the Saviors came for you? He only cares about himself,” Daryl added, voice low, almost pleading.

“I know. I’m not staying for him. The people here—Dr. Carson, Heather, Elijah, Jesus—they’ve helped us,” Evelyn countered, determination hardening her features.

Jesus nodded. “It’s unsafe here, Evelyn. Alexandria is safer.”

Evelyn took a breath, letting her fear mix with resolve. “Then we go rejoin Rick.” She moved first, with Daryl and Jesus flanking her, Abraham and Glenn following.

Gregory tried one last manipulation. “Your part-time work here should become full-time!”

Evelyn’s patience snapped. “I’ve treated your people. They’ll be fine. My patients in Alexandria need me.”

Daryl stepped forward, a living warning. “Try me,” he said coldly. Gregory flinched, backing down.

Rick added, “It’s your choice, Evelyn. But with the Saviors on the warpath, you won’t have another chance like this.”

“I’ll do my part, even if I have to go alone,” Evelyn said.

“No you don’t,” Daryl said, stepping beside her. “I’ll go with you if it means that much.”

Evelyn smiled, leaning into him for a brief kiss on the cheek. For a moment, the chaos didn’t matter—they were together, anchored amidst the storm.

“We should get going… I don’t want to get caught on the road,” Rick said, his voice tense as everyone filed into the RV. It was already 2 in the afternoon. They had stayed at Hilltop longer than Rick had wanted, but they had completed what needed to be done. Evelyn slid into the seat beside Maggie, who was pale and sweating lightly.

“I’ll be your OB/GYN now,” Evelyn said softly, placing a hand over Maggie’s, “I’m not a specialist in this field, but I will do everything I can.”

“Thank you, I—” Maggie’s words cut off as her face went ashen. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips. She doubled over, clutching her stomach.

Evelyn’s pulse spiked. She quickly pushed the nearby table aside and, with Michonne’s help, guided Maggie to the small bedroom area.

“What’s going on?!” Glenn exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside his wife. Maggie cried out again, curling tightly on the bed, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

“Maggie, I need to examine you,” Evelyn said firmly. Maggie nodded weakly, uncurling just enough. Evelyn retrieved gloves from her bag and swiftly but gently placed one hand on Maggie’s lower abdomen, sliding two fingers inside. Her other hand pressed over the uterine area, checking for tenderness and rigidity. A wave of dread hit her—everything pointed to abruptio placentae—but without an ultrasound, she couldn’t be certain.

“We need to get back to Hilltop!” Evelyn called sharply to Rick, who was gripping the wheel. The chaos behind him made it almost impossible to focus. Rick slowed, turning the RV around cautiously. Daryl sprinted to the front, scanning the road ahead.

Suddenly, walkers appeared from the tree line. Rick swerved toward an opening, but then a white truck came hurtling down the side road. Bullets shattered the cabin, making everyone dive for cover. Evelyn scrambled over Maggie, pressing herself against her, trying to shield her from flying debris and the chaos around them. Glenn’s arm was over Maggie’s head, trembling as he tried to protect her.

When the gunfire subsided, the others emerged from their cover, returning fire. Abraham’s precise shots hit the truck’s front tires, sending it careening into a ditch. Evelyn’s hands shook as she clutched Maggie, trying to calm both herself and her terrified friend. 

Evelyn’s stomach twisted. This had to be the Saviors. Were they being watched the whole time, or was this just a lucky ambush? Her mind raced—this felt exactly like the cruel traps Carlos used to set, herding people like cattle.

Rick slammed on the brakes again, faced with a roadblock of chained walkers. “Shit,” he muttered, eyes wide with urgency.

“They’re herding us,” Daryl growled, scanning the area.

“Should we get out and try to remove the debris?” Rosita suggested, voice tight with fear.

Rick shook his head. “No, we go back the way we came. Too risky.”

“No—we can’t! Hundreds of walkers behind us!” Glenn shouted, panic rising. Evelyn tried to help Maggie dress again, her hands trembling. She felt utterly helpless as Maggie groaned in pain, Glenn’s arms wrapped tightly around her for comfort. Evelyn pressed a cooling pad to Maggie’s fevered forehead, trying to ease the 101.8°F temperature with the limited supplies she had.

“What’s wrong with her?” Glenn asked desperately.

“I need an ultrasound, but I suspect abruptio placentae—the placenta is separating from the uterine wall,” Evelyn said, voice tight. Maggie’s sobs cut through the tense silence, and Evelyn guided her to breathe slowly, trying to instill calm.

Daryl watched the trio, tension etched into his every movement. Rick suddenly shouted—they had reached another roadblock, and this time, walkers descended immediately. Evelyn’s heart hammered in her chest. She grabbed the hunting knife Daryl had given her and strapped it to her thigh. Glenn grabbed her wrist, eyes wide. “Don’t leave her.”

“I won’t,” Evelyn promised. Abraham, Rick, Carl, and Rosita fought outside. Minutes of intense gunfire passed, until finally the roadblock was cleared. Evelyn stayed pressed to Maggie, calming her as best she could.

The woods grew darker, the sun long gone. Maggie’s pain worsened. Sweat dripped down her pale face. Glenn whispered words of comfort, though his own fear was palpable. Evelyn’s hands shook as she checked Maggie’s pulse, reassured by the steady beat but terrified by the growing contractions.

As Rosita maneuvered down a gravel side road, a sign flashed: Hamilton Park. Relief was fleeting. Ahead, the same group of men from before blocked the path. Before they could reverse, more emerged from the woods, surrounding the RV.

“Run through them,” Michonne whispered. Rosita nodded. But then the RV door swung open. The sound of guns cocking echoed around them, a chorus of impending death. Dwight stepped forward, crossbow in hand, smirking as he surveyed the trapped group.

One by one, they were pulled from the RV. Maggie was dropped onto the ground beside Evelyn. Glenn was forcibly separated, helpless to intervene. Car lights flared, blinding them temporarily. Evelyn could not see the faces of those in front, but voices cut through the tense air—the Saviors’ voices, cold, mocking.

“Anyone else?” a male voice asked. Evelyn stiffened.

“No, that’s everyone,” Dwight replied.

Then, the man himself: Negan. He walked down the RV steps, tall, broad-shouldered, a neatly trimmed beard framing his smug grin. His eyes swept over each face before landing on Evelyn.

“Well, look who it is—Evelyn, right?” he said, a dark, amused smirk spreading across his face.

Evelyn froze. Fear clawed at her chest, but she forced herself silent, keeping her focus on Maggie. Negan’s gaze lingered on Eugene next, teasing mercilessly.

“We pee-pee in our pants yet?” His voice was light, almost jovial, but every word dripped with menace. He rested his bat casually on his shoulder. “I hate to be feeling how ya’ll are feeling right now… that kind of fear? I’d be shitting in my pants, because you know… you’re royally fucked.”

Evelyn’s hands tightened around Maggie. Her heart raced. Every muscle in her body was coiled, ready to protect her, ready to fight, terrified of what was coming next.

Chapter Text

“And look who it is, Charlie-boy!” Negan’s voice cut through the tense air like a whip. He leaned down, lowering himself to Charlie’s level, his grin a mix of amusement and menace. “I’ve been wondering when our paths would cross again. You know I don’t take kindly to people abandoning their post… but you already know that, don’t you?”

Charlie’s eyes flicked nervously, then met Negan’s gaze. Evelyn’s stomach twisted as she watched, dread pooling in her chest. What would happen to her older brother?

“I don’t like how you run things,” Charlie said, his voice steady but quiet.

Negan’s smirk widened as he straightened, chuckling darkly. He scanned the group. “Which one of you pricks is the leader?”

Simon pointed. “There’s Rick.”

Negan sauntered over, boots crunching against the ground, until he stopped before Rick. “So, you’re Rick, huh? I’m Negan,” he said, casual but dripping with threat. Rick said nothing, eyes burning with contempt. Negan’s chuckle deepened, almost hungry, as if savoring the defiance.

“I don’t appreciate you killing my men,” Negan continued, pacing slowly along the line. “A lot of them. You even went and attacked two outposts—killed even more of my guys when I sent reinforcements to finish you off. Not cool. Not cool at all. And I’m gonna show you exactly how not cool that is. You’re gonna regret crossing me… in a few minutes.”

He paused, turning to face the whole group, letting his presence fill the space. “Let me make something crystal clear: this is the new world order. No matter how hard you fight, no matter how many people you kill… you don’t mess with the new world order. I am the new world order. And the new world order is this: you will give me half your shit, and you won’t complain. When we knock on your door… you will answer that door.”

Negan’s grin stretched wider, his voice softening slightly as he leaned in. “Now pay attention, class, because I’m only gonna say this once. If you deny me anything… if you don’t hand over what I want, I’ll kill you. And believe me—I don’t want to kill you. I’d rather you work for me. But someone has to pay for all the lives you’ve taken at my outposts. And because I’m such a generous guy… I’ll let one of you take one for the team. Who wants it?”

Silence. A suffocating, heavy silence.

Negan’s grin widened like a predator’s. “Wow. So you’re leaving the decision to me, huh? Fine. Let me introduce you to someone.” He held up Lucille, the barbed-wire-wrapped bat gleaming in the dim light. “She’s awesome, and she’s gonna beat the holy hell out of one of you. Let’s see… who’s feeling lucky?”

He started down the line. Eugene’s face crumpled, tears spilling as he looked down at the dirt. Michonne didn’t flinch, her eyes cold and unyielding. Negan paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “Look at you… such a badass. Nah, not you. You’re gonna be very useful to me.”

He came to Charlie next, raising Lucille as if to strike. Charlie didn’t flinch. Evelyn let out a soft whimper, eyes brimming with desperation, silently pleading. Negan glanced at her, chuckled, then lowered the bat.

He stopped before Evelyn, kneeling so their eyes met. She didn’t flinch. “My offer still stands,” he said, voice deceptively gentle.

“Are you going to kill someone if I refuse?” she asked, her voice steady but sharp.

Negan’s grin softened slightly. “No. I’d rather women come to me by choice. I don’t believe in… that.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “My answer is no.”

He nodded, straightening to his full, menacing height. His gaze swept over the group and landed on Maggie. She looked sick, feverish, almost ghostlike.

“You look like shit,” he said, nudging her with Lucille. “I should just put you out of your misery.”

“NO! Don’t, please!” Glenn shouted, leaping forward, but Dwight slammed him back into place. Negan’s eyes flicked over him, then back to the others.

“Listen up,” he barked. “You all stay in line. Nobody pulls that shit again, because I WILL SHUT THAT SHIT DOWN! NO EXCEPTIONS. That one’s free. This is emotional… I get it, I really do.”

He glanced one last time at Maggie, then stepped back, letting the tension hang like a heavy storm cloud over them.

Negan grinned, stepping closer, the weight of Lucille in his hands making the air feel heavier. “You know what?” he said, voice playful, almost teasing. “How about I do this, since I get to pick somebody? But I just can’t decide.” He swung Lucille casually toward Carl. “Eenie, meenie, miney, mo—”

He moved along the line, the bat tapping each person lightly, almost rhythmically, each thunk resonating like a death knell in Evelyn’s chest. Her heart hammered, drowning out everything else. Every step he took was a countdown. Every flick of his eyes sent shivers down her spine. When Lucille finally stopped on Abraham, the world seemed to tilt.

Rosita’s sob tore from her throat before she could stop it. Negan’s grin widened, dark and dangerous. “Anyone moves. Anyone breathes wrong. I cut the kid’s other eye out and feed it to his dad. Then we start.” He waved Lucille theatrically. “You can breathe, you can blink… you can cry. And hell, you’re gonna do a lot of that after I’m done.”

Abraham lifted his chin, his jaw tight, defiance burning in his eyes. “Suck my balls.”

The first strike of Lucille cracked against his skull. Evelyn’s scream caught in her throat, her hands clawing at her face. Rosita’s wail split the air as Abraham’s head exploded under the relentless blows, flesh and hair sticking to the barbed wire, the sound wet and sickening. Negan laughed, a low, booming sound that rattled the bones.

“Did you hear that? Last words? ‘Suck my balls!’” he crowed, spinning Lucille to show off the grisly trophy.

He crouched, lifting the bat inches from Rosita’s face. Blood dripped from Lucille, and Negan’s grin was a slash of malice. “Were you two together?” His voice was soft, almost intimate. “Look at Lucille… marvelous, huh? Beating your boyfriend’s brains in.”

Rosita’s gaze went straight to the ground, refusing him. He shoved the bat closer. “LOOK AT IT!” he shouted, the sound bouncing off walls like thunder.

Daryl erupted, swinging at Negan with everything he had. Skin, blood, rage—everything collided. Simon and Dwight pulled him down, his arm choking his neck while Dwight pinned his arms.

Negan spat a tooth, wiped the blood from his jaw, and crouched before Daryl, gripping his hair and forcing his gaze upward. “You should not have done that,” he said softly, almost savoring it.

Then he turned to Charlie. The first strike split his skull like an egg under a hammer. Blood and gore sprayed across the ground. Evelyn’s scream echoed, torn from her lungs as she watched her brother’s eye bulge grotesquely.

“Holy shit… your eyeball’s popped out… and you’re still alive,” Negan mocked. 

Charlie tried to speak, stammering, “Evelyn… Sasha… I’ll—”

Another strike. Another. And the last, final blow. Charlie’s head was smashed into pieces.  Michonne was still kneeling beside him, splattered in gore, but her eyes were unflinching, unblinking.

Daryl went rigid, paralyzed by horror, guilt crushing him. Evelyn’s vision blurred, tears mixing with blood spatters in the dim light. She couldn’t bear to look at Charlie’s decapitated body. Her eyes found Sasha, anguish mirrored in her friend’s face, a silent scream.

Negan removed his black gloves, tossing them aside with casual flair. Lucille, still slick with blood, hovered over Daryl. “I said I’d shut that shit down,” he said, voice low and dangerous, his thumb flicking toward Charlie’s corpse. “That one’s on you.”

Daryl collapsed, shaking, his world broken. Negan’s laugh followed him, echoing like a monstrous chorus, sealing the moment into their memories forever.

“Daryl…” Evelyn whispered, her voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears. She wiped at her tears and murmured his name again, desperate for him to meet her gaze. But he couldn’t. His eyes were locked to the ground, every line of his body taut with guilt. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, but fear rooted her in place—one wrong move, and someone else could die.

Maggie’s hands covered both Sasha’s and Evelyn’s, warm and trembling, offering what little comfort she could in a world that had just shattered around them.

“Let’s go on a drive, Rick.” Negan’s voice sliced through the heavy air. He grabbed Rick by the back of his collar, yanking him upright. Rick stumbled, unsteady on his feet, while Carl called out to him. But before he could respond, Negan tossed him into the RV with brutal ease. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he started the engine. “We’ll be back. You guys wait here.” The RV lurched forward, kicking gravel into the air, and disappeared down the road, swallowed by darkness.

The group didn’t move. Not a twitch, not a word. Daryl was shoved back into his spot between Rosita and Glenn. Glenn wanted to speak, to reach out to ease the guilt gnawing at Daryl’s chest, but the words died in his throat. Rosita had gone numb. Her eyes stared straight ahead, empty, emotion buried under shock. Carl alone observed everything, cold and calculating, every movement of the Saviors etched into his memory.

Time stretched. It felt endless. And then, finally, the RV returned. Rick stumbled out, soaked in blood that wasn’t his own. Negan’s grin was as wide as ever. “Do you understand now that I’m in charge?”

Rick’s blue eyes met his, cold, unflinching. He tilted his head, defiance simmering beneath the exhaustion. “It might not be today… maybe not even tomorrow… but somewhere soon, I’m going to kill you,” he promised.

Negan’s smirk curved upward. “I had a feeling you were stupid, Rick. Guess I’ll have to teach you the hard way.” From a holster, he pulled a small hatchet and tossed it in front of Rick. “Either you chop your son’s hand off… or I kill all your people here.”

Evelyn’s stomach lurched. He wasn’t bluffing. Her pulse raced as Rick hesitated, hands shaking, horror etching lines into his face. Negan screamed at him, taunting, demanding, urging him to act or else everyone would die. Rick’s anguish broke through, his wails echoing across the silent yard—he could not maim his own son.

Negan took a marker, scrawling little lines on Carl’s wrist. “Cut there,” he ordered.

“Dad… it’s fine, just do it,” Carl said softly, laying his arm flat, courage masking fear.

“You’ve got a doctor here! She can patch him up, so do it!” Negan barked again.

Rick lifted the hatchet higher, shaking, but Negan yanked it from his hands. “You should be proud of your kid,” he said, handing the weapon to Simon.

Daryl remained slumped beside Rosita, eyes fixed on a piece of gravel, refusing to acknowledge the horror around him. Evelyn whispered his name once more, silent and desperate, wishing she could pull him back from the edge.

“Load him up,” Negan commanded. Dwight grabbed Daryl, hoisting him into the back of a truck. “No… no…” Evelyn whimpered, her voice breaking.

Negan’s gaze swept the group, landing on Daryl and Evelyn. “I like him—he’s got balls. Unlike a bitch I know. I’m going to keep him. And if you disobey me again…” He paused, smirking. “I will cut pieces of… Daryl. Send them to you. And to Evelyn.”

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Alright. Let’s get out of here. You can keep this truck—haul my shit. I’ll be back in a week to collect my supplies. You folks… have a great rest of your day.”

Negan and his men climbed into their vehicles, engines roaring to life. The convoy disappeared down the road, leaving Rick’s group in the heavy silence of their ruined world. All that remained was grief, guilt, and the pieces of their shattered lives scattered at their feet.

Chapter Text

Glenn stayed by Maggie’s side once the last of the Savior vehicles disappeared down the gravel road. “Are you okay?” he asked softly.

“I’ll live,” Maggie replied, though her thoughts were elsewhere—on Sasha, Rosita, and Evelyn. They had suffered the greatest loss today. Evelyn and Sasha knelt on either side of Charlie’s body. Sasha wept quietly, while Evelyn carefully removed the watch their father had given Charlie when he graduated from law school, along with his class ring.

“Sasha…” Evelyn whispered, placing the ring in her friend’s hand. Sasha’s eyes widened, and she instinctively tried to return it, but Evelyn refused. “You should have it… to remember him by.” Sasha’s heart tightened at the gesture. Memories of Charlie were too painful to face, yet she silently slipped the ring into her back pocket, giving Evelyn the smallest nod and fragile smile she could manage.

Nearby, Rosita and Eugene stood beside Abraham. Neither spoke for a long moment. “We may have had our differences,” Eugene finally said, voice low, “but he kept me alive. It was an honor to travel with him.”

“This is war… we have to fight back,” Rosita said finally, jaw clenched, eyes hard. Eugene did not respond, staring down at Abraham’s body.

“They have Daryl… we can’t attack,” Rick reminded her. Rosita’s knuckles whitened, her fist tightening around the grief and rage inside her. She turned her head away, rising to her feet. “We need to bury them.”

Rick nodded. “We can put them in the bed of the truck, take them to Hilltop.” Together, they lifted Charlie and Abraham, placing them side by side. Maggie still felt weak, her focus split between her own recovery and the devastation surrounding her.

Evelyn stayed close, knowing Maggie could not dwell on Charlie’s death or Daryl’s capture. Words failed Maggie, but Evelyn helped her to the doctor’s office.

As they arrived at Hilltop, Jesus let them through the gates. Gregory watched from his office window, a sneer crossing his face.

“What happened?” Jesus asked Rick as he approached.

“Negan,” Rick said, voice flat. Jesus’ eyes widened, glancing at the truck.

“Who did he kill?”

“Charlie and Abraham,” Rick replied, lowering the tailgate. Jesus stared at the headless bodies, recalling the brutal pattern of Negan’s methods. “Daryl?” he asked.

“Negan took him,” Rick said grimly.

Gregory stepped forward. “Why are you back? If Negan found you—he knows everything. Knows our involvement in the outpost attack—and I can’t—”

Evelyn cut him off, pressing the barrel of a revolver between his eyes. Silence fell. “I’ve decided to stay here and be Hilltop’s doctor while Maggie is here,” she said, voice steady, “and since I’m staying, any medical decisions are mine. If you have a problem—” she pulled back the hammer, “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Rick’s instincts screamed to intervene, but Jesus simply raised his eyebrows, a hint of amusement in his gaze. Gregory trembled, giving a short, tight nod. Evelyn lowered the gun, handing it to Glenn, and helped Maggie onto the examination table.

“She lost her brother… she’s on edge,” Carl commented, prompting stifled snickers among the group. Gregory muttered to himself as he returned to his office, humiliated and fuming.

Evelyn began the ultrasound, applying gel to Maggie’s lower abdomen. Though not an OB/GYN, she focused intently, determined to help. “The placenta has slightly detached,” she observed.

“Is the baby okay?” Maggie asked, her voice tight with worry.

Evelyn adjusted the transducer, and a strong, steady heartbeat filled the room. Glenn and Maggie exhaled in relief. “The baby’s fine,” Evelyn said. “You need to stay in bed for at least a week—no lifting, no moving. Let your body heal.” She turned off the machine and handed Glenn a paper towel.

“Looks like we’re staying here,” Maggie said, a hint of resignation in her voice.

Evelyn nodded. “Yes. And if Gregory has a problem… I’ll kill him myself.” Glenn and Maggie exchanged worried glances—they had never heard her speak like this.

“Evelyn, if you need to talk…” Glenn started.

She shook her head. “I’m going to help bury Abraham and Charlie. Just stay in bed, okay?” She found a blanket for Maggie and started an IV to rehydrate her. Slowly, Maggie began to feel stronger, both physically and mentally.

“I’m worried about her… she lost her brother, and Daryl was taken,” Glenn said quietly. Maggie nodded. “I agree with Rosita… we can’t let the Saviors continue to oppress the groups,” she added.

Evelyn joined Rick, Carl, Eugene, Jesus, Michonne, Sasha, and Rosita by the garden. Together, Sasha and Rosita chose a spot for the graves. “You picked a good spot,” Evelyn commented. “The sun will always shine on them.”

Hours passed as they dug, lifted, and laid Abraham and Charlie into the earth with as much dignity as they could manage. Evelyn fashioned makeshift crosses from branches and twine, placing them at the head of each grave.

Rick approached Evelyn. “I’m going back to Alexandria… you’ll be okay here, right?”

“We’ll be fine,” she said. “Go back. The people of Alexandria need to know what happened.”

“I’ll stay,” Sasha added. “Maggie needs me. Evelyn needs me. And… Charlie and Abraham are here. I need to be here a bit longer.”

Rick hesitated, reluctant, then pulled Jesus aside. “Can you keep the peace between Evelyn and Gregory? I’ve never seen her like this… I think she’d kill him without a second thought.”

Jesus smiled faintly. “I’ll make sure things stay copasetic here.”

The rest of the group departed, leaving the four of them behind. Rick’s mind raced with what he would have to tell Alexandria. They were the fourth community under Negan’s control, and he knew that in a week, Negan would return to take whatever he pleased. His thoughts drifted to Denise and the others who had gone for supplies but never made it. Rick’s determination hardened; he had to make it to the university and get the supplies they needed.

A week had passed.

Tension at Hilltop was palpable. Gregory made no effort to hide his disdain, keeping his distance from Evelyn and deliberately avoiding the doctor’s office. She had full authority over all medical decisions, and Gregory knew better than to interfere.

Evelyn adjusted the transducer on Maggie’s lower abdomen, scanning carefully. Relief washed over her as she observed the healing tear. “I think getting out of bed will be okay,” she said.

“Thank God,” Maggie replied, stretching slowly. “A week in bed was driving me crazy.” Glenn hovered nearby, ready to catch her at any moment, while she cleaned the remaining gel from her skin.

The four of them lingered in the office, enjoying a rare moment of calm, though the tension in Evelyn’s chest didn’t ease. Her thoughts drifted automatically to Daryl.

“You think he’s there?” she asked, voice tight.

Glenn, Maggie, and Sasha understood immediately. Negan would be heading to Alexandria today to collect his latest order. Evelyn’s stomach knotted painfully at the thought. She longed to see Daryl, to know he was alive.

Rick had visited Hilltop three days prior, heading to the university to gather whatever supplies he could. Alexandria was running dangerously low on food, weapons, medical supplies—even clothing. Dwight had relayed Negan’s demands, warning that failure to comply would result in Daryl being mutilated and pieces sent to Rick and Evelyn.

“Probably,” Glenn said, nodding. “Jesus said he likes to come in the mornings.”

The thought of staying while their friends faced the Saviors weighed heavily on them, but Rick insisted their presence wouldn’t change anything. It was safest to remain at Hilltop until Maggie recovered.

Maggie rose carefully from bed, stretching, as Glenn stayed close. “I want to visit their graves,” she said softly. “Walk with me?”

“I’ll visit later. I need to clean up here,” Evelyn replied.

As they left, Evelyn’s anger boiled over. She picked up a metal tray and hurled it across the office. The sound of it crashing into the wall echoed through Hilltop, catching Glenn, Maggie, and Sasha off guard. This ritual of rage had become her private release—a way to vent the fury and grief she couldn’t yet face.

“I wish she would just talk to us,” Glenn muttered.

“She’s angry,” Sasha said quietly. “I get it. I felt the same after Bob and Tyreese died.”

“She hasn’t hurt anyone,” Maggie added. “I guess that counts for something.”

But Evelyn’s anger surged again. She screamed, kicked over a cot, and sent it smashing against the wall. Jesus and several Hilltop residents paused, listening in apprehension as the noise continued. Ten minutes later, exhausted, she collapsed to the floor, crying into her hands. She imagined Charlie appearing, teasing her like he used to, until the horrifying truth hit again: he was gone, murdered by Negan.

And Daryl—her mind couldn’t stop racing. “He feels guilty… and he doesn’t even know it’s not his fault,” she whispered, tears streaking her face. “What is he going through?” Her hatred for Negan festered, consuming every thought.

A soft knock broke her reverie. Jesus cracked the door. “Evelyn…”

She didn’t respond, huddled against the wall, knees pulled to her chest. He pushed the door open, moving a chair aside.

“Did you get it all out today?” he asked gently.

Evelyn peeked at him through her arms, red and puffy eyes revealing the storm within. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get it all out,” she admitted, stretching her legs and letting her arms fall.

He sat beside her. “Rick’s working on another plan to take down the Saviors. He’s reaching out to other communities.”

Evelyn ran a hand through her hair, leaning her head back. “I’m going to Alexandria today.”

“Do you think it’s wise?” he asked.

“Probably not,” she said wryly, standing to clean up the chaos she’d left behind. “But good ideas are hard to come by.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jesus offered.

“I’d rather go alone. I need some me time.” Her voice was firm.

He frowned but didn’t argue. “Will you be back today?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I plan on it.” She grabbed a prepacked bag and strapped a large hunting knife to her thigh. Jesus handed her the keys to a 2001 white Ford Focus. “Full tank,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding into the driver’s seat. The engine roared to life. Glenn, Sasha, and Maggie saw the car leave through the gate.

“Did someone leave?” Maggie asked, alarmed.

“Evelyn left,” Jesus said, returning inside. “She needed to get away. She’s not a prisoner—she can come back when she wants. Leave her be.”

Glenn and Maggie exchanged worried glances. Sasha, however, understood. She remembered how suffocating Alexandria had felt when they first arrived, how grief and rage had threatened to drown her. Evelyn needed this.

The roads were quiet as Evelyn drove, the morning sun casting long shadows. Negan was expected at Alexandria, and though she didn’t know what she would find, she steeled herself for the confrontation. She stopped at the gate and was greeted by Morgan, on patrol.

“How are you?” he called down.

Evelyn shrugged. “Been better,” she replied, her voice carrying the weight of the week’s horrors.

Chapter Text

“Rick went on another run,” Morgan said quietly.

Evelyn looked around Alexandria. The streets were the same, yet something felt off. People hurried inside their homes at the sight of her. A heavy unease hung in the air, a shadow of fear she couldn’t shake. She wondered if Negan had already arrived, terrorizing everyone in his path.

“Did he come yet?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“No, he hasn’t,” Morgan replied, eyes grim. He knew exactly who she meant.

“Things don’t seem good here,” she observed, scanning the empty streets.

“Ever since Rick returned a week ago and told everyone what happened… people have been terrified. Supplies are running low, and we’re almost starving,” Morgan said.

Evelyn’s stomach tightened. “Even if we hadn’t attacked the outposts… Negan would have found this place eventually. But maybe… maybe Charlie and Abraham would still be alive.” Her voice cracked on the last words.

Morgan remembered going to Carol’s home, informing her of the attack. She had returned, helping Rick on supply runs and scouting for allies.

“I’m glad Rick isn’t giving up,” Evelyn murmured, more to herself than him.

Morgan hesitated. Fighting back was risky, but survival demanded action. “We’re playing possum right now, going along with this… at least until we can get Daryl out. I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn whispered. “Negan killed Charlie hoping to turn Daryl and me against each other.”

Morgan’s brow furrowed. “Do you blame Daryl?”

Her jaw clenched. “No. I blame Negan. I still love Daryl… and I’ll bring him home.”

“Why did you come back?” Morgan asked softly.

“I wanted to see how everyone was doing,” she said.

Before he could respond, the distant rumble of engines reached their ears. Trucks. She froze.

“Are they back?!” Morgan called out.

Spencer shook his head. “No… it’s them,” he said, voice tight.

Evelyn’s heart sank. An eerie silence fell over the community. Through the open gates, she saw Negan’s unmistakable silhouette. He rapped Lucille against the gate with a chilling rhythm.

“Little pig, little pig, let me in!” his voice boomed.

Spencer climbed down quickly, opening the gate. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Negan chuckled. “You better be shitting me.” He pushed past Spencer, shoving the gates fully open for his men. The convoy rolled in, echoing the chaos from a week ago.

Negan’s eyes locked on Evelyn. He ignored Morgan entirely. “I heard you were at Hilltop. Did you come all this way to see me?” he asked, taunting, casual, unnervingly calm.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snapped, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Usually anger is ugly… but I have to say, it looks good on you,” he said, surveying her with that infuriating grin.

She could feel her blood boil, every fiber of her body screaming at him. But before she could react, he barked an order.

“Bring Daryl out!”

Her heart leapt. Relief and worry collided as Dwight stepped from one of the trucks, escorting Daryl forward. He wore dirty beige sweats, an orange A smeared on the front of his shirt.

Negan leaned close to Evelyn, whispering hotly in her ear. “Don’t worry… we’ve been taking good care of your boy.”

She flinched at the breath against her neck but didn’t look away from Daryl. Her chest ached, torn between joy and fear.

“Looky here, Daryl… it’s Evelyn!” Negan taunted, drawing out every word.

Daryl’s eyes met hers, briefly. Guilt, despair, and shame were written in every line of his face. The weight of it was almost too much for him, and he quickly looked back at the ground. Evelyn took a step forward, but Negan’s arm shot out, stopping her.

“No touching. No talking to the prisoner,” he warned.

Her throat burned with words she wanted desperately to say, but fear kept them locked inside. One wrong word, one sudden move, and Daryl—or someone else—would pay the price.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding. “Now, who wants to give me the grand tour?”

“I will,” Morgan said, his voice steady.

“And who are you?” Negan asked, tilting his head.

“Morgan,” he replied.

“Well, Morgan, lead the way,” Negan said with that insufferable grin.

Morgan guided Negan and the Saviors down Alexandria’s main road. The streets were eerily silent. Residents either scurried inside or stepped off the sidewalks, eyes wide with fear. Evelyn felt the community’s tension pressing in on her, a tangible weight that made her chest tighten.

From a front porch, Carl watched, motioning for her to join him. She ducked inside, and the door shut behind her. “Has Dad said anything to you about fighting back against Negan?” he asked quietly.

“No… right now, it’s not safe to even try,” she replied.

Carl’s jaw tightened. “I disagree. We can’t live like this, not under a tyrant. We’ve always fought back, even when the odds were stacked against us.”

“Carl, they have Daryl,” she said, her voice low but firm. “And it wouldn’t stop with him. Next time it could be your father… or Michonne.”

Carl swallowed, frustration burning behind his eyes. “A time will come when Negan loses control,” Evelyn continued, placing a hand on his shoulder. “But now… now isn’t that time.”

The door swung open with a sudden crash. Both jumped, faces pale. Negan stood there, grinning like a predator entering his territory. “So this is Rick’s place,” he said, stepping inside.

“Sweets digs, show me around,” he added, eyes sweeping the room.

“Where’s Morgan?” Evelyn asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Calm down,” Negan replied smoothly. “He’s showing Dwight and Simon where the weaponry is. Geez, you remind me of my favorite wife,” he added, smirking.

Carl stepped forward. “What do you want to see?”

“Well first, are all the houses like this?”

“Yeah,” Carl answered.

Negan’s smirk widened. “Then show me.”

Evelyn lingered near the doorway, unwilling to leave Carl and Judith alone. Negan noticed, leaning toward her with that infuriating confidence. “Hey, I’m not in the business of killing kids. Relax. Go visit some patients—that’s why you came, right?”

Carl gave her a reassuring nod, and she reluctantly turned toward the infirmary.

“Tara!” Evelyn called as she reached the steps. The younger woman ran down to meet her.

“Is Maggie, Glenn, and Sasha okay?” she asked, breathless.

“Yeah,” Evelyn replied. “Maggie’s recovering well. About another week and we should be ready to head back.”

“No patients today, and everyone’s physically fine,” Tara said proudly.

“That’s good… you’re holding your own here,” Evelyn said, pride softening her tone. Denise’s teachings were alive in Tara, and it showed.

Their attention drifted outside. Morgan was leading the Saviors through Alexandria. “They’re going to take everything, aren’t they?” Tara whispered.

“Are you starving here?” Evelyn asked.

“Running low,” Tara admitted. “Rick said he had to give half to the Saviors today. Crops aren’t ready yet. But… once they are, things should improve.”

Evelyn’s jaw clenched. “We shouldn’t have to put up with this.”

“Rick’s trying to rally Hilltop and the Kingdom together again,” Tara explained.

Evelyn nodded, understanding now why Gregory was on edge. “That explains his attitude,” she murmured.

“I heard you threatened to kill him if he refused Maggie medical care,” Tara said in awe.

“I did,” Evelyn confirmed. “If I’m their doctor, I make the decisions—he has no say.”

The front gates groaned open. “Rick must be back,” Tara said. Both women rushed outside.

Rick and Michonne arrived with a truck loaded with canned food, fruits, vegetables, and weapons.

“Is Maggie and them here?” Rick asked, scanning the infirmary.

“No, I just returned. I wanted to check on everyone… and hoped Negan would bring Daryl. He did,” Evelyn said softly.

“Did Daryl look hurt?” Rick asked.

“Not physically… but emotionally, mentally… I don’t know,” she admitted, glancing down, her chest tight with worry.

“Daryl’s strong. We’ll get him out,” Michonne assured her with a steadying smile.

From the porch, Negan’s booming voice cut through the air. “Rick! Man, I’ve been waiting for you!”

Rick and Michonne froze. Negan had been in their home—with Carl and Judith inside—and seemed utterly unconcerned. Carl emerged behind him, holding Judith, silently signaling they were safe.

Negan sauntered down the steps, casually inspecting the truck. “So… you have my stuff?” he asked.

Rick blinked, shaking his head slightly to regain focus. “Yeah… it’s here.”

“This will do. I’ll be back next week. More medicine next time—make sure you work on that,” Negan said, surveying the load.

Dwight dragged Daryl to the truck. “Start loading it,” he ordered. Daryl moved mechanically, every step heavy, every motion strained.

Negan sidled up to Evelyn, invading her space. She stood her ground, jaw tight, eyes glistening with barely restrained tears. His whisper cut through the tension like a knife. “Think about my offer… I might be persuaded to let Daryl go.”

Daryl froze mid-step, noticing Negan was whispering something to Evelyn. Dwight’s swift strike to the back of his head sent him stumbling forward. Evelyn’s lips pressed together, her body trembling with rage and frustration.

Negan winked at her before walking away. “Till next week… and I look forward to our talk, Evelyn.”

“What did he mean by that?” Rick asked, dread in his voice.

Evelyn’s breath hitched. “He wants me to join the Saviors.”

Rick’s eyes widened. “Did he want you to join them… or join him?”

Her silence confirmed his worst fear. “Don’t even consider it,” he warned.

“If Daryl comes back here… he belongs with you, not imprisoned,” she argued fiercely.

Rick struggled, bile rising at the thought. “If you became one of his… you’d have to—” He choked on the words.

“I’m not being noble, Rick!” she shouted, eyes blazing. “I love Daryl. I love him so much it’s killing me that he’s their prisoner. If doing this gives us a better chance to win, I will do it!”

Michonne, Morgan, Carl, and Tara overheard the heated exchange. Michonne’s stomach turned at Evelyn’s words, understanding the desperate calculus behind her choice.

“I have to go. Maggie should be better next week,” Evelyn said, her voice quiet but resolute. She closed the car door, ignoring Rick’s pleading, and sped off through the gates.

On the drive back to Hilltop, her mind raced. Days ago, she’d considered accepting Negan’s offer just to get closer, to find a way to take him down from the inside—but failure meant death for Alexandria’s people. The memory of her failure with Carlos haunted her; innocent lives had been lost.

She slammed the wheel, pressing her forehead to it. “FUCK!” she shouted, fists pounding the dash. The car shook as sobs wracked her body, raw and unfiltered. Fifteen minutes later, trembling and tear-streaked, she finally started the engine and drove the last stretch home.

Glenn and Sasha watched from the wall. Sasha pointed toward her car as the gates swung open.

“What happened? Were they there?” Glenn asked.

“Yes… they took supplies. Food is scarce,” she said, voice heavy with exhaustion.

“Should we go back?” Sasha asked.

“You can, but Maggie needs to stay here until she’s fully healed,” Evelyn said, guiding them toward the doctor’s office.

Inside, Maggie rested, tired from a day outside tending the graves. Evelyn offered a reassuring smile. “Alexandria’s still standing. Nobody else died.”

Maggie let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “That’s a relief. I want to get out of here as soon as I can.”

Evelyn’s smile was small, hiding the storm raging within her. After Maggie heals… she’ll have to confront Negan.

Chapter Text

Daryl sat slumped against the cold, grimy wall of the cell, his elbows resting on his knees, head buried in his hands. The dim light from a single bulb above flickered, casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor. Silence pressed in around him, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the faint, distant sounds of footsteps echoing through the compound.

The weight of Charlie’s death crushed him from the inside out. Every second replayed in his mind: the look on Charlie's face, the sudden violence, the blood—so much blood. Daryl’s chest ached with a guilt that would not relent. He had failed him. He hadn’t protected him, hadn’t saved him, and the thought of Evelyn—of her grief and the pain he’d caused her—made it worse.

He thought of her constantly, her soft voice, the way her eyes had searched his for reassurance, for comfort. He missed her more than he could put into words, and the absence of her presence in his life now felt like a physical ache. Daryl pressed his forehead to his knees, whispering her name into the shadows of the cell.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Evelyn…,” he muttered, his voice cracking. The tears he rarely allowed himself to shed ran freely down his dirt-streaked face, mixing with the grime of the cell. The emptiness around him made every memory sharper, every loss more unbearable.

Suddenly, faint footsteps approached outside the cell, echoing against the walls. Daryl’s head lifted slightly, listening, muscles tensed. A shadow fell across the floor, then a familiar figure appeared by the bars.

“Daryl…” The voice was cautious, almost measured. Dwight.

Daryl’s fists tightened on his knees, a mix of anger, fear, and hopelessness flickering in his chest. He didn’t want words. He didn’t want to be reminded of Negan’s games or the cruelty of the world outside. And yet, he couldn’t help but glance up, meeting Dwight’s eyes through the bars, bracing himself for whatever news—or torment—was coming next.

Dwight leaned against the cell, hands tucked into his pockets, his usual smirk replaced with something quieter, almost reluctant. “You want to know what Negan was whispering to Evelyn at Alexandria?” Dwight’s voice came from the other side of the door, calm, almost too casual.

Daryl’s head snapped up. “What?”

“He’s going to let you go… if she becomes one of his wives.”

Daryl’s eyes widened in horror. He bolted to the door, pressing his fists against the cold steel. “When? When’s he gonna do it?”

Dwight shrugged, his tone eerily light. “Does it matter? If she loves you like you think she does, she’ll do it. They always do.”

Rage surged through Daryl like a wildfire. He slammed his shoulder against the door, then his fists. “Why does he even want her?!” he demanded, his voice breaking. Dwight simply turned, sliding away down the corridor, his footsteps echoing.

Daryl’s strength waned, the fury giving way to exhausted sobs. He pulled his knees tighter, curling into himself as Sherry appeared quietly by his cell. She turned off the music, the faint strains of a distorted lullaby fading into silence.

“I know I told you to do what they say… I still stand by that,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm, “but if there’s ever a chance to escape… take it. Don’t let her make that choice to save you.”

Daryl’s voice was small, hoarse. “Why are you here?”

Sherry’s eyes were earnest. “Because I’m sorry… I’m sorry this happened. And I hope she doesn’t end up here… being one of Negan’s wives.”

“Everyone here will be sorry,” Daryl muttered, curling tighter.

“Maybe, but if she does come… I promise, I’ll look after her.”

“Evelyn doesn’t need anyone to look after her.”

“Then I’ll be her friend,” Sherry replied. “Everyone needs someone here.”

A faint question escaped him. “Why are you talking to me?”

“Guilty conscience… maybe. Or maybe I just know how she feels if she does this for you.”

Daryl’s shoulders slumped. “Do you know when he’ll talk to her again?”

Sherry shook her head. “No… but I’ll let you know when he does.” She slipped away as footsteps approached.

Alone again, Daryl eyed the door as Fat Joey opened it to toss a sandwich on the floor. He glanced down—dog food. He tested the latch. Unlocked.

Cautiously, he slipped out, hugging the walls, creeping toward the exit. Upstairs footsteps echoed nearby. He paused, then moved, creeping along shadows, heart hammering.

Ahead, a red EXIT sign glowed. He pushed the door open and stepped outside. Silence. A row of motorcycles glinted in the sun. He crouched, reaching for one…

Then the sound of boots. Five men emerged, more following, encircling him.

A whistle cut through the tension. Daryl’s heart sank. The Saviors parted, and there he was: Negan. Lucille resting on his shoulder, eyes glinting with amusement.

“Pissing your pants yet?” Negan drawled “Who are you?!” He bellowed out to everyone outside. 

“Negan!” the men chorused.

Negan chuckled, circling him like a shark. “Man, you got some balls.” He swung Lucille close to Daryl’s head—an inch away—but Daryl didn’t flinch. Only glaring.

“You got a choice,” Negan said, voice low, deadly calm. “Stay here, live like a king… or it gets worse. Way worse.”

“Ain’t you gonna trade me if Evelyn comes here?” Daryl asked, daring to challenge him.

Shock rippled across the Saviors’ faces. Negan’s jaw clenched, hands tightening on Lucille—but just as quickly, his expression shifted to smug indifference.

“No, we don’t trade,” he barked. “Isn’t that right?” The men shouted in unison.

“Teach him a lesson,” Negan ordered, turning away, leaving Daryl alone with the pounding boots and merciless fists of his captors.

Daryl braced himself. Pain, rage, and desperation coiled within him. But he wouldn’t break—not yet. Not while Evelyn’s name still burned on his lips.

Two days later, Daryl sat in his cell, bruised and battered, his body a roadmap of pain. Cuts lined his arms, legs, and torso, reminders of the endless beatings he’d endured. Dr. Carson had patched him up, but each wound throbbed with a persistent ache. The sounds of Easy Street blared from somewhere in the Sanctuary, a constant assault that kept sleep just out of reach.

Dwight came by often, sliding dogfood sandwiches through the bars, or leaning close to taunt him about Charlie’s death, making Daryl’s chest tighten with guilt each time. The weight of it was suffocating—the boy’s face burned behind his eyes, and Evelyn’s absence made it worse. He missed her terribly; the thought of her in pain because of him made his fists clench and his heart ache. A Polaroid of Charlie, cruelly taken by one of Negan’s men, had been slid under the cell door earlier. Daryl had stared at it for what felt like hours, the image searing into his mind.

Every time the door rattled or footsteps echoed down the hall, he flinched. Even small noises reminded him of the constant threat outside his cell, the ever-present danger of the Saviors.

This morning, though, the cell door clicked differently. Daryl’s head snapped up. A shadow fell across the floor, and a small envelope slid beneath the door, taped to a key.

He grabbed it, holding it up to the dim light. The note was simple, handwritten:

Leave now. Negan and almost everyone is gone. Meet Evelyn today at the same spot where Charlie was killed, at 12. Get there before he does.

Daryl’s mind raced. Another trap? Or a chance? The handwriting was delicate, almost feminine. Sherry, maybe? He glanced at the key again, then shoved it into his pocket. Every muscle in his body tensed as he nudged open the cell door. Dead silence greeted him.

He changed into a set of clean clothes found nearby, pulling a baseball cap low over his bruised face. The hallway was empty. He grabbed a prybar for protection, stepping cautiously outside. The morning air hit him, crisp and silent, except for the distant hum of motorcycles and trucks.

“Holy shit.” His eyes caught Fat Joey, frozen in shock at Daryl’s sudden presence. Pain flared as memories of past beatings made his bruises throb. Daryl’s grip on the prybar tightened, knuckles white.

“I’m just trying to get by, you understand?” Fat Joey stammered, fear lacing his voice.

Daryl didn’t answer. He moved forward, calm and deadly. The moment was brief, brutal—then it was over. Bloodied and lifeless, Joey crumpled to the ground. Daryl stripped him of weapons: Rick’s Colt Python, a Glock, a knife, and a watch, holstering each carefully.

Glancing at the watch—10:30—he realized time was short. He swung onto a nearby motorcycle, kicked it into sixth gear, and roared away toward the rendezvous point.

At the same time, Evelyn left Hilltop. She told Jesus she was visiting Alexandria but gave no clear return time. Maggie and Glenn were now leading Hilltop; Gregory had died before Evelyn’s return from their supply run. Sasha had left for a weapons run with Tara, leaving Evelyn to travel alone, heart pounding with anticipation.

Arriving at the spot where Abraham and Charlie had fallen, she froze at the remnants of blood and chaos from that day. She sat where she had been forced to kneel, pulling Charlie’s watch from her pocket—11:50. A motorcycle approached. Her heart jumped, expecting Negan—but it wasn’t him.

Her face turned pale as the figure stopped before her. It was Daryl. She couldn’t believe it. He quickly dismounted, and they ran into each other’s arms. Tight embrace, soft whimpers, and relief that went unspoken but deeply felt.

“We have to go,” he said, pulling back slightly and producing four plastic bags. Evelyn’s confusion turned to shock as he emptied their contents onto the ground—blood, guts, tissue.

“It’ll look like a walker killed you,” he explained, efficiently turning the scene into a convincing deception. Evelyn added Charlie’s watch for effect, and together they erased the trail from the gravel, pushing the bike back to the road. At 11:57, she climbed onto the back of his bike, and he shifted into fifth gear.

Meanwhile, Negan approached the rendezvous point, expecting Evelyn, only to find chaos. A mutilated scene met him, pieces of wavy brown hair and blood marking the ground. Simon inspected the remains, recognizing Charlie’s watch.

“Walker must have gotten her,” Negan concluded, disappointment flickering in his expression.

Back at the Sanctuary, panic spread. Soldiers scrambled. “He got out!?” Negan roared when told Daryl had escaped.

“Would he go back to Alexandria?” Simon asked.

“Doubt it. That would be too easy,” Negan snapped, kicking a motorcycle. “He’ll be in hiding. But Alex is dead-on-sight once we find him. Daryl comes back alive, or there’ll be consequences.”

Chapter Text

Daryl and Evelyn moved deeper into the forest, the canopy swallowing them in shadow. Eventually, they reached a large lake, its still, dark water reflecting the towering trees. They knew staying off the roads was crucial—Negan would discover Daryl’s escape soon enough. Together, they pushed the bike into the water, watching it sink slowly beneath the black surface, swallowed as if it had never existed.

“You haven’t said much,” Evelyn said softly, breaking the silence.

“Ain’t much to say,” Daryl replied, his voice low and rough.

“Not much to say? After everything that happened… there’s a lot we need to say to each other,” she pressed, frustration and worry threading her words.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, barely audible.

Evelyn’s eyes widened slightly. “Why are you apologizing?” she asked, stepping closer. His back was to her, shoulders hunched, head hanging low. She laid a gentle hand on his mid-back, feeling the tension there, the weight of his guilt pressing down.

“Charlie… if I hadn’t—” His voice broke, the words caught in his throat. He didn’t need to finish; she already understood. Gently, she wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him.

“Charlie’s death wasn’t your fault,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest.

“Yes it was,” he whispered, the pain raw. “He… he would have only killed Abraham. Charlie… Charlie died because I hit Negan.”

She slowly let go of him, guiding him around to face her. Her hands cupped his face, steadying him. “Daryl, don’t for a single second think I blame you. I love you… and Charlie cared for you too,” she said, her voice trembling with both sadness and determination.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said, shaking his head. “And you… you’d still have a brother.”

“I don’t have Charlie anymore,” she replied softly, her eyes glistening. “But I have you… and you have me. Please… don’t push me away.” Her voice cracked at the last words. She could feel the sharp edge of his guilt, the fear that he would leave her behind because of it, and her heart clenched at the thought.

Daryl hesitated, caught between the urge to punish himself and the desperate need for her. 

“I love you, Daryl,” she whispered, barely above a breath.

“I love you too,” he replied, voice strained with emotion. For the first time since Charlie’s death, he allowed himself to hope, to feel a fragile sense of safety, even if only for the night.

“I keep thinking… if I hadn’t… if I just stayed back…” His voice cracked. “Charlie… he didn’t deserve—he didn’t deserve to die because of me.”

Evelyn took his hands in hers, pulling them from his face so he could meet her eyes. “Daryl,” she said gently, “listen to me. None of this was your fault. You didn’t kill him—Negan did. You… you tried to protect everyone. You can’t blame yourself for what that monster did.”

He shook his head, tears spilling freely now. “I hit him… I punched Negan… and Charlie… he’s gone… because of me!” His voice was raw, anguished.

Evelyn wrapped her arms around him again, holding him close as he trembled against her. “Charlie loved you, Daryl. I loved Charlie, and I know he would never want you to carry this guilt. You did everything you could.”

“I don’t… I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, voice muffled against her shoulder. “I don’t deserve anyone… and now… you’re here, and it should be me protecting you, not—”

“Shh,” she interrupted softly, brushing his hair back. “Stop. You can’t protect everyone, Daryl. But you can be here with me. You can let me be with you. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this.”

He lifted his head, eyes red and haunted. Vulnerability bled from him in waves. For the first time since Charlie’s death, he allowed himself to be completely raw in front of someone. He searched her eyes for judgment, for disappointment—but found only love and patience.

“I don’t know if I can…” he admitted, voice barely audible.

“Yes, you can,” Evelyn whispered. “You’re already here. You’re breathing. You’re alive. And you’re not pushing me away.”

Daryl exhaled shakily, the tension in his body easing slightly. He leaned his forehead against hers, letting the tears fall freely, knowing she would hold him. “I… I just keep seeing him… Charlie… and it kills me,” he murmured.

“I know,” Evelyn said, stroking his hair. “And it’s okay to feel that. It doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. You loved him. You loved your family—and that love doesn’t go away, even now. But it doesn’t define you. You’re more than your guilt, Daryl. You have me, and you have a chance to keep living, to keep fighting… for him, for us.”

He nodded, clinging to her words like a lifeline. Slowly, he let himself relax into her embrace, allowing her warmth and reassurance to seep into him. For the first time in what felt like forever, Daryl allowed himself to hope again.

Evelyn pulled back just enough to look at him. “We’ll face the world together. You don’t have to do it alone,” she said softly, her hand resting on his cheek.

“I… I don’t want to lose you too,” he admitted.

“You won’t,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to his. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

They sat there for a long while, in the quiet of the forest, just holding onto each other. Outside, the world could wait. For the first time since Charlie’s death, Daryl allowed himself to feel—grief, pain, and a tentative thread of hope—and he let Evelyn be the anchor to keep him from drowning in it.

They found a cabin in the woods, its weathered logs streaked with moss and ivy, the air around it heavy with the smell of damp earth and pine. It had clearly been abandoned for years, but that made it perfect. Secluded. Quiet. Safe—for now. Evelyn pushed open the creaking door, dust motes swirling in the dim light as if disturbed spirits lingered in every corner.

They swept through each room, cautious and alert, but it didn’t take long to confirm the place was empty. White sheets draped over furniture like ghosts frozen mid-dance, and every surface was coated in years of untouched dust. Evelyn tugged one of the sheets free, revealing a sun-faded couch and a comforter that still held its shape from when it was last folded.

Daryl slipped into the lone bedroom, his boots heavy against the creaky floorboards. The bed was neatly made, though gray with dust. He searched through the dresser drawers and closet with the efficiency of a man who’d done this a hundred times, gathering matches, candles, a blanket, and a flashlight that surprisingly flickered to life. He crouched low, shining it beneath the bed—and froze.

A corpse lay crumpled in the shadows, so decomposed it looked more like parchment than flesh. No smell remained; time had dried it out completely. But what caught his attention wasn’t the body—it was what it clutched.

A crossbow.

“Evelyn,” he called, his voice calm but firm.

She hurried into the room, her heart leaping in panic at the tone, but instead of danger, she found him crouched by the bed. He shoved it aside, revealing the mummified corpse and the weapon it clung to.

“Are you kidding me? It’s holding a crossbow,” she said, her voice a mix of disbelief and intrigue.

He gave the corpse a nudge with his boot. It didn’t move. Satisfied, he crouched down, trying to pry the weapon free. The body’s fingers had stiffened into a death grip, and he had to snap the brittle bones, the dry crack echoing through the room. Evelyn flinched but didn’t look away.

Daryl examined the weapon carefully, fingers tracing its limbs and string. He cocked it with ease, loading a bolt. He aimed at the far wall and pulled the trigger. The twang of the string was sharp, and the bolt embedded itself cleanly in the wood.

“Yeah,” he muttered, a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his voice. “It works.”

“Good,” she said softly, watching him pull the bolt free.

“I’m goin’ huntin’,” he told her, slinging the crossbow over his shoulder. “Won’t be long.”

Evelyn nodded, her gaze trailing him as he slipped out the door and vanished into the treeline. The cabin felt even quieter without him, the air thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew. She kept herself busy, searching the kitchen. There were a few shelves lined with canned goods, some factory-sealed, some clearly homemade, their faded labels a testament to a life long gone.

She found a pair of work gloves in a drawer and returned to the bedroom. The corpse lay there, silent and stiff, a grim reminder that even shelters like this weren’t safe forever. The thought weighed on her. Whoever this person was, they deserved better than to rot beneath a stranger’s bed. She slid her arms under the brittle remains, careful not to break them more than she already had, and dragged the body outside.

In the backyard, she found a shed with a broken-handled shovel and began to dig. The work was slow, the earth dense with roots and stones, but she pressed on until a small grave was ready. She laid the body to rest and covered it gently with soil, her breath ragged but steady. When it was done, she brushed her dirt-streaked hands on her pants, then washed them in the kitchen sink, the water icy from the well.

Through the window, she caught sight of him emerging from the woods. He moved like a shadow, crossbow slung over his back, a string of squirrels and a rabbit dangling from one hand. There was a quiet pride in the way he carried himself, but his eyes flicked immediately to the fresh mound of dirt in the yard.

When she met him outside, he jerked his chin toward the grave, a silent question.

“I buried them,” she explained softly.

He only hummed, a low sound of acknowledgment, before kneeling on the ground with her.

“Could you…show me how to do that?” she asked, nodding toward the animals.

“Do what?” he asked, though he already knew.

“Skin and dress game. Charlie and my dad used to hunt, but…they never taught me.”

He studied her for a moment, then handed her a squirrel and one of his knives. His rough fingers brushed hers, and she felt the warmth of him, grounding and steady.

“Lay it down on its belly,” he instructed. She did. “Hold the tail up. You wanna cut just here. Snap the tailbone.”

She followed his lead, her hands precise and steady, the blade slicing cleanly. He glanced at her, impressed but not surprised—she was a doctor, after all.

“Now comes the gross part,” he said, sliding two fingers into the chest cavity. “You wanna get everything out in one go. Follow me.”

She mirrored him, and soon they worked side by side in a rhythm that felt oddly intimate. She even managed to clean the rabbit on her own, his quiet grunt of approval filling her with unexpected pride.

“Take ‘em inside,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “Clean ‘em up and roast ‘em.”

They cooked over a small fire outside, keeping the smoke low and the flames controlled. The rich scent of roasting meat filled the cool night air, and Evelyn’s stomach growled in anticipation.

“This is good,” she murmured after her first bite, savoring the taste.

“Ain’t no Martha Stewart cookin’,” he muttered, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.

She chuckled softly, her eyes warming as she looked at him. “Was that a joke?”

He shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Could be. If ya think so.”

She laughed again, a soft sound that broke through the heavy silence that had hung between them for days. For a brief moment, she could see the man she’d fallen in love with—guarded, rough around the edges, but capable of warmth. And he saw her, too: the way her hair caught the firelight, the softness in her eyes despite all they’d lost.

She was his anchor in a storm he wasn’t sure he’d ever escape. And though guilt still gnawed at him, tonight, he was just grateful she was here.

“Are you full?” She asked.

“Yeah, getting there.” He replied and blinked when she suddenly stood up. She kept her brown, doe eyes on him and without saying a word, lifted her shirt up over her head and started to pull her pants down. She was left in her underwear and bra, but that to was taken off. She was standing in front of him, naked as the day she was born.

His blue eyes slowly ran down her figure and he reached out to touch her, but she walked past him towards the house and looked back at him, giving him a playful smirk. He kicked some dirt on the fire, putting it out and grabbed the kebobs of cooked meat to follow her inside. She tossed her cloths on the floor and continued to walk away from him now barefooted.

The back door was locked and he dropped the meat on the counter, he still carried his crossbow with him and he followed her down the hallway to the living room. “Why do you still have cloths on?” She asked him.

He didn’t take his gaze off her, wordlessly placing the crossbow on the floor and started to undress, dropping and tossing his cloths to the side. She only needed to take a few steps until her front was pressed against his and they were enveloped in a heated kiss. His hands grabbed and touched every part of her, groping her breast and roughly squeezed them before trailing down to grab the mounds of her ass. She let out a soft moan at the sensation his rough, callous hands gave her.

She pulled back from the tongue-tying kiss and nipped down his neck, biting gently at the sensitive skin there. It had been way to long since they were intimate with each other and he was having a very hard time not just taking her right there on the floor. He wanted to take his time to fully enjoy himself and her.

Her hands were doing some exploring of their own, her fingers were ghosting over the hard lines of muscle he had on his chest, stomach and back. He’s physique didn’t suffer to badly while he was imprisoned. He lost some weight but he retained muscle. One hand lightly wrapped around his member, giving it a gentle squeeze and he rewarded her with a soft moan.

Her hand lightly and gently stroked him, catching his lips with her again and their tongues were fighting for dominance. If she doesn’t stop…..He thought. He broke the kiss and grabbed her wrist to stop her. She looked up at him, clearly confused on why he would want her to stop. He walked forward, keeping his now glazed over lust filled eyes on her own and she felt her back press against the wall.

He started to gently kiss down her neck, moving lower and she knew where he was heading. Soft whimpers left her, feeling his mouth on one of her nipples and he went to the other one. Her legs parted slightly once he knelt down, her hands lightly gripped his hair. He lifted her left leg up so her foot was on the armrest of the couch. His mouth found her, she leaned her head back and closed her eyes, breathy and shaky moans escaped her throat.

“Daryl I’m-“ She couldn’t get the words out as the familiar warm sensation pooled in her stomach and she felt it moving lower. His tongue and mouth didn’t stop, instead he sucked on her clit even harder and she had to cover her mouth to muffle a scream. He dropped her leg so she could steady herself and not fall into a heap on the floor, he greedily lapped at the wetness she produced.

Her breath rose and fell and she slid down the wall till she was sitting on the floor, her legs were spread and he couldn’t help but look please with himself. She ran a hand through her hair, finally opening her eyes and returned the smile. Without warning, she straddled his waist and pulled him into a kiss, moaning at her tasting herself. He gripped her hips as she lowered herself down on him, moaning loudly when he was fully inside her.

Her hips rose and fell on him, he sat up and took her nipple into his mouth. Her movements didn’t falter, grinding against him and he leaned back on his arms, wanting to watch her ride him. He gently lifted her up and before she could figure out what he was doing, he turned her around so she was on her hands and knees. She let out a curse word at how deep he was inside her and he pushed her down so her cheek was touching the floor and her hips were raised even higher.

Usually when they were intimate, it lasted over an hour and it had a mixture of love and roughness, but this time he was going in all rough and she didn’t complain. Maybe it was because of how angry and rageful they felt, not towards each other but at everything that happened over this week and a half.

He covered her mouth with his hand when she let out a scream and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Not so loud.”

She moaned back in reply and he kept her mouth covered as he rode her relentlessly, she felt her thighs and hips starting to ache but she didn’t care and her loud moans and screams only spurred him on. He stopped moving for a moment, she whined in protest and in one fluid motion, he turned her around so she was laying on her back. He sat up and raised her legs so they rested on his shoulders.

She knew he was getting close, he was starting to slow down to try and savor the moment and she purposedly tightened around him. He let out a groan and stared down at her. “Who said we had to stop.” She said in a breathy tone. He dropped her legs to kiss her deeply, his thrust were hard and slow before quickening again and moan once he came.

The kiss broke and they stared into each other eyes and his finger tips gently caressed her cheek. “You even think you could go again?” He asked. She smirked, wrapping her legs around his waist to pull him in even more. “If you can keep up.” She replied.

Hours went by before they finally couldn’t physically keep going. She laid her head on his chest and her finger absentmindedly drew shapes on his side. “That might a be a new record.” She said and giggled.

“Probably.” He replied.

They both realized it was nighttime, the sky was pitch black and the only light were a few lighting bugs that flickered their glow on and off. “We should get clean.” She said, sitting up and felt her hips and thighs were sore. Could she even walk? She struggled to stand and he quickly stood up to help her up.

The shower worked, but the water was alittle cold. They both shivered until they got use to the cool temperature. There was some shampoo and soap, it was old though but beggars couldn’t be choosers. She felt a million times better after the shower and made a face at how dark the tub got. “God, when was the last time we bathed?” She asked.

“I wasn’t exactly soaking in hot springs while imprisoned.” He replied.

She wanted to cringe and internally cursed at herself. “It’s not just you sorry.” She said. He gave her wet hair a kiss and smiled. “Yeah I know.” He said.

There were some towels on a hanging shelf in the bathroom, they were alittle dusty but a few flicks and it was clean enough. “I don’t really want to sleep in that bed.” She said as they stood in the door way, looking at the dusty bed that had a dead guy underneath it. “I’ll take the floor, all I need is a blanket and a pillow.” He said.

She wanted to sleep beside him and started to set up a comfortable pad for them. He made sure the windows, back and front door was locked and even rigged up a make shift sound system out of old metal cans and glass bottles. He finally laid down beside her and they drifted off into a deep sleep.

Daryl slept and slept, it was already after 12 in the afternoon and he was still sleeping. They probably kept him awake as a form of torture and he’s body was trying to play catch up. She didn’t disturb him, making sure she was quiet as she cleaned up from last night. She ate the rest of the squirrel and decided to leave him the rabbit for him when he woke up.

She sat down in front of the gravesite she made for the former home owner. “I don’t know where we should go from here, we can’t go back to Alexandria, Hilltop or the Kingdom.” She said. Maybe she was slowly starting to loose it or just needed to get her worries out, realizing she was talking to the grave of an unknown person.

We could go to Carol’s house, she isn’t staying at any of the communities and she’s an ally. She thought and would talk to Daryl about it later.

S

Evelyn lay back in the tall summer grass, her eyes closed, letting the soft breeze brush against her face. The sun was warm but gentle, its golden light spilling over a sky so vividly blue it almost felt unreal. For a fleeting moment, with cicadas humming in the trees, she could almost pretend the world hadn’t gone to hell—that the dead didn’t roam, that danger wasn’t always lurking.

But peace was something Daryl couldn’t find.

It’s your fault.

The words echoed in his mind like a gunshot, jolting him awake. His breath hitched as he shot upright, sweat dampening his hairline. Charlie’s face—lifeless, gone because of him—flashed behind his eyes, and his stomach knotted with the guilt that never left him. He scanned the small cabin, heart pounding, but the spot beside him was empty.

“Evelyn.” His voice was low at first, rough with sleep and panic.

No answer.

His pulse spiked. He grabbed his crossbow, sliding a bolt into place with a sharp click, and moved through the cabin like a predator, tense and alert. “EVELYN!” His voice rang out, sharp, almost desperate.

Outside, Evelyn’s head shot up at the sound of his voice. She scrambled to her feet and hurried back toward the cabin, colliding with him just as he stormed out the door. He loomed over her, his face twisted in fear and anger.

“Where the hell did you go?!” he barked, voice harsher than he intended.

She flinched at his tone, and immediately his grip on the crossbow slackened. He blinked hard, his expression softening as guilt washed over him. “I—I’m sorry,” he muttered, voice dropping low. “Thought somethin’ happened… Got worried.”

Evelyn steadied herself and offered a small, apologetic smile. “I just went outside. Didn’t hear you wake up. I… saved the rabbit for you.”

He followed her gaze to the counter where the meat sat, untouched. Picking it up, he bit into it without a word, jaw tight.

“You slept good,” she said gently, trying to ease the tension, to pull him back from that edge she saw in his eyes.

“They… kept me up a lot,” he muttered. His voice was flat, but the weight behind it was heavy.

Evelyn leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “I think we should go to Carol’s. She’s not at the communities, and she’ll help us.”

Daryl nodded, finishing the bite of meat. “Yeah. Good idea. We’ll leave tonight—the darkness will cover us.”

She moved closer, looping her arms around him, resting her head briefly against his chest. “I’m not mad at you for worrying. Just… don’t scream at me like that again, okay?”

“I won’t,” he promised, voice low, gravelly.

They spent the next hour preparing to leave. Daryl found a black cloak in the closet, pulling it over his shoulders, then tied a dark bandana over his mouth. Evelyn dressed in all black too, her thin hoodie pulled tight, her face also masked. She moved methodically, packing food, weapons, extra clothes, and what little medical supplies she’d found. Daryl watched her quietly, his chest aching. He’d already lost Charlie. Losing her wasn’t an option.

The woods swallowed them as they moved through the night, silent and alert. The distant growls of walkers drifted through the darkness, but none crossed their path. Daryl’s steps were ghostlike behind Evelyn, his protective presence always at her back. After hours of careful travel, they reached the tree line and paused, the moonlight revealing a wide, open field stretching toward Carol’s house.

“She home?” Evelyn whispered.

Daryl squinted at the shadowy structure. “Lights just draw attention. She’s there.” He motioned for Evelyn to follow him as they skirted the field’s edge, moving low, weaving through the tall grass and across a quiet road. When they reached the woods behind Carol’s house, he crouched, scanning the area. “Knowin’ her, she’s got traps set back here.” He bent down, grabbed a pebble, and tossed it at the back window. It clinked softly. No movement. He tossed another, harder this time, and a flashlight flickered on inside.

Carol kept her pistol raised as the footsteps crunched softly through the underbrush. The woods were thick with shadows, every sound amplified in the stillness, and Carol’s instincts sharpened like a blade. She moved silently, crouching low, gun steady.

Then a voice—hoarse, quiet, but achingly familiar—broke the silence.

“…Carol.”

Her heart stopped.

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. She knew that voice better than almost any other. Lowering her gun just a fraction, she stepped out into the clearing, and there he was.

“Daryl?”

He stood there, crossbow slung over his shoulder, hair longer, face hollow with exhaustion. But it was him. Carol’s gun fell uselessly to her side as she crossed the clearing in quick strides and pulled him into a tight embrace.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, voice cracking as relief washed over her. She’d buried him in her heart a dozen times, convinced he was gone for good. But he was here, solid and warm in her arms.

“Yeah,” he murmured against her hair, holding her briefly before pulling back.

That’s when she saw her.

Carol’s breath hitched as Evelyn stepped into the clearing. Pale, tired, but very much alive. Carol had mourned her, too—had stood with Rick and everyone at Alexandria, staring at the makeshift memorials, believing Evelyn was another name carved into their endless list of losses.

“Evelyn…” Carol breathed, shock softening her voice.

Evelyn’s lips curved in a faint, bittersweet smile. “Hey, Carol.”

Carol lowered her weapon fully, her hands trembling now. “I thought…” Her throat tightened. “We all thought you were dead.”

“I know.” Evelyn’s voice was gentle but heavy, carrying the weight of everything they’d been through.

Carol’s gaze flicked between the two of them—Daryl’s stooped shoulders, the guilt etched into every line of his face, and Evelyn’s protective stance beside him, close enough to touch but not smothering him. Carol didn’t need words to see what was between them.

“Come on,” she said softly, gesturing toward the cabin she’d been using as shelter. “You both need to rest.”

Inside, she stoked the fire back to life, the flickering light casting warm hues on the dusty wooden walls. Daryl sat stiffly in a chair, his head down, his fingers flexing restlessly. Evelyn hovered beside him, her hand brushing lightly over his back, grounding him. Carol watched them closely, her heart aching.

Daryl had always carried guilt like a second skin, but this was different. He looked hollowed out, broken in a way she’d only seen once or twice before. Carol could guess why. She’d heard enough to piece the story together—Negan, Charlie, the senseless cruelty of it all.

“You’re carrying this,” she said quietly, crouching in front of him.

Daryl didn’t look up, just clenched his jaw tighter. Evelyn slipped into the seat beside him and reached for his hand, her thumb brushing over his scarred knuckles.

“I don’t blame you,” Evelyn whispered, her voice trembling with conviction. “Charlie wouldn’t either.”

Carol saw the way Daryl flinched at her words, like they struck something deep inside him. Evelyn’s gaze was unwavering, though, soft but firm. She meant every word, and Carol recognized that strength instantly.

“You’re not responsible for what Negan did,” Carol said softly. Her voice was steady, like she was reminding herself of her own ghosts. “You’ve blamed yourself for enough things, Daryl.”

His head finally lifted, eyes glassy and haunted, and Carol’s chest ached. She remembered all the times he’d carried the weight of other people’s deaths, all the times he’d taken punishment meant for others. Evelyn’s hand cupped his face, and for a moment he leaned into her touch, his breath shuddering.

“Please don’t push me away,” Evelyn whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t have Charlie anymore, but I have you. And you have me.”

Carol swallowed hard, emotion tightening her throat. She’d seen Daryl guarded for so long, shutting himself off from the world, but here he was, letting Evelyn in. Finally letting himself be seen.

Daryl closed his eyes, his forehead pressing against Evelyn’s. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as his shoulders sagged against her. Carol looked away for a moment, blinking against the sting in her eyes.

She thought of all the times she’d watched him suffer silently, of how rarely he allowed anyone to share his burden. Seeing him lean into Evelyn’s embrace was both heartbreaking and healing. Carol felt something loosen in her chest—relief, maybe, or hope.

She sat quietly nearby, her presence steady but unobtrusive, a silent witness to their grief and their connection. For the first time in a long while, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, Daryl could finally find some peace.

Chapter Text

“We can’t go to the Kingdom,” Daryl said firmly.

Carol tried to convince them that they’d be safer there. “The only ones who know your identities is Ezekiel. The Saviors don’t go inside the Kingdom to collect their supplies,” she explained.

Evelyn frowned. “What if someone there finds out about Daryl and me? If Negan ever tracked us there, it’d be the end—for the Kingdom and for us.”

Carol’s eyes hardened. “You two are sitting ducks out here. There’s only so many places to hide in this house. What are you going to do if you have to get out and can’t?”

Daryl and Evelyn exchanged glances, both unconvinced. Carol pressed on. “Look, I’ve already talked to Ezekiel about you two. He said you can stay there, and he even gave you aliases to use.”

Evelyn hesitated. “What about Morgan and Hugo? Do they know we’re here?”

“As far as I know, they don’t,” Carol replied.

Carol’s insistence came from experience—having killed two Saviors snooping around her home. It had been a close call. Daryl considered leaving, disappearing into the woods with Evelyn to hide, but the idea didn’t sit right.

Carol stood up and rubbing her temples, clearly exhausted. “You two talk. I’ll be outside.” The backdoor slammed a little louder than she intended.

Evelyn looked at Daryl. “Maybe we should go to the Kingdom. If the Saviors find us here, they’ll kill Carol and burn her home to the ground.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “What about the Kingdom? If the Saviors find us there, they’ll start killing people.”

“No matter where we go, Daryl… they’ll have us after them until Negan either dies or loses interest,” Evelyn said softly.

Daryl had hoped Negan would’ve given up by now, especially with war looming. Carol had kept them updated—while the Saviors were still taking their contributions, a shift was happening. Fear and oppression were slowly giving way to weariness and a desire for change.

“What do you want to do?” Daryl asked.

Evelyn weighed the options. Staying put meant putting Carol in danger, alone. Going to the Kingdom meant strength in numbers, but they’d have to hide who they really were. “I think we should go to the Kingdom,” she decided.

Daryl gave a low sigh. “If we go, you can’t be a doctor there. We have to act like we’re not Daryl and Evelyn.”

He rose from his chair, opening the backdoor to find Carol was pulling weeds in a small garden she made. She glanced up at him, waiting for his answer. “We’ll go to the Kingdom.” He said.

“I’ll go and tell Ezekiel tomorrow.” She said.

With a curt nod, he let the back door slam shut behind him. Evelyn pushed her chair back toward the table, the legs scraping softly against the floor. His shoulders were hunched, one fist clenched tight at his side, lips pressed into a hard line. Unease rolled off him in waves—it was obvious he didn’t want to go to the Kingdom. If it were just him, he’d disappear into the woods, but he wasn’t just thinking of himself anymore. He had Evelyn to consider, her safety, her well-being.

His eyes were unfocused, lost in some distant place she couldn’t reach—until her gentle arms slipped around him, her warmth breaking through the fog of his thoughts. He exhaled and returned the embrace, clutching her close. “I told you I’d follow you anywhere,” She whispered against his neck. “And I meant it.”

He knew exactly what she was getting at and shook his head. “No,” he murmured, “being out in the wilderness… it’s safer inside walls than outside them.” He leaned back just enough to meet her gaze, his eyes softening as they found hers.

The memories of France came rushing back—days spent running and hiding after Carlos and his men had tracked them down. Their situation now felt like a mirror image, and he refused to let history repeat itself.

“Come on, we better pack what little we have to leave.” She said. He followed her into their room, they didn’t come with a lot of things and Carol had gone out to scavenge cloths for them.

The next day

Ezekiel and Carol were engaged in a hushed discussion in her living room while Evelyn and Daryl were sitting together at the kitchen table. The whispering finally stopped and Ezekiel greeted them with a warm, kind smile. “We haven’t officially met. I am Ezekiel, the leader of the Kingdom. Carol has explained why both of you have been in hiding, so I think it’s best to not tell anyone who you really are.” he said.

Daryl and Evelyn nodded in agreement. It was decided that Ezekiel would act as if they had just encountered them on the road and were bringing them to the Kingdom. Their new names would be Alice and Michael. Evelyn found it strange having to call each other by different names, and Daryl was far from thrilled about his new identity either.

“I’ll come visit y’all soon.” Carol said and smiled. She felt better that they would be at the Kingdom. She enjoyed having them stay with her, but she was growing more and more concern for their safety and or her own.

The five of them set off into the woods, following a trail that lead from Carol’s home right to the Kingdom. “What made you decide to join Rick?” Daryl asked.

A sad expression crossed Ezekiel’s face, and he spoke softly. “A young man I was mentoring, named Benjamin, was killed during a supply run over a missing cantaloupe. We tried to save him, but he bled out. That was the moment I decided enough was enough—we needed to fight back. We couldn’t keep living like this, under tyranny and oppression.”

“That’s a pretty good reason.” Evelyn said.

“You’re a doctor, from what Carol has told me about you,” Ezekiel said, glancing at Daryl. “And you’re Rick’s right-hand man,” he added.

“I was.” Daryl replied.

Ezekiel gave Daryl a small, reassuring smile. “You’ve never stopped being a trusted friend. Rick needs you now more than ever… a lot of people do,” he said.

Daryl fell silent, and Evelyn could tell his mind had drifted far away. Rick was like a brother to him—they trusted each other completely. Gently, she clasped his rough, warm, calloused hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze. “We’ll go back to Alexandria. It’s where we belong,” she whispered softly.

Maybe it was her being naïve—or in love—but she genuinely saw a future at Alexandria with Daryl, and he felt the same. Both of them felt a little lost, separated from the people they knew and trusted. As they arrived at the front gates, the sounds of life from inside reached them—not quiet at all—and it reminded Daryl of the first time his group had come to Alexandria. The laughter of children playing eased some of Evelyn’s tension, making her feel more at home. Slowly, the gates creaked open and Ezekiel entered first with Daryl and Evelyn trailing behind him.

“You guys grow a lot of food,” Evelyn commented as they walked along a pathway winding between huge gardens, where people were busy pulling weeds, watering, or harvesting crops.

“We have almost 200 people here, so we have to grow a lot to feed everyone,” Ezekiel explained.

As they passed, people paused in their work, eyes flicking toward Daryl and Evelyn with a mixture of curiosity and caution. The memory of the Saviors’ arrival—when they had come searching for Daryl—still lingered, shattering any illusion of safety.

Ezekiel greeted everyone warmly. Some returned his greeting, while others cast distant, almost distrustful glances in his direction.

Ezekiel led them to what used to be an auditorium. On the stage sat a large, king-like chair, flanked by two men standing silently on either side, their expressions neutral but alert.

“What’s going on out there with your people?” Daryl asked.

“When the saviors came here looking for you, my people found out the hard way that we were giving half of our food to them.” Ezekiel said.

Daryl and Evelyn exchanged uneasy glances, both shocked by the revelation. Finally, he looked up at Ezekiel, eyes narrowed, shoulders tense. “So… you didn’t tell anyone. To protect ‘em, right?” His voice was low, rough, controlled—but the edge of warning was there. Every muscle in his body was alert, ready to move if this man wasn’t telling the truth.

The guards flanking the throne mirrored his tension. Their bodies were rigid, fingers tightening around their guns as their eyes tracked Daryl warily, assessing every movement.

Ezekiel met his gaze evenly, the kindness in his smile tempered by the gravity of his words. “I did what I thought was best. If they knew, panic would have spread. Without order, chaos would have consumed us.”

“You were trying to do the right thing,” she added, softer now, almost to herself, “but secrets like this… they cut both ways.”

“I know, and I’m paying for it,” Ezekiel said, almost slumping into the throne-like chair on the stage, burying his face in his hands. The weight of regret was clear in his posture. “The Saviors won’t come back to look for you,” he added, glancing at Daryl, who remained tense. Evelyn could tell he was growing even more uneasy in the unfamiliar surroundings.

She reached out subtly, brushing her hand against his arm. Daryl felt some of the tension ease, though every muscle remained alert, scanning for any sign of a trap.

A young girl approached them then, perhaps only a teenager. She looked at the newcomers nervously, but her smile was warm and polite, putting them slightly at ease.

“Shelly, please show them to their new rooms. I’ll assign duties later, but travelers need rest,” Ezekiel instructed.

“Come this way,” Shelly said softly. Her gentle, measured voice guided them as Daryl and Evelyn followed her out of the auditorium and down the hallway. Outside, the courtyard was alive with people moving about, and for the first time since arriving, Daryl and Evelyn allowed themselves to observe. Everything seemed normal—nothing appeared amiss.

“This used to be a high school,” Shelly explained, stopping in front of a blue door marked with the number 10. “We’ve converted the classrooms into bedrooms.” She unlocked the door and swung it open.

The room was big and open, much like a classroom, with large windows now covered by blackout curtains. The space had already been furnished, resembling a small studio apartment. Shelly handed Daryl the key, her hand lingering briefly in a polite, reassuring gesture.

“Ezekiel said he’ll be by later to assign your new duties. Welcome to the Kingdom,” she said, closing the door gently behind them and leaving Daryl and Evelyn to settle in.

Daryl and Evelyn just stood there, not sure what to say, think or even feel about their situation.

“Do you think Carol knew?” Evelyn asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Maybe,” Daryl replied, peering out the window. Beyond the glass, men clad in makeshift body armor were loading crates of fruit and vegetables, their movements methodical and efficient. He let out a low breath. “I get why he didn’t say nothin’ to them,” he muttered, his voice rough but thoughtful.

“Did Rick ever keep anything from you and your group?” She asked.

“Yeah that were all infected with the virus, we turn when we die.” He replied, his voice steady but soft.

She didn’t look surprised. “I heard about that from a scientist back in France, Carlos told me that the virus originally started in France and got out.” She said calmly.

“How’d that psycho even know anything about the virus?” he asked, his voice rough with disbelief.

“Those experiments… he made me and other doctors work for him,” she explained, her tone tight with memory. “We were actually working for another group… a much bigger group that wanted to find a cure. That’s why I blew up the lab—to stop the experiments.”

Daryl stared at her, noting the shadow those memories still cast over her. She didn’t break down like she once might have, but he could tell she’d never truly get over what had happened. She had survived it, though, and that mattered.

“Who was this other group?” he asked, his voice low, careful, probing for answers without pushing too hard.

Evelyn shook her head slightly, eyes distant. “I don’t know, to be honest. Carlos kept us in the dark, just threatened us to keep going with the experiments. The head scientist… she was part of this larger group. I killed her before blowing up the lab, and Carlos said I’d pay for it. Maybe she was an important member of that group.” Her voice wavered slightly, but there was a quiet steel beneath it—resolute, unyielding.

“Hey… you’re here now. And you survived,” he said softly, letting the weight of his words linger, hoping they might give her a sliver of peace.

She had survived, but many others hadn’t—innocent people lost along the way. Dwelling on the past wouldn’t help, so she pushed the memories down and focused on the present. “You’re right. I’m here now… and war is coming. We need to be ready,” she said, her voice steady, eyes hardening with resolve.

Ezekiel sat in his throne-like chair, discussing strategy with a few council members about the next steps against the Saviors. The sound of the door closing drew his gaze upward, and a smile spread across his face. “Ah, Carlos. Good of you to join us,” he said warmly.

Carlos returned the smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was getting the drop-off ready. I heard you took in two newcomers,” he said casually.

“I did. Met them out on the road—they needed shelter. I’ll need to find duties for them to fulfill,” Ezekiel replied, his tone calm, measured.

“I look forward to meeting them,” Carlos said, though the polite smile on his face barely hid his true intentions. He caught sight of Daryl and Evelyn as they arrived, his eyes narrowing. Slipping into the shadows of a darkened room, he watched them from a high window, unseen.

The sight of Evelyn made his pulse quicken, twisting his thoughts with a mix of anger and perverse desire. A dark, dangerous urge surged through him—he wanted to hurt Daryl, to assert control over Evelyn, to punish her for what she had done. Revenge and domination consumed him, a shadow lurking behind the careful mask of civility he presented to the community.

Chapter Text

The garden was quiet, the morning air still except for the soft rustle of leaves. Daryl knelt among the rows of green, inspecting the roots of a tomato plant, but his attention kept flicking to the edges of the garden. He couldn’t shake it—the feeling that someone was observing him, measuring him, waiting for a mistake.

Evelyn worked nearby, her hands deftly tying vines to stakes. She hummed a soft tune, oblivious to the tension that radiated from Daryl.

He caught it first in a movement at the treeline—a shadow, just a fraction too deliberate, slipping between trees and bushes. His body tensed, muscles coiling. He squinted, but by the time his eyes focused, it was gone.

“They’re good,” he muttered under his breath. “Too good.”

Evelyn looked up. “What is it?”

“Someone’s watchin’ us,” he said quietly. “But not like a casual observer. They want to be seen—just enough that you notice. Just enough to make you uneasy.”

Evelyn frowned. “Why would someone… do that?”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Fear’s a weapon. That’s what he wants—make us question everything. Make us doubt where we are, who we can trust. And he knows it.”

Unseen by them, Carlos moved with precision through the other workers, blending seamlessly with crates, carts, and garden tools. But he wasn’t hiding entirely—he allowed small glimpses, calculated flashes of movement at the corner of Daryl’s vision. A hand disappearing behind a cart, a masked head tilting just as Daryl turned, the subtle reflection of a black mask in a shiny metal tool. Enough to plant unease, to make Daryl feel the eyes without giving away his full position.

When Daryl glanced up again, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the half-masked figure disappearing behind a trellis. His gut tightened. He squatted lower to inspect the plant roots, pretending to work, but his mind mapped every angle, every shadow, every possible hiding place.

Evelyn noticed the change. “You’ve been watching the tree line all morning. You’re… tense.”

“I see him,” Daryl said quietly. “This ain’t random. He wants us to feel him. Wants us watchin’. Wants us thinkin’ we’re never alone.”

A few minutes later, as Daryl moved to water a row of seedlings, the masked figure appeared “by chance” to adjust a leaking hose. He didn’t speak, only crouched to tighten a connection, letting his masked face remain partially in shadow. Daryl froze mid-motion, sensing the deliberate placement. Evelyn’s breath caught, just faintly, noticing the sudden quiet, the way Daryl’s hands didn’t move.

The masked man moved on, leaving no trace but a lingering sense of dread. Daryl exhaled slowly, scanning the perimeter once more. Every instinct screamed that this was no ordinary worker—no ordinary threat.

By midday, Daryl’s suspicion had crystallized into certainty. Whoever this was, they were skilled, patient, and calculating. And they weren’t just hiding—they were orchestrating, playing a psychological game designed to weaken their focus, to wear them down before striking.

Evelyn finally whispered, her voice trembling slightly, “Do you… think he’ll come closer?”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed. “Eventually. But not yet. He’s testin’, pushin’, seein’ how we react. That’s when he’s strongest.”

Outside the window, Carlos leaned casually against a cart, watching them through the filtered sunlight. Beneath the black half-mask, his eyes were sharp, calculating every flicker of Daryl’s gaze, every subtle gesture of Evelyn’s body. He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He only waited, letting fear and doubt take root.

And Daryl knew, deep down, that the shadow wasn’t just watching—they were being hunted.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the garden, and Daryl moved with careful precision, checking each plant and irrigation line as though the act itself might protect them. Evelyn worked nearby, humming softly, but the tension in Daryl’s posture didn’t go unnoticed.

From the corner of his eye, Daryl caught a flicker of movement—a masked figure disappearing behind a cart. He froze, hand hovering over the handle of his pruning knife. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the pattern: the shadow that seemed to slip in and out of sight at exactly the right moment, always testing, always observing.

Minutes later, a small hose burst, spraying water over a row of seedlings. Daryl muttered a curse under his breath and stepped forward to fix it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the masked man kneel beside him, silently tightening a leaking joint. The action was helpful, almost too helpful. Daryl’s muscles tensed—he didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge it—but every instinct screamed that the gesture had intent.

Daryl’s jaw clenched. He wants us to see him do this. Wants us to feel we can’t handle things on our own.”

The masked man moved away quietly, slipping back into the shadows between the rows of plants. Daryl scanned the edges of the garden, noting every potential hiding spot, every tree that could conceal a figure.

Later, a rake fell from one of the garden sheds. Daryl jumped to pick it up, only to find the masked man already holding it, returning it to its proper place as if nothing had happened. The gesture was benign, helpful even, but Daryl felt the psychological weight behind it. Someone was orchestrating their every perception, manipulating the garden itself as a stage.

Evelyn took a step closer. “He’s… always there. Even when he’s not.”

Daryl nodded grimly. “Yeah. That’s the point. Fear doesn’t need a face. Just the idea that it’s always behind you… that’s what he wants. He’s patient. He’s precise. And he’s smart.”

Throughout the day, Daryl noticed more patterns: subtle reflections of the mask in metal tools, small glimpses at the corner of his vision, the way the masked man positioned himself to monitor Evelyn’s work while staying just out of clear sight. Every movement was calculated, designed to instill tension, to erode their sense of safety.

By evening, Daryl had mentally mapped almost every likely hiding spot, predicting where the masked figure would appear next. Evelyn, now fully aware that something was wrong, stayed close to him, her movements cautious.

Outside, Carlos crouched in the shadows of a cart-lined path, watching. His black half-mask hid the slightest twitch of his expression, but his eyes burned with a deliberate intensity. Every careful intervention, every “helpful” gesture had been designed to rattle them, to make them doubt themselves and each other. Patience was his ally; terror would be his weapon.

And Daryl knew, with a chill settling deep in his bones, that this invisible stalker was preparing for something far more dangerous than small manipulations—something that would make survival a test of both skill and will.

Chapter Text

The Kingdom moved with a quiet rhythm, the sun drifting slowly across the sky, casting long afternoon shadows over walls, paths, and gardens. Daryl and Evelyn moved from task to task, tending animals, inspecting the supply rooms, repairing fences. Everywhere they went, there was a faint, uneasy awareness that someone was following—a presence just beyond the edges of sight.

Carlos moved with seamless precision. He was always close enough to see, to measure, to calculate—but never close enough to be caught. In the barracks, he carried crates, walked past the rooms, spoke to other workers, all while keeping his half-mask lightly shadowed, his movements natural, unthreatening. To anyone else, he was just another competent soldier of the Kingdom, diligent and capable. But Daryl’s instincts screamed differently.

From the corner of his eye, Daryl caught a flicker—a shadow moving too deliberately along the hallway as he passed the armory. He turned sharply, scanning the corridor, but there was nothing. Only the faint echo of boots on stone, a reflection of sunlight glinting off a metal helmet in the distance.

Evelyn noticed the tension. “You’re… on edge,” she said softly, following him through the courtyard.

“I know someone’s there,” Daryl muttered, voice low. “Watching. Waiting. Not just in the garden anymore.”

Carlos leaned against a post at the far edge of the training yard, speaking quietly with a fellow guard. His half-mask was tilted slightly down, the shadow over his eyes natural, casual. He let the faintest glimpse of movement—an arm adjusting a strap, a head tilting toward Daryl—be caught just long enough to unsettle, to make them doubt the emptiness of the Kingdom around them.

Night fell, and the Kingdom quieted. Daryl and Evelyn retired to their room, but Daryl remained alert, scanning patterns of light from lanterns outside the window. He had caught subtle reflections of movement too often to ignore them. The faint shadow along the tree line. The rustle that came when no wind blew.

Outside, Carlos crouched just beyond the window, hidden in darkness and half-shadow, studying them. Every gesture, every glance, every whispered word was recorded, cataloged, and analyzed. He was patient, calculating, obsessed—with Evelyn for revenge. Daryl was an obstacle; Evelyn was the target.

He shifted slightly, brushing a branch aside, allowing a sliver of light to catch the edge of his mask. Daryl’s eyes flicked toward it instinctively, but when he focused fully, the shadow had vanished. Carlos smiled faintly under his mask. He wanted them to feel watched. To feel small, vulnerable. To doubt that anywhere in the Kingdom was truly safe.

Back inside, Daryl whispered to Evelyn, “Someone’s out there. Watching. Always watching. I can feel it.”

Evelyn shivered, pulling her blanket tighter. “But… who?”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. “Don’t know. But he’s clever. Patient. He won’t make a mistake… not yet. And that’s why he’s dangerous.”

Carlos retreated into the shadows, moving silently back among the guards, blending perfectly, carrying the image of a loyal, capable soldier. No one would suspect him. And as he planned his next move—to separate Daryl from Evelyn, to strike where they felt safe—he allowed himself a grim satisfaction. Fear was a slow blade, and he intended to make it cut deep.

Daryl, tense and silent, stared into the darkness beyond the window, instincts honed and unerring. He didn’t know the face of the hunter, didn’t know the half-masked man who had turned their world into a chessboard. But he knew this: someone was stalking them, and when the time came, survival would demand every ounce of skill and cunning he possessed.

Chapter Text

The feeling of being watched—stalked, hunted—was slowly eroding Evelyn, leaving her emotionally, mentally, and physically drained. She had always seen herself as strong, capable of weathering any storm, but the unknown shadow following her was cracking that self-assurance, leaving paranoia in its wake.

Daryl had come close to catching whoever it was. He’d set small traps, trying to flush them out, but each attempt ended in frustration. Finally, he and Evelyn went to Ezekiel to report the incidents. The king looked skeptical. None of the other residents of the Kingdom had noticed anything; it seemed these intrusions targeted only Daryl and Evelyn.

“Don’t sit there and tell me it’s raining while pissing on my leg,” Daryl snapped, irritation and fear flaring in his voice. “Someone here is watching us, stalking us. I don’t know why, and I don’t know who. Could be a remnant of the Saviors… or someone we haven’t even considered.”

Evelyn, Daryl, Ezekiel, Richard, and Jerry gathered in the auditorium. Shiva lay by Ezekiel’s side, asleep, blissfully unaware of the tension that filled the room.

“We’ve only been here a few days,” Evelyn said, voice tight with frustration. “This was supposed to be safer than Carol’s place. You reassured me of that. How are we supposed to stay here if Daryl and I are being stalked—and it’s clearly someone who resides here?”

Ezekiel didn’t answer right away. He was deep in thought, recalling Carol’s warning: never leave anything to chance. If there was even a hint that someone intended to bring down your community, you had to act. His dark eyes bored into Evelyn and Daryl before shifting to Jerry and Richard.

“Set up extra guards at the gardens where they work,” he ordered. “If you notice anyone suspicious, intercept them. We can’t just have a potential spy in the Kingdom.”

Richard scoffed inwardly. The constant caution felt pointless. He was growing restless, itching for action against the Saviors. Rumors of Rick seeking an alliance had circulated, but nothing had come of it. Benjamin’s death had fueled anger and demands for retaliation, yet once again they were stuck giving half their supplies to the Saviors. Now Ezekiel was diverting guards from the walls and gates to monitor two newcomers who were probably just traumatized from surviving in the wild.

Daryl exchanged a glance with Evelyn. The unspoken thought lingered: maybe it was time to leave the Kingdom and take their chances in the woods. But Carol had warned that the Saviors’ patrols had increased, and it wasn’t clear whether Negan was still hunting Daryl or simply sensing the communities’ growing defiance.

“Let us try and catch this villain in the act,” Ezekiel said, breaking the silence. “The safety of my community and its people is my priority. Will extra guards suffice?”

Evelyn hesitated for only a moment before replying, “Yes.” She wanted to give Ezekiel a chance.

Ezekiel’s lips curved into a reassuring smile. “Good. I want you two to rest easy—we will get to the bottom of this stalker. If there’s anything else you need, reach out immediately.”

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Richard, noting the young man’s apathetic, almost irritated expression. Evelyn gently touched Daryl’s arm as she passed him. He followed closely, letting the auditorium door slam shut behind them.

Carlos watched them emerge from the auditorium, Daryl and Evelyn heading back to the room they shared. From his hidden perch on the third floor of an empty building across from theirs, he observed every movement, savoring the subtle tension in their steps. His eyes lingered on Richard, catching the flicker of frustration and impatience on his face. Perfect. Richard wanted a war with the Saviors, and Carlos knew exactly how to exploit that desire.

He had learned much about Carol from Ezekiel—everything the king had ever confided about her—and a dark, insidious plan was forming in Carlos’s mind. He could ignite the fight Ezekiel hesitated to start, and, at the same time, manipulate events to pull Daryl away from Evelyn.

Richard had returned to his post at the front gate, unaware that Carlos was nearby, mask still in place but moving with a casual, effortless confidence that made him seem harmless.

“How did that go?” Carlos asked, his Spanish accent warm, inviting, almost comforting.

“Not great. Ezekiel wants us to babysit those two newcomers,” Richard said, irritation clear in his voice.

“Babysit? Why?” Carlos leaned casually against the railing, masking his curiosity with a friendly tone.

“They’re paranoid, thinking someone is watching them. Probably just traumatized from the road, without walls, without protection,” Richard replied dismissively.

Carlos nodded, pretending to consider the situation. “I see. We’ve taken in people who are having trouble acclimating. Extra protection will help. Just do it until they get used to being here.”

Richard kicked a rock and sighed. “Yeah, I guess… I’m frustrated, though. We should be focusing on going to war with the Saviors. I don’t know how else to get Ezekiel moving.”

Carlos allowed a slow, deliberate smirk under his mask. His voice dropped slightly, conspiratorial. “What about that loner in the woods… Carol, right?”

Richard frowned. “What about her?”

Carlos’s words were smooth, calculated, poisonous in their subtlety. “I hate to even suggest it, knowing how much Ezekiel cares for her… but what is one woman who lives alone in the woods compared to the lives of many others?”

Richard frowned, unsure where this was going. Carlos continued, weaving his manipulation carefully. “What if we set a trap or a lure for the Saviors to find her… or we stage it so she dies, make it look like the Saviors did it?”

He let the idea hang in the air, watching Richard’s reaction. Each word was designed to provoke, to destabilize. He was planting seeds of anger, frustration, and desperation—pushing Richard toward action that would serve Carlos’s hidden agenda, all while maintaining the appearance of a helpful, concerned ally.

Richard didn’t recoil at the idea. He didn’t think any less of Carlos; in fact, he saw it as a brilliant plan. If the woman Ezekiel cared for were killed and he believed the Saviors were responsible, he wouldn’t wait for Rick’s alliances or strategies. He would go charging in, guns blazing. Richard smirked. “I like how you think, Carlos.”

Carlos patted him on the shoulder, his gesture casual, almost friendly, hiding the dark satisfaction simmering beneath. “But you may want to take a small party with you. The fewer who know, the better the chance of it paying off. I’d suggest picking people newer here… more expendable.”

Richard considered it. “The newest are Michael and Alice… Alice doesn’t look like she can fight, but Michael… he looks like a fighter.”

Carlos fought to calm the shiver of excitement running down his spine. Everything was falling perfectly into place—Daryl out of the way, Evelyn within reach. “You could ask him to help. Also, someone you really trust. Just a three-man team,” he suggested smoothly, planting the idea like a seed.

Richard’s eyes gleamed with anticipation. “What about you?”

“I’d love to help,” Carlos said, his tone casual, “but Ezekiel has me on a special scouting assignment.”

Richard nodded, already planning. “Alright. I’ll ask Alan and Michael.”

Meanwhile, Daryl peeked out the window. His gaze fell on Richard speaking with a guard in black, a masked figure whose back was to him. The stalker always wore black, always masked, and Daryl only caught glimpses, never enough to discern height, build, or eyes.

“We don’t know everyone here… could be any one of these fuckers,” he muttered, letting the curtain fall. He turned to Evelyn.

She sat on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, forehead pressed into them. Both of them were running on scraps of sleep, alternating shifts to keep watch. Her voice was small, weary. “I hate to suggest this… but we should go back to Alexandria. At least we know the people there.”

Daryl shook his head. “The Saviors still go to Alexandria for supplies. From what Morgan and Hugo say, they even do sweeps when they pick up their orders.”

Evelyn lifted her head, her eyes heavy with fatigue and dread. “Is he still looking for you?” she asked softly.

Her question hung in the room, a quiet echo of the fear Carlos had expertly sown—not with violence yet, but with anticipation, manipulation, and the invisible threads of control pulling everything into his plan.

“Don’t know… but we do know Negan’s getting paranoid about the other communities. He senses we’re going to fight back, so that’s probably why. Out of all the leaders, Rick’s the one most likely to act,” Daryl said, voice low and steady.

Evelyn sat on the edge of the couch, knees drawn up, rubbing her temples. He hated seeing her like this—tired, tense, worn down by the constant feeling of being watched. “We’re going to find this stalker,” he added, voice hard. “And I’ll kill them when I do.”

Before she could respond, a sharp knock echoed from the door. Both of them snapped their heads toward it. Evelyn leapt to her feet, knife in hand. Daryl’s crossbow was ready in an instant, his stance controlled and measured.

“Who is it?!” Daryl demanded.

“Richard… I need to talk to you, Michael,” came the voice through the door.

Daryl moved slowly, crossbow trained, with Evelyn close behind. He positioned her slightly out of Richard’s sight, ready to act. Richard took a careful step back, raising his hands.

“What ya want?” Daryl asked, tone flat, eyes narrowing.

Richard’s gaze flicked to the weapon before he lowered his hands. “I need your help.”

“For what?” Daryl asked.

“Planning an attack on the Saviors while they’re on the road,” Richard said, casual but confident.

Daryl studied him, looking for any sign of deceit. There was none. Still, he glanced at Evelyn, seeing the unease in her eyes, and felt the tension tighten in his chest.

“When?” he asked.

“They’re heading to the drop-off in a couple hours. We hit them at the halfway point,” Richard replied.

Daryl considered it. Any chance to strike back at the Saviors was tempting—but leaving Evelyn vulnerable was not an option. He shifted his gaze to her. She shook her head, her voice small but firm.

“This is a bad idea, Daryl,” she said. “We don’t know who’s watching us. I can’t… I can’t stay here worrying about you and the stalker while you run into a trap.”

“I get it,” Daryl said, voice calm but firm. “But if we get a shot at the Saviors, we take it. We plan it right.

 “I just… I don’t think it’s worth it. Not now. Not like this.”

Daryl crouched slightly to be at her level without touching her, his eyes steady. “I ain’t leaving you here to do nothing. We’ll be smart. We’ll watch each other’s backs. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

Richard added quickly, trying to reassure, “If it helps, Alice can stay with Ezekiel. Doubt your stalker will bother her with him around.”

Daryl nodded slowly, still weighing the risk. Carol had reassured him Ezekiel would protect them if anything went wrong, and he trusted her judgment. He looked at Evelyn once more. “Alright. We leave in thirty minutes. We set up on the road.”

Evelyn’s eyes went wide. “Are you crazy?” she whispered, fear and frustration rising.

Daryl gave her a level, calm look. “I’ll be careful,” he said, voice low, steady, and uncompromising. “You stay put. You’ll be safe. That’s a promise.”

She wanted to argue, to try to stop him, but the resolve in his eyes told her there was no changing his mind. All she could do was hope he was right.

“You better, if you don’t I’m going to go looking for you,” Evelyn warned, grabbing her coat and knife as Daryl walked her toward Ezekiel.

“I’m going to help Richard. Evelyn needs to stay with you until I get back,” Daryl said, voice low, steady, but with a hint of worry that betrayed how much he hated leaving her behind.

Ezekiel tilted his head, his regal composure momentarily giving way to curiosity. “What are Richard and you doing?” he asked, his tone calm but probing.

Daryl’s jaw tightened. Richard hadn’t told him everything—he frowned but gave a curt shrug. “Said he needed help with something on the road. I won’t be seen.”

Ezekiel hesitated, weighing the decision. Daryl’s skills made him an asset, but sending him into unknown danger was risky. Still, if it meant protecting the Kingdom—or making use of Daryl’s talents—he wouldn’t argue. “Remember, Michael… you cannot reveal your true name,” Ezekiel reminded him.

Daryl gave a curt nod, leaning down to brush a tender kiss against Evelyn’s cheek. “I’ll be back,” he said softly, his eyes locking on hers with quiet intensity before he turned and walked away, the auditorium doors closing behind him.

Evelyn’s heart raced, a gnawing unease tugging at her. Something about this plan didn’t sit right. Richard must have known Ezekiel wouldn’t fully approve—that had to be why he had twisted things behind the king’s back.

Shiva stirred nearby, letting out a low, warning growl. Evelyn instinctively took a step back, and Ezekiel gently tugged on the chain. “Easy, Shiva,” he said calmly. The tiger padded in a slow circle before sitting, eyes bright and watchful, still fixed on Evelyn.

Ezekiel descended the steps to the auditorium and seated himself beside her. “There seems to be something you wish to ask me?” he prompted, his tone gentle but commanding.

Evelyn looked up at him, her eyes shadowed with worry. “It’s about the stalker. I feel like it’s someone newer here… is there anyone who’s recently joined the Kingdom?”

Ezekiel thought for a moment. “There are a few newcomers. All have been dependable and trustworthy. I don’t see them being dishonest toward me,” he admitted, his voice calm and steady.

Evelyn’s mind raced. One name came to her—Carlos, the psychopath she had run from in France. Could it be him? Maybe he was here, manipulating Richard, playing some twisted game to separate her and Daryl. If it were a Savior spy, Negan would likely have acted already. No—the pieces pointed to Carlos.

“What about anyone foreign?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Someone from France… Spanish-speaking?”

Ezekiel’s eyes widened as recognition hit him. He jerked his head toward her. “Yes… there is one. His name is Carlos.”

Evelyn’s blood ran cold. Her eyes widened, filled with terror. Carlos. He was here. That had to be the one stalking them. She whispered, barely audibly, “It’s a trap…”

Everything clicked. Carlos had probably manipulated Richard into this scheme—separating Daryl from her, setting him up on the road, planning to kill him.

Ezekiel’s calm demeanor faltered slightly, a hint of panic creeping into his voice. “Do you know Carlos? What do you mean by… a trap?”

Evelyn swallowed hard, the dread pooling in her stomach. “He’s here… and he’s dangerous. He’s the one stalking us.”

Without saying another word, Evelyn bolted from her seat, sprinting down the row toward the door. Ezekiel’s voice called after her, sharp and commanding, but it didn’t reach her ears—her fear had drowned everything else out.

Her legs carried her down the hallway, heart hammering, breath ragged. She reached the door that would take her outside, desperate for the safety of open space, but before she could push it open, a shadow detached itself from around a corner, cutting her path.

Evelyn skidded to a halt, chest heaving. The figure stood perfectly still, blocking her way. Instinctively, she knew who it was.

Those dark eyes—cold, unyielding, and swirling with obsession—fixed on her. There was hunger there, but not for food. A darker craving: revenge. Pain. Possession.

He slowly pulled the mask down, revealing his face. Every feature seemed sharper, every expression calculated, and his gaze bore into her like a predator locking on its prey.

“Hello, Evelyn,” he said, voice low and smooth, carrying both menace and a twisted satisfaction.

Evelyn’s stomach turned to ice. Her legs wanted to run, her mind screamed at her to fight—but she couldn’t move. Every instinct told her this man was dangerous, that he had been waiting for this moment, and that he would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

When Daryl arrived at the gate, Richard and another man, Alan, were waiting. Both carried weapons, and a crate of explosives sat on the ground. Richard handed Daryl a gun without a word, his confidence bordering on arrogance.

“You sure the Saviors won’t find out it’s us?” Alan asked, nervous.

“Yeah. Made a fake trail. Lead ‘em somewhere else,” Richard said, shrugging.

Daryl’s gut tightened as they moved deeper into the woods. Fake trail? He kept his eyes on the trees, listening, reading every movement. When they reached a dirt road, Richard and Alan began assembling explosives while Daryl watched silently, crossbow ready.

“So… what fake trail did you make?” Alan asked again. “And to where?”

Richard’s answer froze him. “This loner woman who lives in the woods.”

Daryl’s head snapped toward him. His jaw clenched, his voice low and dangerous. “What loner woman?”

“Her name’s Carol,” Richard said, calm as if naming a target were nothing.

Daryl’s crossbow went up in a flash. “No. You’re not,” he growled.

Richard and Alan exchanged a glance before Richard stepped forward, closing the distance. “Ezekiel’s hesitating. Even after he agreed with Rick, nothing’s happened. We have to act now. Her death saves hundreds.”

Daryl’s eyes narrowed, icy and unflinching. “How about you die instead?” He leveled his gun at Richard without hesitation.

Alan pulled his weapon, but Daryl’s reflexes were faster. A single shot ended Alan’s threat.

Richard lunged, knocking the gun from Daryl’s hands and wrapping him in a bear hug, slamming him into the dirt. Pain shot through Daryl, but he twisted, slammed his fists onto Richard’s head, enough to daze him. He kicked, rolled, and grabbed back the gun, pointing it directly at Richard. In a blur, he disarmed Richard, leaving Alan dead and Richard weaponless.

“If she dies—walker, fever, anything—I’ll kill you myself,” Daryl said, voice low, calm, but every word a promise. He clicked the hammer back, eyes locked on Richard.

Richard glared at him. “I’ll proudly die for the Kingdom,” he said, trying to stand his ground.

“Why don’t you?” Daryl snapped. He knew this wasn’t about saving the Kingdom. It was murder. He glanced at the Molotov cocktails Richard had made, then smashed them to pieces.

Daryl turned, walking back through the trees, every step purposeful, every muscle coiled for action. His mind was already on the Kingdom, on Carol, on Evelyn—on keeping them safe. Nothing else mattered.

Chapter Text

“You look exhausted,” Carlos said, his voice smooth, mocking, as he paced around her like a predator circling prey. “Don’t tell me that my keeping an eye on you has disrupted your sleep?”

Evelyn’s glare was sharp enough to cut. She moved for her knife, but Carlos was faster—far faster than she remembered. His hand clamped down on her wrist and twisted her arm sharply behind her back, a brutal motion that sent a jolt of pain through her shoulder. She hissed between clenched teeth as cold steel kissed her throat. Carlos’s knife glinted under the hallway light, steady and unshaking.

From around the corner, Ezekiel appeared, his stride confident as always—until his gaze fell on the scene before him. He froze mid-step, his posture faltering for only an instant. He had trusted Carlos, counted him among the Kingdom’s loyal guards, and now he stood staring at betrayal incarnate.

“Congratulations, King Ezekiel,” Carlos said, his smirk unnervingly calm, as though he’d rehearsed this exact moment. “You finally caught the stalker.”

Ezekiel’s expression hardened, disbelief warring with quiet fury. “You’re a disgrace, Carlos,” he said, his voice deep and steady, the tone of a man who commanded respect but now carried a sword of judgment in his words.

Carlos ignored him, leaning close to Evelyn instead. He pressed his nose against her hair, inhaling deeply, his eyes closing as if savoring a victory only he understood. “Not as much as I’ll disgrace her,” he whispered, his words soft but venomous.

Evelyn’s body tensed as he bent her arm even further, drawing another sharp hiss of pain from her. She bit it back, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

“I’ll be going now,” Carlos said, his voice eerily calm, almost polite. “And taking her with me. Give my regards to Dixon. Knowing his temper…” He chuckled lowly. “He’ll probably tear this place apart when he realizes you couldn’t stop me from taking her.”

Ezekiel’s hands curled into fists at his sides, the weight of Carlos’s betrayal sinking like a stone in his chest. He measured every detail of the moment—the glint of the blade, Carlos’s composure, Evelyn’s controlled fear. Rash action could kill her. He had to be precise. His voice carried authority, a quiet fury simmering beneath the surface.

“This ends here, Carlos,” Ezekiel said firmly, stepping closer, his voice low but commanding. “Whatever you’re trying to prove, whatever you think this is—it stops. Now.”

Carlos laughed softly, a cruel and bitter sound. “Oh, King Ezekiel…” His gaze flickered with delight at the shock etched on Ezekiel’s face. He pressed Evelyn closer, knife grazing her skin just enough to remind her of the danger. “You really don’t know me, do you?” His voice dropped low, meant for her ears alone. “You belong to me now.”

Evelyn drew in a slow breath, her heart pounding, but her mind was razor-sharp. She knew him well enough to understand his rules. She whispered, her voice steady despite the tremor in her body:

“You won’t kill me. You want me alive—you’ve always wanted me alive—so you could torment me. You’re not going to slit my throat.”

Carlos’s smirk deepened, his grip tightening just enough to make her wince. “So clever,” he murmured. Then his voice sharpened, slicing through the air like a blade. “But if you don’t come with me, my associate will poison the water supply.”

Ezekiel and Evelyn both froze, exchanging a wary glance. Her stomach dropped, fear coiling tight in her gut. Carlos didn’t bluff. She knew that better than anyone. If he’d fed children to walkers once, he’d do this without hesitation.

“I’ll go with you,” she said softly, her voice calm but resolute.

“Evelyn…” Ezekiel’s voice was quiet, heavy with helplessness, but his eyes burned with a promise: this wouldn’t be the end.

Carlos lowered the knife from her throat, releasing her arm, though he didn’t let her go. Instead, he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him like a companion rather than a captor. “It was a pleasure serving you, King Ezekiel,” Carlos whispered smoothly, his voice a mockery of loyalty. He turned with Evelyn in tow, guiding her toward the door.

To anyone watching, they looked like two people merely walking together, engaged in casual conversation. Evelyn forced her breathing steady, her face neutral, feigning calm as they approached the gate.

“Ezekiel’s sent me and Alice here on a run,” Carlos told the guard, his tone easy, confident.

The guard nodded, no suspicion in his expression, and opened the gate. Evelyn’s chest tightened as they walked through, her every instinct screaming to fight, but she played the role perfectly, her expression betraying nothing.

They slipped beyond the walls, into the shadowed woods. The Kingdom faded behind them, replaced by the heavy quiet of the forest. Carlos led her deeper, taking a path away from where Daryl, Richard, and Allen had gone.

“When you ran,” Carlos began, speaking casually as if they were two old friends catching up, “I was tasked with finding you. And when I failed and returned empty-handed, well… the higher-ups weren’t pleased. They banished me from Paris.” He glanced at her with a chilling smile. “But I couldn’t get you out of my mind. You, who destroyed my life. So I got someone to fly me to the United States. I didn’t know exactly where you were, but I knew you had an older brother in New York. The pilot dropped me in Virginia.”

His voice was calm, almost conversational, but every word was laced with menace, a reminder that she was prey caught in a predator’s game.

“Who is your associate?” Evelyn asked, her voice even, buying time, extracting whatever information she could.

Carlos smirked, his hand tightening on her waist as they walked further into the woods.

“You’ll meet them soon enough.”

The woods grew darker as Carlos guided Evelyn along a narrow deer trail, his grip firm but not overtly rough—another layer of his mind games. To an onlooker, they still might’ve looked like two people out for a stroll. That was the point.

“Do you know what the worst part of exile is?” Carlos said conversationally, as though recounting a vacation mishap instead of a punishment. “It isn’t the loss of power, or status… It’s the silence. The isolation. It gives a man too much time to think, to relive every humiliation.” He glanced at her, his smile sharp. “And every face that caused it.”

Evelyn kept her face blank, but her mind was racing. He was talking too much, revealing pieces of his mindset and history. He thrived on control, on the fear he inspired. If she could keep him talking, she could learn more, maybe even turn his obsession into a weakness.

“You tracked me halfway across the world,” she said evenly. “That’s not devotion, Carlos. That’s obsession.”

He chuckled softly, a sound low and unsettling. “Obsession has such a negative connotation. I’d call it… purpose.”

They reached a shallow creek cutting through the woods. Carlos stopped and knelt, his free hand dipping into the water. He swirled it idly before looking up at her. “One vial. That’s all it would take to kill this entire community. A hundred lives gone in days. Can you imagine their panic? Their desperation?” He rose slowly, brushing his wet hands on his pants. “But I don’t want them dead—not yet. I want you, Evelyn. And I always get what I want.”

Evelyn’s stomach tightened, but she stood tall. “You think dragging me out here makes you powerful?” she said sharply. “You’re pathetic. You can’t break me, Carlos.”

His smirk widened. “Oh, I’m not trying to break you. Not yet.”

He gestured for her to keep walking, his hand now resting at the small of her back, the intimacy of the gesture making her skin crawl. The deeper they went into the forest, the quieter it became, the Kingdom’s walls long out of sight.

After some time, they reached a small cabin hidden beneath towering pines. It was weathered but intact, its windows boarded and its door reinforced with steel bars. Evelyn’s instincts screamed danger; this wasn’t a temporary hideout. This was prepared.

Carlos opened the door with a key, ushering her inside. The interior was dim, lit only by a few lanterns. The air smelled faintly of gasoline and mildew. A single cot rested against one wall, and shelves lined with canned goods and supplies suggested they’d be here for a while.

“Welcome to your new home,” Carlos said softly, almost tenderly. “Don’t worry—I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.”

Evelyn forced herself to remain composed as he motioned her toward the cot. She sat, her posture rigid, her mind already scanning the room for exits, weapons, anything she could use. There was a crowbar leaning near the door, a hunting knife left on the shelf, and a lantern close enough to grab.

“You’ve been planning this for a long time,” she said, her tone calculated, trying to keep him talking.

Carlos crouched in front of her, studying her face like a piece of art. “Since Paris,” he admitted. “You humiliated me. Destroyed everything I built. And yet…” He tilted his head, his voice dropping. “I admire you. Most people would have begged me to end their misery back then. But not you. You were fire.”

“And fire burns,” Evelyn said coolly.

Carlos laughed softly, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—an edge of excitement. “That’s why I kept chasing you.” He reached forward and gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch almost tender if not for the menace behind it. “You’re not a prize to be won, Evelyn. You’re a challenge. And I don’t quit challenges.”

Evelyn’s jaw tightened. Her heart pounded, but her mind was sharp, calculating. If she lunged for the crowbar now, he’d be on her before she got two steps. She needed him relaxed. She needed him convinced she was broken or compliant.

So she forced herself to lower her shoulders and meet his gaze evenly. “Then you’ve already lost,” she said calmly. “Because I will never give you what you want.”

Carlos’s grin widened, his expression darkening with a thrill she’d seen before. He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath. “We’ll see.”

He stood, walking toward the door and locking it with a loud click. “Rest,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll need your strength and nobody will save you.”

The moment his back turned, Evelyn’s eyes darted to the knife on the shelf. She memorized the distance, the weight of the lantern near her hand. Every detail mattered. Carlos thought she was prey. But he was wrong. he wasn’t waiting to be saved. She was planning his downfall.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the Kingdom should have been no more than ten or fifteen minutes, but in this world, even the simplest journey was a gamble. Daryl crouched low, his back pressed to a tree trunk, eyes scanning through a slit in the underbrush. A column of men moved along the path ahead—too many, moving with purpose. He kept still, barely breathing, as he caught fragments of their conversation. Simon was leading the next drop, they said, and this crew was backup in case things went sideways.

They didn’t see him. Daryl stayed rooted until the sound of boots and low voices faded into the distance. He rose slowly, cautious eyes sweeping the woods before slipping from his hiding place. His jaw was tight, mind already on the Kingdom. He didn’t know if Richard had made it back. Didn’t know if killing Alan would have consequences. But none of that mattered right now. Evelyn was still there. And he had to talk to Ezekiel about Richard’s plan to frame Carol.

Inside the Kingdom, Ezekiel sat on the stage of the auditorium, the weight of failure pressing heavily upon his shoulders. He had watched Carlo’s lead Evelyn away, powerless to intervene. His gut twisted at the memory, fear gnawing at him—not for himself, but for her, and for what Daryl would do when he learned the truth.

Carol had told him of the bond between Daryl and Evelyn, had shared their history in full: how Evelyn had come back to America, how she’d brought Daryl home with her, the lives she had saved, and the family she had lost at Negan’s hands. She had spoken of their reunion, of trust built in blood and hardship. Ezekiel had listened then with quiet respect. Now, all of it weighed upon him like a stone crown.

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, burying his face in his hands. Shiva stirred from where she lay, a soft chuff rumbling from her chest as she placed her massive head upon the armrest beside him. Her golden eyes locked with his, unwavering, filled with trust.

“My dear Shiva,” Ezekiel murmured, voice low but steady. “It seems a storm approaches. We shall have a fight on our hands.”

The great tiger nudged his arm gently, a rumble of affection in her throat. For a moment, her presence steadied him.

Jerry’s heavy footsteps echoed as he descended from the guard tower. He’d watched Carlos and Evelyn vanish into the woods, heading away from where Richard, Daryl, and Alan had gone. It had struck him as odd. Carlos wasn’t the type to take someone new on a run without saying a word.

He found Ezekiel still seated, and immediately sensed something was wrong. “Uh… Ezekiel?” Jerry said cautiously.

Ezekiel lifted his gaze, eyes shadowed with worry though his voice carried its usual measured calm. “Yes, Jerry?”

Jerry frowned, scratching the back of his neck. “Where’d Carlos and Alice go? Kinda weird sending him out on a run with her. Didn’t hear anything about it.”

For a moment, Ezekiel said nothing. He trusted Jerry more than most—but trust had become a fragile thing. The traitor who had just stolen Evelyn away had an accomplice, and that accomplice could be anyone within these walls. Ezekiel’s heart urged him to confide, but caution whispered louder.

He rose slowly, straightening his shoulders, slipping into the persona of the King even as turmoil churned beneath. “All will be revealed in time, my faithful steward,” he said, voice calm but heavy. “For now, I must ponder our course with great care. We face shadows yet unseen.”

Jerry blinked at him, puzzled but trusting as always. Ezekiel offered a faint, reassuring smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, before turning away. Inside, his mind raced. He needed to be careful. He needed to wait for Daryl.

Daryl slipped back into the Kingdom through the gates without a word. The guards opened up for him, no questions asked, which struck him as strange, but he didn’t stop to dwell on it. His pace was steady, his eyes sharp, scanning every corner as he moved through the community. The silence felt wrong. No chatter, no questions about Richard or Alan. Just stares.

His gut twisted.

He didn’t break stride as he headed straight for the auditorium, crossbow slung over his shoulder, his expression dark. Evelyn would be waiting for him there. She always was.

But the moment he stepped into the big room, his stomach dropped.

Jerry was standing stiffly beside Ezekiel’s throne, Shiva lounging at the King’s side. The air felt heavy. Daryl’s eyes swept the space once, twice, looking for her. She wasn’t there.

He froze.

“Where is she?” His voice was rough and low, almost a growl, the kind of voice that made people step back.

Ezekiel stood slowly, meeting his stare. “Daryl…” His tone was careful, regret threading every word. “I fear… she has been taken. Carlos has her.”

Daryl blinked once, like he didn’t understand. He stood there, unmoving, then lowered his head, his hair falling into his face. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his shoulders rising and falling as he fought for control.

Jerry glanced nervously between them, but Ezekiel held Daryl’s gaze, his own face somber. “I… I wanted to act,” Ezekiel admitted softly, voice steady but tinged with guilt. “But Carlos has allies among us. To strike then would have endangered more than just Evelyn. I—”

Daryl’s head snapped up, eyes burning. “You just let him take her?” His voice was cold, flat, but the edge in it was sharp enough to cut.

Ezekiel straightened his back, though his guilt showed. “I chose caution, friend. I chose to live to fight wisely.”

Daryl’s jaw tightened. His breaths came harsh through his nose. He took one slow step forward, then another, his glare fixed on Ezekiel. “That’s Evelyn,” he said quietly, voice breaking just enough to show the weight behind it. “She ain’t just somebody you sit ‘round and wait on.”

Shiva gave a low chuff, sensing the tension. Jerry’s grip on his staff tightened, though he didn’t move.

Ezekiel softened his voice, his regal tone breaking slightly. “I am sorry… truly sorry. I see now the depth of your bond. Carol has spoken of all you two have endured together.” He took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging. “We will find her, Daryl. We will bring her home.”

Daryl didn’t answer right away. He turned his head, pacing a few steps away, his hands shaking slightly as he rubbed at his face. His breathing was heavy—like when Glenn was taken in the prison, or when Beth disappeared. Like he was back in that place where rage and pain blurred together.

Finally, he turned back, eyes hard, voice gravelly. “I ain’t waitin’.”

Ezekiel stepped down from the dais, his composure cracking further. “If you go out there now, alone, you risk—”

“Don’t matter.” Daryl’s voice was low, controlled, but full of fire. “Ain’t stoppin’ me.”

He slung his crossbow off his back, checking the string, the motions sharp and practiced.

Ezekiel sighed deeply, bowing his head slightly in respect. “Then take caution, my friend. The shadows close in around us. Carlos is not a man to be underestimated.”

Daryl didn’t respond. He was already heading for the door. His posture radiated quiet fury—every step precise, his entire body a coil ready to snap.

“Daryl,” Ezekiel called, voice heavy but calm, “May fortune favor your path.”

Daryl glanced back, his expression deadly serious. “Ain’t luck. It’s him or me.”

And then he was gone, boots thudding softly against the floorboards as he stormed out into the night. The silence he left behind was deafening. Ezekiel lowered himself slowly back onto his throne, Shiva pressing against his side, her great head in his lap.

Jerry finally broke the quiet. “You think he’s comin’ back?”

Ezekiel stared at the empty doorway. “He will… with her, or with vengeance.”

Wordlessly, Daryl stormed through the courtyard, boots hitting the pavement with heavy, deliberate steps. His face was hard, eyes cold, and the guards at the gate didn’t bother stopping him. They just opened it, reading the anger on his face, knowing better than to ask questions.

He paused only long enough to glance at one of them. “Where’d they go?” His voice was gravel, low and dangerous.

The guard stiffened, pointing down the road to the left.

Daryl gave a single nod, then turned and slipped into the woods like a shadow, his crossbow gripped tight in his hand.

The sky was darkening fast, heavy clouds rolling in, the smell of rain sharp in the air. It’d be pouring soon. He crouched low, scanning the ground with practiced eyes until he found what he was looking for—a faint trail. Evelyn’s footprints. He could pick them out by weight, size, and stride. Right beside hers was a second set: Carlos. Light step, careful.

Daryl crouched lower, fingertips brushing over a faint indentation in the dirt. Carlos was good. Damn good. He wasn’t just running with her; he was thinking ahead, treading soft to hide his trail.

Daryl’s jaw tightened, anger burning through him like a fuse. Evelyn had been through hell already—losing her brother, her home, people she cared for—and now this. The thought of finding her body out here, alone, cold… it made something twist painfully in his chest. He’d kill Carlos if it came to that, and it wouldn’t be quick. But afterward? He’d just be kneeling there over her, same as he’d done for too many others.

He swallowed hard, the familiar weight of loss pressing against him, threatening to choke him, but he shoved it down and pushed forward.

The trail started fading. Carlos was deliberately covering his tracks now, doubling back, scuffing earth, masking prints. Daryl crouched lower, fingers tracing the ground, his sharp eyes darting for any sign—broken grass, a scuffed rock, a snapped twig.

Carlos wasn’t just good; he was careful, patient. Almost too patient. Daryl hated admitting it, but this guy might even be a better tracker than him.

An hour passed. The woods grew darker, and the sky rumbled overhead. The trail went cold.

Daryl crouched, breathing slow and steady as he studied the ground like a predator. Nothing. No clear prints. No bent weeds. Not even a scrap of her clothing or a strand of hair caught on a branch. Carlos had vanished into the trees like a ghost.

Daryl exhaled sharply through his nose and dropped to one knee, scanning every detail around him. His fingers hovered over the dirt, feeling for impressions invisible to most eyes. His gaze swept upward, catching subtle bends in a few higher branches, scanning deeper into the forest. He was methodical, moving slow, silent.

But as the rain started to fall, soft droplets hissing through the canopy, the ground began swallowing what little trail there was left.

Daryl sat back on his heels, the frustration building. He’d been here before—too many times. Searching for someone who might already be gone. Beth. Merle. Rick. The hollow ache in his chest threatened to take over, but he pushed it down hard, jaw locking as he blinked the rain from his eyes.

He whispered to himself, low and rough, “Come on… gimme somethin’.”

Nothing. Just wet earth and thickening darkness.

But Daryl didn’t move. He stayed there, crouched and still, listening. The woods were alive with the soft patter of rain, the wind in the trees. He closed his eyes for a moment, shutting out everything else. Tracking wasn’t just about sight—it was about instinct, about feeling where someone went, reading the woods like a book only he knew how to open.

Carlos was clever, but Daryl was relentless.

When he finally rose, his crossbow was in his hands, his face set. He’d follow this trail all night if he had to. He’d tear these woods apart. Rain or not, Carlos wasn’t good enough to make Daryl Dixon quit.

And if he found Evelyn’s body…

Daryl swallowed hard, his throat tight. He shook his head like he could push the thought away, his jaw working, and moved forward again, slow and silent, every step a predator’s. The hunt wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Evelyn lay stiff on the narrow cot, her back pressed against the cold wall of the cabin. Her eyes were fixed on Carlos, who sat in a chair in the far corner, legs stretched casually, a knife turning in his skilled hands as he carved into a piece of wood. The faint scrape of the blade was rhythmic, deliberate. He wasn’t in a hurry; he was never in a hurry.

Every few moments, his dark eyes flicked up to meet hers, holding her gaze for just a breath too long before lowering back to his work.

“He’s not coming.” His voice was calm, almost gentle.

Evelyn’s lips tightened. “You don’t know Daryl very well,” she said, her voice steady, “and you don’t know me either.”

Carlos chuckled softly, the sound low and humorless. He set the wood and knife aside on a small table next to him and rose from the chair with an easy grace. Evelyn instinctively sat up, tilting her chin to glare at him as he approached.

That look—defiant, sharp—made his lips curve into a slow smirk.

“That look on you suits you well,” he murmured, crouching slightly so his eyes were level with hers. “But I prefer the fear. You’re… stunning when you’re afraid.”

Evelyn’s jaw clenched, refusing to flinch at his words, but Carlos’s smirk only deepened.

Hurting her physically wouldn’t give him what he wanted. That would be too simple. No, Carlos craved something else. He wanted to see the light dim in her eyes. He wanted her spirit to crack, piece by piece, until she had no choice but to depend on him. Until she belonged to him.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Do you ever dream of them? The kids that feed the walkers?”

Evelyn’s breath hitched, just for a second. She tightened her fists in her lap, trying to mask the tremor that threatened to betray her.

“I see their faces… all the time,” she said finally, her voice trembling with controlled anger. “But you… feeding a toddler to a walker, right in front of her parents…” She glared up at him, her eyes sharp with disgust. “You’re despicable.”

Carlos’s smirk didn’t falter; if anything, it grew darker. He crouched fully now, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze boring into her. “I don’t mind being despicable,” he said softly. “Despicable men survive in this world. And you…” His eyes drifted over her face, drinking her in like art. “You were made for survival. I can see it. Even broken, you’d still be beautiful. Maybe more so.”

Evelyn shifted, her shoulders stiff, but she refused to look away. That only made him grin wider.

“You’re strong,” he continued, his tone almost admiring, “but you’re not invincible. And that’s what I like about you. Even your bravado is just a mask for the wounded girl underneath. I’m going to drag her out, Evelyn.”

Her name rolled off his tongue like a promise.

Evelyn’s stomach twisted, but she met his gaze, fire in her eyes.

Carlos chuckled quietly and tilted his head. “I heard about your brother,” he said smoothly, the edge of mockery creeping in. “Charlie, wasn’t it? I heard how he died… how Negan gave a warning to keep everyone in line, and Dixon decided he was too good for rules. He got your brother killed because of that pride. Because he can’t play by the world’s new rules.”

Evelyn’s throat tightened, her nails digging into her palms.

Carlos’s smile turned predatory. “Dixon’s reckless. Always has been. He’s not coming for you. And even if he does…” He leaned in so close she could feel his breath. “He’ll die out there, and you’ll be here. With me. Where you belong.”

Evelyn’s glare didn’t waver, but Carlos could see the storm behind her eyes. Fear. Pain. Loss. All the things he wanted to drag to the surface and mold into something new.

He stood slowly, towering over her, his knife dangling loosely from his fingers again. “You’ll see it soon enough. The world doesn’t care how strong you are. You’ll bend… or you’ll break. Either way…” His eyes swept over her, slow and deliberate. “…you’re mine.”

Carlos returned to his chair, sat back, and resumed carving, his movements calm, patient. Evelyn stayed still on the cot, heart pounding, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her shake.

But Carlos didn’t need her fear right now. He knew it was there. And he was willing to wait for the day she stopped pretending otherwise.