The Stranger

I woke to a soft, golden light creeping through the grimy cabin windows. Daryl had slept all night with his head on my chest, my arms wrapped around him.

Usually, he was the big spoon, holding me tight, as if even in sleep, he needed to protect me. But last night, he let me hold him.

His body was heavy with exhaustion, his breathing deep and steady. It was the best sleep I'd ever seen him have, like he'd finally allowed himself to rest. And I didn't have to wonder why. After everything he'd shared with me last night, I knew.

He felt safe.

And knowing that was the most precious feeling in the world.

It wasn't because we'd found shelter, or the spike trap he'd set outside the cabin door. It was because he'd finally opened up-about the abuse his dad subjected him to, about feeling abandoned by Merle, about losing his mom.

It had been hard to watch him struggle with it all, but somehow, in the quiet of our space, he'd let it out. Those heavy secrets, laid bare. I could feel the weight lifting off his shoulders, bit by bit, though I knew it wouldn't be gone all at once. He had to work through it in his own time. But it was progress.

I didn't wake him now-I just lay there, dozing in and out of sleep, trying to ignore the pain in my ankle, running my fingers lazily through his hair. The weight of him against me, his warmth, was the most comforting thing I'd ever known. The world outside felt distant, irrelevant-here, in this space with him, everything was quiet and still.

His hand rested lightly on my stomach, his thumb drawing slow circles across my skin as he began to rouse. I let him take his time, knowing he didn't rush anything when it came to me, but also knowing there was something in him that still battled with the comfort we had found together.

"Hey, you," I whispered, my voice low and soft, almost as if speaking too loudly might ruin the peace of the moment. I felt his body shift, his fingers curling around mine as he moved slightly, his lips brushing the curve of my neck.

"Mhmh," he murmured, his voice rough from sleep, and I could feel his chest vibrating as he pressed closer to me. "Ya still here?"

I chuckled quietly, kissing his forehead lightly. "Of course I'm still here."

He sighed, a long, heavy breath that almost sounded like a weight lifting off his chest, but the tension in his shoulders told me he wasn't fully settled. He never was.

His head lifted just enough to look at me, his eyes still clouded with sleep but intense with something else-raw vulnerability, like he was checking that he hadn't said too much last night, revealed too much.

"Ya make me forget," he said, his voice grateful. "All the shit."

"Good," I smiled, tracing the outline of his jaw with my fingertips. "You make me feel the same."

His gaze softened, but I could see the doubt still lingering behind his eyes, like he wasn't quite sure he deserved the peace he was finding in me. The peace he was starting to find in himself.

"When I tell ya bout... stuff," he muttered, almost to himself, as his head dropped back to my chest. His breath, warm and steady against my skin, vibrated through me. "I always expect ya to leave. But ya don't."

"I'll never leave," I whispered, my thumb grazing over his ear. "You still don't get it, do you? I'm not going anywhere."

His hand flexed on my waist, as if he was battling to believe me. "Yur incredible, Ath, ya really are." He paused. "I don't deserve ya."

I felt the rawness in his voice, the lingering doubt that he was somehow unworthy of the love I had for him. It hurt my heart. I didn't know how much clearer I could make it that I was completely infatuated with him. I always had been. I always would be.

I shifted beneath him so I could look into his eyes. I could see the struggle in them. "Daryl, I adore you. I think you're the incredible one. I wish you could see that."

His jaw clenched as he shifted, pulling back. His gaze was intense, searching, like he was trying to find something he couldn't quite grasp. "I know ya love me," he muttered, the words tight in his throat. "Just maybe ya still think I'm someone I ain't."

The ache in my chest deepened at the vulnerability he could no longer hide. I raised my hand to cup his cheek, feeling the rough stubble beneath my fingertips. "I know exactly who you are," I whispered gently. "That's why I love you."

He flinched slightly, the old walls rising just a little higher, but I could see it-the way he wanted to believe me, the way he desperately wanted to let go of the doubt. But it wasn't that easy. It never would be.

"Never..." He hesitated, shaking his head, and for a second, I thought he might stop, but he didn't. "Thought I'd have this."

I stroked his cheek again, softly, urging him to look at me. "Well, you do. I married you. I'm obsessed with you. You have to stop doubting it."

He closed his eyes for a moment, his forehead pressing gently against mine. "M'sorry. I must piss ya off."

I swallowed, the weight of his words pressing into me. "You do..." I admitted with a small laugh. "But only because I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

For a long moment, there was only the sound of our breath mingling, the silence hanging between us as he processed what I said. But I could feel it-something shifting inside of him, something he was trying to give in to, but it was still a fight. I didn't push him, though. I waited.

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes meeting mine. "I love ya," he said, his voice hoarse, almost like a plea. "Just don't want ya to think you've made a mistake."

I smiled softly, my hand reaching up to touch his face. "I'll never think that."

He blinked a few times, like he was fighting something back. Then, slowly, his lips brushed across mine-gentle, hesitant. He pulled back, looking at me again.

"Ya deserve the world," he said quietly. "I ain't-"

"And so do you," I cut him off softly.

There was a long silence, one where I could see him letting my words sink in, letting himself believe in them, if only for a moment. And then, almost as if he couldn't help it, he lowered his lips to mine again.

"M'so glad I found ya," he whispered against my mouth, his breath merging with mine.

"Me too," I murmured back, kissing him softly, feeling the weight of everything he was trying to say but couldn't.

He kissed me slowly, his hand pressing into my back, pulling me flush against him, like he was trying to anchor himself.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers threading into his hair, kissing him back with everything I had. I could feel the heat rising between us, slow and steady, a warmth that built with every brush of his lips, every careful press of his fingers against my skin.

His mouth trailed lower, down my jaw, to my neck, and I tilted my head, granting him access. His stubble scraped deliciously against my skin, his lips pressing reverent, heated kisses along my collarbone. His hand slid beneath my shirt, his touch both gentle and desperate, like he was memorizing every inch of me.

"You're all I've ever needed," I whispered, feeling his breath catch against my skin. "All I ever will need."

A low sound rumbled in his throat, his grip tightening. He moved over me, his body pressing me into the thin mattress, his knee nudging between my legs, spreading me open beneath him.

His forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing heavily, the space between us filled with something thick and electric. "I love ya," he murmured, his voice rough, desperate.

"I love you too," I whispered back, my hands sliding over his shoulders, tracing the strong muscles of his back. "Always."

He kissed me again, deeper this time, as his hands moved lower, slipping beneath the waistband of my pants. I gasped softly into his mouth as his fingers pressed against me, gentle but knowing. He swallowed the sound, his breath hitching as he felt how much I wanted him, how ready I was for him.

His movements turned more certain, his hands stripping away the barrier of fabric between us. I arched beneath him, my breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he moved with me, every touch, every kiss, filled with the kind of unspoken devotion that only we understood.

He pulled out a condom, and within seconds, he was inside me, making me tremble beneath him. His thrusts were slow, deliberate, his hands cupping my face as he kissed me tenderly, his body fitting perfectly against mine.

He made love to me like he was proving something-to himself, to me, to the ghosts that still lingered in his mind. His lips never left my skin, his hands covering every part of me, as if trying to commit me to memory, to remind himself that I was here. That I wasn't going anywhere.

I wrapped my legs around his waist as we both found our release. The friction of him against me making me come completely undone as I whimpered with pleasure, feeling his body jerk in satisfaction.

As we lay together afterwards, our breathing settling, his attention turned to my swollen ankle.

"How's it feel?" he asked.

I rolled my foot in a slow circle, biting down the pain that shot through it. "Better," I lied.

He saw right through me.

~

No matter how much I protested, Daryl made it clear-we couldn't risk moving yet. I needed at least another day to let the swelling go down.

As desperate as I was to find the others, to make sure they were safe after the herd, I knew he was right. I'd be screwed in a fight, and pushing it now would only slow us down in the long run.

We ate the last of our food-canned beans, stale crackers, lukewarm water. Hardly a feast, but it satisfied our hunger.

Daryl busied himself with small tasks, checking our supplies, cleaning his crossbow while I kept my ankle elevated.

As the morning turned to afternoon. I noticed him lingering by an old, battered drawer.

"Found something?" I asked, ambitiously hoping for chocolate or maybe a can of something fizzy. It had been months since I'd managed to find either, and I was far past the point of withdrawal.

He ambled over and revealed a dusty pack of playing cards, a relic from a world that once prized laughter and friendly competition. "Thought ya might be bored," he said, a half-smirk tugging at his lips.

"I used to love playing as a kid." I grinned. "But I could never be bored when I get to spend the day with you."

The tips of his ears flushed, and I loved that he still got like that around me-after everything. "Ya don't wanna play?"

"Of course I do." I laughed. "I'm gonna whoop your ass, Dixon. You know how to play Go Fish?"

"Go what?"

"Fish! Or Rummy?" He looked confused. "Spit?"

"My dad only ever taught us Poker," he mumbled, almost embarrassed.

"Teach me."

We settled on the creaky floor, my leg propped up with a pillow.

As it turned out-I was terrible at Poker.

After a few awful rounds, Daryl's eyes lit up with a mischievous spark. "Me 'n' Merle," he said, shuffling the deck with ease. "We were kids-decided to try our luck at a makeshift poker game with some homeless guys. Thought we might win somethin'."

I leaned in, intrigued by the rare glimpse into his past. But I couldn't help but tease. "You thought homeless guys were the way to go when you wanted to win big?"

"Hey, I said we were kids. I must'a been, what, nine? One of the guys had this bag-said it had treasure in it."

"What happened?"

He let out a low chuckle. "Well, Merle said we could outsmart 'em. He got all cocky-bluffin' like he owned the place. Next thing ya know, one of the guys calls him out, all hell breaks loose, Merle swipes the bag that was s'posed to be our big winnin's. The four of 'em chased us, screamin', cursin'-took us ages to outrun 'em. When we finally got home, opened the bag-ya won't believe what the treasure was."

"Tell me."

He scoffed, rubbing his face. "Fuckin' bag full a googly eyes."

"What!?" I cackled loudly.

"Googly eyes," he laughed. "Thousands of 'em."

"What the fuck!?"

"I know. Some treasure, huh?"

"What did you do with them? Arts and crafts?"

"Nah. Merle was pissed. Tossed the bag into the yard." He looked shy. "I felt bad. The guy must'a been real attached to them googly eyes. I took 'em back. Gave 'em to him. Half-expected him to whoop my ass."

"But he didn't?"

"Nah. He was so happy to have his eyes back. Said he couldn't see without 'em... Then he lifted his shirt... had 'em glued to every inch of 'im."

"More googly eyes!?"

"Yep." He laughed.

I laughed along with him, then taught him how to play Go Fish.

The warmth of the cabin mingled with our laughter. We traded stories from our childhoods-some funny, some bittersweet-until the conversation inevitably turned to the world as it was now.

"Carl, Judith... kids like them, they'll never know anything but survival," I murmured, staring into the fire's glow. "Never know what it's like to just be kids."

Daryl was quiet for a moment before he sighed. "Yeah... ain't right."

As the day waned, our conversation softened, settling into the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

"You know," I murmured, leaning my head against his shoulder, "being stuck here with you isn't the worst thing that could have happened. As long as we can find the group again."

"We will." His voice was firm. "Ain't no way they'd stop lookin'." He checked my ankle again, his touch gentle. "'N' we should be able to get movin' tomorrow."

"Mmhmm," I mumbled, wondering if the others even thought we were still alive.

Daryl's gaze suddenly softened, and he looked at me with an intensity that made my heart beat faster. "Bein' with ya," he said, "it almost makes me glad the world fell apart."

I smiled, feeling the weight of his words settle into my bones. "I know what you mean." I pulled him into a slow, lingering kiss, letting the world outside disappear for a moment longer.

~

The next morning, my ankle was still sore, but it felt much better than the day before. The swelling had settled for the most part.

"We can wait longer," Daryl muttered. "Ain't gotta move yet."

"We do," I said firmly.

He disappeared outside, returning with a thick branch from a nearby tree and getting to work with his knife.

It didn't take long for me to realize what he was doing.

"Won't hurt to have a bit of extra support," he said, like he could read my thoughts. "Here ya go, old lady."

I took the makeshift cane when he handed it over, testing my weight against it. It helped, but frustration still burned inside me. I hated that I would slow us down. But we didn't have time to wait for me to heal fully. We needed to find the others.

By mid-morning, we set out. The storm had long passed, but the world was still soaked through, the ground muddy and the air heavy with dampness. Our plan was to stay on the same path we had planned before, hoping to find the rest of the group.

When we reached the river, it was still swollen, but nothing like it had been when we first tried to cross. The current was strong but manageable.

Daryl waded in first, gripping my hand as he guided me across. The water was ice-cold, sending a sharp shock through my skin, but we kept moving. I leaned on him as much as I could, trusting him to get us across.

When we finally climbed the far bank, we were dripping and shivering. But the journey was far from over. The path ahead quickly turned treacherous. The muddy ground gave way to a tangle of overgrown brush and scattered debris from the storm. Fallen trees blocked the trail, and every step became a challenge. Daryl paused frequently to steady himself-and to help me over slick, fallen logs and slippery rocks.

We came across a fallen tree spanning a narrow but insanely deep ditch. My heart hammered as he knelt, testing the unstable wood before guiding me slowly across. I stumbled, a fresh wave of pain shooting up my leg, but Daryl's firm grip on my hand steadied me.

We'd probably only covered a couple of miles before hungry growls, followed by the rustling of dead feet through the underbrush, carried across the air.

Daryl grabbed my arm, helping me steady myself. "Stay behind me." I nodded, gripping my cane tightly as he raised his crossbow. The first walker lunged, and he took it down with a clean bolt through the skull. But more were coming-too many.

I tossed my cane aside, pulling out my knife and getting to work, hobbling between our foes and killing them, while Daryl eliminated one after another. But we were surrounded.

My pulse pounded in my ears. We were in trouble.

One walker got too close. I stumbled, my injured ankle finally giving out beneath me. Before I could react, Daryl was there, knife in hand, shoving it into the walker's skull just before it reached me. Yet the relentless pressure of more walkers advancing made our situation desperate.

Then, gunshots rang out.

The nearest walkers dropped, their rotted bodies slamming into the ground. More shots fired, and suddenly the overwhelming pressure eased. I turned, my chest heaving, just in time to see them.

Merle. And Rick.

Merle didn't hesitate. He grabbed Daryl, yanking him into a hug so tight that I saw Daryl go rigid with shock.

"Jesus Christ, brother," Merle muttered, his voice hoarse.

Daryl's hands hovered in the air for a moment, as if he didn't know how to react, before sinking into it.

I had only seen the brothers embrace once before-when we found Merle and Beth with the Buried-but that had been initiated by Daryl, probably without thinking due to the relief of finding his brother alive after believing him dead.

But this one was all Merle. A brief flicker in the tough-guy persona he worked so hard to portray. It warmed my heart to witness.

When Merle finally stepped back, clapping a rough hand on Daryl's shoulder, he turned to me, pulling me into my own hug. "Ya alright, Xena?"

"I'll live," I rasped, exhaustion and adrenaline finally catching up with me.

Rick hugged me, whispering in my ear, "Should've seen Merle when he thought something had happened to you guys. Frantic. We haven't stopped looking since you both disappeared. He wouldn't rest."

He pulled back, addressing both me and Daryl now. "The others are waitin' for us at a barn near here."

"Ya didn't get far," Daryl observed.

"We weren't going anywhere without you both," Rick told him firmly.

~

We were met with a barrage of hugs and cheers when we reached the rickety barn the group was holed up in. Relief flooded through us as we realized that despite the herd, every single one of them was alive. They had made it.

Carol looked like she was fighting back tears to see us back safe. So did Hershel.

"We didn't know what had happened," Hershel told Daryl as he wrapped him in a firm embrace. "You were both there, and then you were just gone. I'm so glad you're here."

"The banks collapsed," I explained as I received my own Hershel hug. "My ankle slowed us down from catching up sooner."

"Let me take a look at it," he insisted, already guiding me to a seat.

As Hershel examined my injury, Daryl turned to him. "Y'all have to fight off many after the river? We didn't know how many walkers made it across. We couldn't get back to ya."

Hershel nodded gravely. "A fair few. Enough that we had to run, used a lot of ammo. But everyone made it..." He paused, his gaze locking onto Daryl. "I made it because of your brother. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. And he put himself at great risk doing it."

Daryl's expression was unreadable, but I saw the pride flicker in his eyes as Hershel told us what had happened. How he had gone down hard while fleeing with the others, believing he was done for. A walker had been inches away before Merle took it out and dragged him to safety.

Rick caught the attention of the group once the buzz around our return had settled. Now that we were all reunited, the journey to D.C. would continue. The plan was clear: rest tonight, move at first light.

But there was something else Rick said, a story he told:

"When I was a kid," he said, "I asked my grandpa if he ever killed any Germans in the war." He shook his head. "He wouldn't answer. Said that was grown-up stuff. So I asked if they ever tried to kill him."

We all stayed silent, listening to him speak.

"He got real quiet. Then he said... he was dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory. Every morning, he woke up and told himself, 'Rest in peace. Now get up and go to war.' And after years of pretending he was dead..." Rick lifted his gaze, meeting the tired, wary eyes around him. "He made it out alive."

Nobody spoke. I think we were all trying to understand where he was going with this...

"That's the trick of it," Rick murmured. "We do what we need to do... and then we get to live. No matter what's waiting for us in D.C., I know we'll be okay. Because this is how we survive... We tell ourselves... that we are the walking dead."

The words hung heavy in the barn. Nobody responded at first., until Daryl, seated across from him, lifted his head. His jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists. "We ain't them," he said.

Rick blinked.

Daryl's voice was raw, steady. "We ain't them." He repeated.

~

The wind howled against the old wooden walls, slipping through cracks and rattling the beams. But inside, wrapped in Daryl's arms, I felt nothing but home. The others were settling in for the night, their murmured voices a quiet reassurance that we weren't alone anymore.

I leaned into him, absently tracing the stitching on his vest.

"Merle..." he whispered. "He saved Hershel."

I smiled softly. "He sure did."

Daryl's gaze flickered to mine, something raw lingering in his blue eyes. "Always figured if he went down, it'd be tryna save his own ass. Never thought he'd-" He hesitated, rubbing a hand over his face. "I dunno. Just... never thought he'd put someone else's life first."

I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his. "You should be proud of him," I said gently.

He was quiet, staring at our hands like he wasn't sure what to do with the situation. I could see it-the way he fought against believing it, like something in him still refused to trust that kind of loyalty, even from his own brother.

I hesitated before saying, "Rick told me something earlier."

He glanced at me, brows furrowing. "What?"

I squeezed his fingers. "He said Merle was frantic when he realized you were gone. He wouldn't stop searching."

He blinked, his expression shifting to something uncertain. "Merle?" he muttered, like the idea was too big to grasp.

I nodded. "He was terrified you were dead. And he wasn't gonna stop until he found you."

He sucked in a breath, his fingers tightening around mine. He didn't speak right away, just stared at me like he was waiting for the punchline, waiting for the part where I told him I was joking. But I wasn't.

After a long moment, he let out a slow, shaky exhale and pulled me closer. "Never thought I'd hear that," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

I cupped his cheek, my thumb brushing over his skin. "You matter, Daryl," I told him, holding his gaze so he could see the truth in it. "To everyone. Especially him."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. After a moment, he pressed a lingering kiss to my temple. I rested my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

As most of us had gotten comfortable, the barn door swung open. Maggie and Sasha stepped inside, bringing a stranger in with them.

The whole group stiffened in unison. Daryl and I rose to our feet automatically, hands lingering over our weapons.

Maggie stepped forward, her voice steady but cautious. "Hey. Everyone, this is Aaron. We met him outside. He's alone. We took his weapon, and we took his gear."

Aaron, a clean-cut man with an easy smile, stepped forward and extended a hand. "Hi. It's nice to meet you."

Rick didn't take it. His eyes flicked to Maggie. "You said he had a weapon?"

Maggie nodded and handed over the pistol they'd taken from Aaron. Rick examined it for a beat before glancing back at their unexpected guest. "There something you need?"

Sasha answered before Aaron could. "He has a camp nearby. He wants us to audition for membership."

Aaron winced. "I wish there was another word. 'Audition' makes it sound like we're some kind of dance troupe." He gave a small chuckle. "That's only on Friday nights."

Nobody laughed.

Aaron sighed. "Okay. Tough crowd." He cleared his throat. "It's not a camp. It's a community. And I think you'd all make valuable additions. But it's not my call. My job is to convince you to follow me back home." He paused, gauging our reactions-hard stares, suspicion thick in the air. "Look, if I were you, I wouldn't go either. Not until I knew exactly what I was walking into." He turned to Sasha. "Can you hand Rick my bag?"

She did, but her fingers lingered on the strap, as if debating whether to let go. When Rick took it, Aaron gestured to the front pocket. "There's an envelope inside. I know I can't convince you with just words, so I brought proof. Apologies in advance for the picture quality-we found an old camera."

Beside me, Daryl scoffed. "No one gives a shit."

Despite the tense situation, I could help but snort quietly at his bluntness.

Aaron nodded without missing a beat. "You're absolutely right."

Rick opened the envelope, flipping through the grainy photos. Aaron pointed to the first one. "That's the first thing I wanted to show you. Because nothing I say about our community matters unless you know you'll be safe. And you will be." His voice was calm, measured. "Each panel in that wall is a fifteen-foot-high, twelve-foot-wide slab of solid steel, framed by cold-rolled steel beams. Nothing alive or dead gets through unless we say so." He glanced up at Rick. "Security is important, obviously. But there's only one resource more critical to our survival." He hesitated, then looked around at the group. "The people."

Michonne gave Rick a look. I did the same to Daryl.

Aaron continued, oblivious. "Together, we're strong. And you could make us even stronger. The next picture shows-"

Rick's fist shot out.

A sickening crack. Aaron crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

A beat of silence.

"Way to overreact, Rick." Fell from my mouth before I could stop it.

Then Michonne, her voice dry, arms crossed. "Just so we're clear, that look? That was not a Let's attack that man look." She arched a brow at Rick. "It was a 'He seems like an okay guy to me look'."

A few minutes later, Rick was tying Aaron to a pole. He was starting to come around, and the cop wasn't taking any chances.

"What do ya think?" Daryl asked me quietly, watching Aaron regain consciousness.

"I think we should hear him out." I answered honestly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He's got balls walking in here alone, unarmed, massively outnumbered." I told him. "I'm getting good vibes. I get being protective, but Rick didn't need to knock him out."

"Mhmh." Daryl grunted. Unsure.

I moved over to Rick, pulling him away from Aaron.

"Hey Captain Cautious." I said. "You really think he was a threat?"

"Everyone's a threat." He replied plainly.

"Rick, I know we've come across our fair share of assholes. But there's something about this... I trust him."

"You don't know him." He brushed me off.

"Do you trust me?" I asked.

"Of course, Athena."

"I want to talk to him. You're too worked up."

He looked like he was mulling it over.

"Fine."

I crouched near Aaron, offering him some water. Daryl lingered beside me, wary and protective.

"Aaron, I'm Athena. This is my husband, Daryl. Sorry about the whole knocking you out thing, but we've had some bad experiences with strangers."

Aaron looked between Daryl and I, his expression less friendly now on account of his concussion.

"How many of you are out there, watching?"

Aaron wiped at the corner of his mouth where blood had started to pool. He let out a small chuckle. "Does it matter?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Yes, it does. I've just told Rick I think we can trust you. So you need to be honest. I don't like being wrong."

Aaron sighed, tilting his head. "I mean, sure, it matters how many people are actually out there. But does it matter how many people I tell you are out there? Because let's be honest-no matter what number I say... eight, thirty-two, four hundred forty-four, zero..." He shrugged. "You're not going to trust me."

I studied him for a long moment, Daryl piped up next to me. "Hard to trust anyone who smiles after gettin' punched in the face..."

Aaron laughed quietly, then lifted his chin. "How about a guy who leaves bottles of water for you in the road?"

Daryl's eyes flicked to me, then back to Aaron. His fingers twitched toward his knife. "How long you people been followin' us?"

Aaron met Daryl's stare without hesitation. "Long enough to see you barely react to a pack of roamers on your tail. Long enough to see that despite running on empty - no food, no water - you never turned on each other." He looked from Daryl to me. "You're survivors. And more importantly? You're people."

"And what do you want from us?" I asked, growing impatient.

Aaron hesitated, then swallowed hard. "I want to help."

I stood back up, pulling Daryl with me as I walked away. "I believe him."

"How d'ya know it ain't a trap?" he asked, biting his thumbnail.

"I don't. But there's something... I dunno. I think we can trust him."

"I ain't sure." He replied, eyes back on Aaron.

A/N: I've spent days rewriting this chapter, and I'm still not totally happy with it, but here you go... 🫠

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