Back There, Again

A couple of weeks after Briar's birthday, Rosita dropped a plot twist worthy of one of those old-world soap operas my mom used to binge.

Turns out, she probably shouldn't have been drinking at the party.

She's pregnant.

And not just barely pregnant. A Hilltop sonogram confirmed she was already four months gone when she'd been knocking back whatever strange concoction Eugene had been proudly calling "fermented moonshine with notes of wild berry and danger."

I nearly choked laughing when she told me. Not because it was funny - not really - but because I wasn't the only one who'd managed to miss something so colossal for so long. I still hold the record, though: five months pregnant with Briar before I realized that maybe my light periods and suspicious nausea weren't just stress and stale beans.

People from the old world might think it's ridiculous. How could you not know? They'd say. But that's the thing - time doesn't move the same now. Half the time, I forget what day it is, let alone when I'm due for a cycle. It all blurs together in this weird fog of survival and stolen moments of peace. You don't track symptoms. You dismiss them, because there's always something bigger demanding your attention.

That's why, just after Sawyer was born, I made a request to Daryl while we were folding laundry on the porch.

Briar was rolling around in the grass, birds were chirping, and Daryl was pulling socks apart with that focused frown like they'd personally offended him.

"Hey," I said casually, folding a shirt. "I need you to keep your eyes peeled next time you're out on a med run."

He looked up immediately, eyes narrowing. "Ya okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've just decided to go with an IUD, if you can track one down."

He blinked. "A what?"

"An IUD," I repeated, fighting a grin. "Like, a coil."

He stared like I'd started speaking another language. "Like a what?"

"It's a type of birth control, goddammit." I tossed a tiny sock into the basket and smirked. "Don't worry, I'll get Siddiq to write down some brand names. Might help you not look so panicked when you find one."

To be fair, I wasn't springing it on him. We'd talked. We both knew we wanted to start being careful again before we resumed our post-Sawyer bedroom escapades. We had two beautiful, perfect children, and at least for the time being, we were done. Happy, but done.

Honestly, it had started weighing on me more than I expected. The what-ifs. If things ever went bad - and in our world, that wasn't if but when - we needed to be able to split up and grab one kid each. Daryl could probably carry four children and a crossbow without breaking a sweat, but that didn't mean we should tempt fate.

He'd probably just assumed we'd go back to condoms like we used to before Briar - but those were in tragically short supply now. And frankly, the way he and I were still at it even after all these years? I'd have to send him out scavenging for more every other day. The man may be rough around the edges, slow to trust, and perpetually suspicious of new people - but in bed?

Consistently feral.

So yeah. IUD it was.

A couple of weeks later, he actually found one. I don't know where - some long-abandoned Planned Parenthood, or maybe a clinic tucked in a town swallowed by vines and silence. He just came home, held out the box, and grunted, "This it?"

Siddiq gave it the thumbs-up and did the insertion for me.

Which, of course, gave me the perfect opportunity to mess with Daryl.

When he came through the front door that afternoon, his hair was a mess from the wind, and his shirt clung to his arms in that way that made my brain short-circuit a little.

"How was the run?" I asked sweetly, grinning as he leaned in to kiss me, already reaching down to scoop up Sawyer, who immediately started babbling at him. Briar had his leg in a death grip.

"Aaron fell through a sewer grate," he said flatly.

My eyes widened. "Shit. Is he okay?"

"Yup," he smirked. "Was funny as hell. Yur day okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Siddiq saw my vagina."

He froze.

Like... literally froze. Then turned to me slowly, with the kind of expression you'd reserve for walking in on a wild animal wearing your clothes. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Perfect.

I just stood there, biting back a grin, giving him nothing.

"Tha hell?" he finally managed.

"Siddiq. He saw my vagina."

"Ath..." His voice was half alarmed, half warning.

I couldn't hold it anymore - I burst out laughing, stepping closer and brushing his hair out of his face. "He fitted the IUD."

He exhaled like I'd just disarmed a live grenade in front of him, but the furrow in his brow didn't fully go away.

"Fuckin' hell, Ath," he muttered, shaking his head. But he was smirking now, despite himself.

"Sorry," I said, still giggling. "I couldn't resist. I wanted to see your face."

He huffed, cheeks pink. "S'just plain mean." Then, quieter - looking away with that crooked, bashful shrug - "S'my vagina."

"I cannot believe that after all these years I've finally heard you say vagina."

"Shut up," he mumbled, ears red, but he was smiling.

And just when I thought the Rosita drama was over - boom. Another plot twist.

Rosita and Gabriel were officially a thing now - but the baby? Not his. Nope. It's Siddiq's.

The apocalypse might've taken civilization, but apparently it couldn't kill off scandal.

Rosita was only a couple of months away from due now, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't interested to see how this all played out.

While Alexandria had apparently turned into a full-blown telenovela - the rest of the world kept spinning. Out in the real one, the dangerous one, Daryl, Glenn, and Cyndie had been running coordinated training sessions between Alexandria, Hilltop, and Oceanside. It was necessary. Nobody was pretending anymore that things were safe. We'd all bled too much. Lost too many. Survival wasn't enough now - we were learning how to protect what we'd rebuilt. How to keep it whole.

And it was working. People were getting stronger. Smarter. More capable. Even Barbara - who once screamed when a beetle landed on her - was learning how to block a punch without flinching like a startled squirrel. I'd watched her hip-toss an overeager Hilltop kid last week and nearly dropped my lunch.

So when we decided to bring everyone to Oceanside for a major joint session, it felt like a step forward. A real one. We packed gear, weapons, food - and even the kids.

It was time they experienced the beach.

The moment we arrived, the ocean stretched out before us - wide and glimmering under the sun, the horizon melting into a haze of blue. And beside me, Briar stopped cold.

She didn't speak. Just stared, her small hand tightening in mine like she thought the view might disappear if she blinked.

Then, softly: "Is it real?"

I crouched down to her level, brushing a windblown lock of dark hair from her cheek. Her freckles looked brighter in the sun, her eyes full of wonder.

"As real as it gets, baby," I whispered.

She didn't ask anything else. Just blinked once, then - whoosh - she was gone.

A streak of giggles and wild curls bolting across the sand, feet kicking up little clouds as she tore barefoot toward the water like she was chasing a dream that might vanish if she didn't reach it fast enough.

"Briar-" I started, but I didn't get to finish. Because Daryl was already moving.

One arm cradled Sawyer like he weighed nothing - his favorite perch, his little legs bouncing against Daryl's side - and the other was outstretched, ready to catch Briar if she tripped over her own excitement.

He took off after her, calling out in a growl loud enough to scare a few seagulls into retreat.

"Don't think yur faster than me, wild girl!"

Sawyer squealed with delight, clutching Daryl's shirt in both fists.

"Faster, Daddy! Run like a monster!"

Daryl did. He roared, exaggerated and ridiculous, weaving and stomping through the sand like some lumbering sea creature. The sound was feral and playful all at once, a goofy, unguarded thing I hadn't heard in weeks.

Not the tense scout. Not the silent protector.

Just a dad with sand in his boots and joy in his throat.

I stood still, letting it all soak in. Briar shrieked as the tide kissed her toes, staggering back before lunging forward again, playing tag with the ocean like it was a new friend. Sawyer laughed every time Daryl span or bounced, tossing his head back, his dark hair wild in the wind.

And Daryl - my husband, scarred and tired and full of love - grinned like the world had never once broken him.

God, my heart ached from how full it felt.

Around us, the others had sunk into the same rare moment of peace. Aaron and Eric ran barefoot with Gracie, her ponytail flying behind her as she sprinted ahead, yelling back, "You're too slow! You run like grannies!"

Merle and Annie were tag-teaming DJ, who was still learning to walk and determined to launch himself at every wave anyway. Annie caught him on instinct. Merle claimed DJ would be riding a surfboard by next week. "I mean, hell, kid's already got the balance of a drunk raccoon."

Further down, Glenn, Maggie, and Hershel were all splashing each other in a half-hearted water fight that ended with Glenn pretending to drown dramatically in six inches of water. Hershel laughed and dove on top of him, yelling, "No dying at the beach!"

Michonne sat on the sand, katana propped beside her. She beamed watching Judith and RJ digging a trench.

Eventually, I slipped off my boots and wandered down to the shallows. The water was cool and perfect, curling around my ankles like it recognized me.

Daryl stood knee-deep, jeans soaked and clinging to him. Sawyer was once again giggling in his arms, cheeks flushed from too much joy. Briar crouched nearby at the edge of the tide, examining something in the sand with the intensity of a field scientist.

"It's not dead," she said firmly. "It's just... tired."

I glanced down. A translucent jellyfish pulsed weakly in the surf.

"Could be," Daryl replied, his voice soft. "S'what I always say 'bout Uncle Merle."

I snorted, stepping beside him. Sawyer reached for me, and I lifted him into my arms, nuzzling my face into his neck. He smelled like salt and sunshine.

Briar wandered over, her pockets bulging with seashells, polished rocks, bits of driftwood, and one soggy sock I knew didn't belong to her.

"I need pants with more storage," she announced, pulling her shorts back up her hips.

"We'll get ya a tool belt," Daryl said, running his hand through her messy hair.

She lit up like he'd handed her treasure.

Then he looked at me - really looked at me. That smile that was all his, crooked and quiet and carved from something deep. Eyes crinkling, brow relaxed.

I moved closer, with Sawyer on my hip and Briar splashing nearby, and for once, we weren't soldiers or scouts or survivors clawing through the dark. We were just a family. Standing in the surf. Letting the waves wash the world away.

But before long, the beach transformed.

The laughter of children chasing each other along the shoreline - barefoot, sun-drunk, shrieking with joy - began to fade, not all at once, but in gentle waves. The kind of hush that rolls in before a storm. It wasn't sadness. Not exactly. It was something quieter. Something sharper.

Purpose.

The shift happened almost imperceptibly. One moment, people were laughing and teasing, hands sticky with sea salt, and the next, sleeves were being rolled up. Bootlaces were tightened. Weapons slung over shoulders. The crunch of movement across the damp sand changed - no longer casual or carefree, but focused. Measured.

Daryl was the first to shift gears.

Just minutes before, he'd been crouched beside Sawyer, patiently helping dig, then he stood. Brushed the sand from his knees, rolled his shoulders once, and gave a sharp whistle - two short, one long - cutting clean through the remaining chatter.

Heads turned instantly. It wasn't a request. It was a command.

The sound of blades unsheathing followed like instinct. Like breath.

"A'ight," Daryl called out, voice steady and low. "Formations."

And just like that, the beach moved.

We fell into rhythm, every settlement sliding into place like pieces of a puzzle we didn't know we'd memorized. Former Kingdom guards flanked the left - elegant and fast despite their patchwork gear. Alexandrian scouts checked the high ground. Hilltop archers took cover behind salvaged metal sheets hammered into makeshift barricades. The Oceanside crew glided between ranks with spears in hand, as lethal and silent as the tide.

The Kingdom had fallen. But its people hadn't. They carried their banners not in cloth anymore, but in their posture. Their discipline. The unflinching way they took up space to shield the others.

Some of the actual shields were made from salvaged riot gear, others from chopped-up water barrels, the edges wrapped in scavenged tubing or tied with cloth scraps. Crude, but brilliant. The kind of weapons only desperate, clever people could fashion when the world stopped handing out clean solutions.

Aaron and Glenn swept the left flank like they were born for it. Fluid. Silent. Efficient.

Jesus and Merle held the right, eyes sharp, bodies angled to intercept anything stupid enough to try them.

Maggie pushed the front line forward like she owned the damn planet - chin high, eyes blazing.

I fought beside Daryl, like I always did.

Our rhythm was second nature - his power, my speed. We didn't need to speak. I knew when he'd step left, when he'd drop to one knee. He knew when I'd pivot. When I needed cover. Years of surviving together made us dangerous without ever having to raise our voices.

We drilled for hours.

Sweat darkened our shirts. Sand stuck to every exposed inch of skin. Our shadows grew longer as the sun drifted down. Shields slammed into place in a rolling cadence, forming a mobile wall that crawled across the beach like something out of an old-world war film. Archers ducked and rose, loosing volleys in perfect arcs over the front line, while others rotated through like a dance we'd choreographed without ever saying a word.

From a nearby dune, the kids watched in stunned silence.

I spotted Briar sitting cross-legged next to Judith, both of them wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Sawyer was nestled in Gracie's lap, his fingers curled around one of Briar's collected shells. RJ had a handful of sand raised in one hand, clearly debating whether flinging it counted as tactical support.

Even the rowdiest ones stilled. There was something in the way the adults moved - deliberate, unified, unbreakable - that spoke louder than any lecture we could give. And for the first time, I think the younger ones got it.

They understood what it meant when we said we would protect them.

Eventually, drills tapered off. Breathing slowed. Armor was shed. Some collapsed in the sand. Others helped the Oceanside crew start prepping dinner - fresh fish grilled over open flames, foraged greens, scavenged rice rolled into seaweed like it was some kind of feast.

The kids, sticky and starving, migrated back toward the tide. It didn't take long for them to find an old bucket - cracked, half-buried under a dune. And from there, the beach was theirs again.

Briar, Judith, Gracie and Sawyer immediately claimed it like it was sacred and before long, the first lopsided sandcastle was born. Sawyer decorated his tower with twigs like it was a pagan shrine. Judith tried to dig a moat and argued loudly that it needed spikes. Gracie insisted on a "royal courtyard," and Briar - unsurprisingly - took charge like a tiny foreman, pointing and pacing and issuing firm instructions about "load-bearing walls."

None of them had ever been taught how to build a sandcastle - they just knew. Like it was coded in their blood, some long-buried inheritance from a world before.

Daryl, Merle, Annie and I sat beside them, laughing softly, watching DJ press his pudgy little hands into the sand and squeal at how it squished between his fingers.

Then Briar flipped the bucket again, and something else came out.

Not seaweed. Not a bottlecap or some buried toy.

A mask.

Time stopped.

It hit the sand with a wet thud. Pale, misshapen. cracked from exposure, but still sickeningly recognizable.

A Whisperer mask.

For a second, nobody moved. The kids blinked at it, confused.

Then Daryl was there, covering the space between us in two strides, yanking the mask from Briar's small hands like it had burned her.

His whole body changed in an instant - rigid, electric. His face twisted into something primal.

"Is that?" Judith asked, confused.

Gracie stood slowly, backing away.

"Back to the tents," I said, rising fast, trying to keep my voice calm.

"But-" Briar started, wide-eyed. "What is it?"

"Now, baby," I said, gently but with finality. "Please."

They went, slow and reluctant, casting glances over their shoulders as they gathered up Sawyer and the other younger kids. Briar hesitated the longest. Her gaze clung to mine like I owed her something - an answer. I didn't have one. Not one I was ready to say out loud. Not yet.

The mask was waterlogged, torn at the chin, one eyehole sagging grotesquely.

I felt the memory hit me like a slap.

The barn. The bindings. The stink of hay and blood.

Alpha's breath against my face.

I clenched my fists until my nails bit into my palms. I needed to feel something else.

Daryl had shoved the mask into his pocket already, like hiding it would make it disappear. But his chest still rose in sharp, staccato bursts, and I could feel the rage coming off him like heat.

He wasn't just angry. He was afraid.

And so was I.

~

I needed to check on the kids.

Judith had rallied them like a little general, pulling them into stories and games like she could ward off the heaviness in the air through sheer willpower. Sawyer clung to Gracie like a baby koala. Briar was quiet, but not scared as such - just watching me closely, like she knew something had shifted. I gave her a smile I didn't quite feel and kissed the top of her head.

Then, I ran into Tara. She didn't say anything, and neither did I. We didn't need to. She just wrapped her arms around me, and I held her right back. We had both been there, so had Enid and Siddiq. That barn. Those ropes. The Whisperers had planned to make a message out of all of us - we were just lucky enough to be the ones to get out when so many hadn't.

It wasn't long before I found Daryl again.

I hadn't meant to listen - not really. I was walking past the supply shack when I heard them. The kind of voices that stop you cold. Low. Tight. About to explode.

Merle's came first, sharp and pissed-off. "All m'sayin' is it don't mean nothing. Crusty-ass mask coulda been from before. Don't mean they're back."

"He could be right," Michonne said, voice calm but pointed. "But we don't get to gamble on that. I understand why you're spinning out, Daryl, I do - but we have to keep our heads. We don't know what it means yet."

Daryl's voice cut through them both like a knife.

"They were gonna kill her," he snapped. Not shouted - just sharp. Violent with feeling. "Put her head on a goddamn pike."

I stopped breathing.

Then I heard the break in him. Like a seam splitting.

"Fuck-" he muttered, like the word was ripped from his lungs. "Ain't happenin' again. Ain't lettin'-"

My body moved before I knew what I was doing. I stepped out from behind the corner and all three of them turned.

Merle looked like he'd been caught doing something shameful. Michonne's expression softened the second she saw me.

But Daryl? Daryl looked like I'd caught him bleeding.

His whole face twisted - guilt, panic, and something worse flaring across it like he'd been gut-punched. He dropped his gaze fast, jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump in his cheek.

Michonne didn't say anything, just gave a small nod. "We'll give you two a minute."

Merle opened his mouth - because of course he did - but I cut him off with a look. A very specific look. He sighed, cursed under his breath, and stalked off with a dramatic stomp in the sand like a teenager.

When I turned back, Daryl was staring at the ground like it had answers.

"Weren't meant to hear that," he muttered, rough. Like his voice had been dragged over gravel.

I moved slowly. Carefully. Like approaching something cornered.

"It's okay," I said gently. "You don't have to pretend you're not scared. Not with me."

He huffed out a breath, barely more than a grunt. "Can't stop thinkin' 'bout it."

His fists were still clenched at his sides, like letting go would unravel him completely.

"I hate her, Ath. All of 'em."

He looked at me then - really looked. And I saw it. Rage, sure. But deeper than that, buried just under the surface... was fear. Grief.

"Every time I think 'bout Carol seein' Henry's head on that pike," he swallowed hard, nostrils flaring. "I see yours next to his. S'what they wanted. S'what they almost did."

I stepped in close and laid my hand over his chest, right where his heart was hammering beneath the threadbare cotton of his shirt. It was like touching a live wire.

"They didn't," I said, steady and quiet. "I'm here."

His jaw clenched again. "If ya hadn't been there... you wouldn't'a been taken after, neither. Wouldn't'a ended up with the Covenant."

"I know," I said, because what else could I say? He wasn't wrong.

"But you brought me back," I added. "You did."

He didn't answer right away. Just looked away, chest rising and falling like every breath cost him something.

Then, quieter: "Ain't never been able to stop thinkin' bout it. I can't-"

His voice cracked, and he turned his face away like he was ashamed of it.

That did it.

I closed the last of the distance and kissed him. It wasn't a desperate thing. It wasn't to shut him up or to erase the past. It was just real. A reminder.

At first, he froze. Like he didn't know what to do with it. Then, slowly, his hands came up - one to my waist, the other to the back of my neck - and he kissed me back. Hesitant, then deeper. Like he was sinking into something he'd been too afraid to need.

When we finally broke apart, I kept my forehead against his.

"I'm here," I whispered again. "You found me. You brought me home."

His breath trembled against my skin. "Scares the fuckin' shit outta me still."

"I know." I brushed my thumb along his cheekbone, soft. "Me too."

He didn't say anything else. Just let out this long, low breath like maybe he was letting some of it go. Just a little.

Then he pulled me in and wrapped both arms around me - tight. Not rough, not frantic. Just... firm. Like if he held me long enough, this couldn't be a possibility.

I let him.

Because I needed it too.

~

The sun was waning by the time we heard the rumble of the small fishing boat pulling in.

It was the one Oceanside used for their outer route - netting and scouting. But lately, it had been carrying someone else too.

Carol.

Over the last couple of months, she'd taken to working on the boat, heading out for long shifts with Oceanside's crew. No one had questioned it much - because we all understood. After Henry... she'd unraveled in a quiet, invisible way. Not loud or dramatic. Just... gone. The grief had settled in her bones, made her restless. The boat gave her something to do. Somewhere to go. A way to feel useful while the pain kept her hollowed out inside.

But when she stepped off the boat this time - wind in her hair, her cheeks flushed from the salt air - she looked... lighter. Not healed. But lighter.

She took a second to orient herself, eyes scanning the beach. Ezekiel stood near the dock, arms crossed over his chest. He didn't say anything, didn't move, but his whole frame tensed. Carol froze too. Just for a second. Then she gave him a small, tentative nod. He returned it. No words. No touch. Just... a soft truce between old wounds.

Then Daryl stepped forward, and Carol didn't hesitate. She walked straight into his arms and he hugged her with that quiet, anchoring kind of strength only he had. One arm wrapped tight around her back, his chin dipping toward her shoulder. He didn't say anything. Neither did she. But I saw it in the way her eyes fluttered closed for a beat.

She needed that.

Still, my heart twisted as I watched, because I knew what he was waiting for. He had to tell her about the mask. About the fear knotting up all our guts now, quiet and sharp like barbed wire. Word spread fast here, even faster when it was the kind of thing that could bring ghosts crawling back from the woods, and Daryl needed her to hear it from him.

He turned toward me then, eyes catching mine across the fire pit. I gave him a small nod. He was doing the right thing, but I couldn't watch. Couldn't see Carol's expression cycle through the shock, the grief, the anger.

Instead I wandered over to the kids, who were already gathered in a loose circle, half-heartedly roasting scavenged marshmallow bits on sticks RJ insisted were "swords."

Judith waved when she saw me and scooted over to make room. Briar was sitting beside her, chewing the corner of her jacket, thoughtful but calm. Sawyer was half-asleep, curled up on a blanket with his head in Gracie's lap, sticky with sea salt and sand and pure joy.

"Hey, Mommy," Briar said, patting the space beside her. "We saved you a good seat. It's warm."

I smiled and dropped down into the sand with a grateful sigh, letting the heat from the fire sink into my legs. "What've I missed?"

"Uncle Jerry said the marshmallows are beyond expired," Judith reported. "But RJ said that makes them more powerful."

"Magical," RJ corrected, holding up his charred lump of sugar like it was a torch. "This one has fire magic."

I laughed softly, reaching over to brush a lock of hair out of Sawyer's eyes. He barely stirred.

"Where's Daddy?" Briar asked me quietly.

I looked at her - at her dirt-smudged cheeks and brave little stare - and smiled.

"Aunt Carol just arrived," I said, brushing my fingers over hers. "He's helping her get settled in."

She didn't ask anything else. Just leaned her head on my shoulder and stayed there, warm and solid and safe.

The fire crackled. The wind shifted gently, bringing the smell of seaweed and smoke. In the distance, someone started playing a tune on an old harmonica. It was off-key and slow, but nobody minded.

I tried to ground myself in the moment -to breathe in the salt air, feel the warmth of the fire, listen to the crackle of kindling and the quiet rhythm of Sawyer's breathing beside me. I watched Briar tuck her seashells into the pockets of her hoodie like treasure, saw Judith and RJ bicker playfully over who had the strongest "marshmallow sword," and I told myself this is now. We're safe. We're here at Oceanside. All of us.

But under all that - under the laughter and the golden light and the lull of the ocean - I was panicking.

Not outwardly. Not in a way anyone could see, but inside - I was spiraling.

I'd tried to reassure Daryl, remind him I was here, we were okay. I needed him to believe that before it started eating him alive. And for a little while, maybe I even believed it. But the second I caught sight once again of the bucket the mask tumbled onto the sand from, something old and vicious had stirred inside me - something I thought I'd buried.

And now it wouldn't stop clawing.

What if they were back? What if this wasn't just some old remnant, some fluke?

What if it was a warning?

Every time I closed my eyes, I could feel it pressing at the edges of my mind. The barn. The ropes. The breath of Alpha near my ear. The knowledge that I was meant to die there.

My brain knew I had survived. Both the barn and the Covenant after, but it was like my body hadn't caught up. It was in PTSD mode all over again.

And if they were back? If this wasn't over?

They could come for us again, and I didn't know how to stop it. I didn't know how to protect everyone - Briar, Sawyer, Daryl.

I didn't even know how to protect myself from the memories.

So I did the only thing I could.

I stayed quiet. I leaned into the warmth of the moment and watched the flames, and I told myself - over and over - that we were safe.

Even if I didn't believe it.

~

That night, the wind picked up off the water, rustling the canvas of our tent like breath at my ear. There'd been discussion about whether we should leave Oceanside - head straight back to Alexandria and Hilltop - but Michonne had insisted we all stay put until we knew more, and it made sense. Safety in numbers and all that.

The kids were curled together at our feet - Briar tangled in a blanket, Sawyer halfway out of his sleeping bag with one sock missing, his little arm flung across his sister's stomach.

Daryl lay beside me, one arm under my pillow, the other draped across my hip in that quiet, protective way of his. His breath was steady. His warmth anchored me.

But still, the dark came creeping in:

It started like it always used to - soundless at first.

The barn. That awful slant of moonlight through the slats. The smell of rotting hay and blood. My arms yanked behind me, rope biting into my wrists. The way I couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Alpha whispering right against my ear.

I tried to speak. I tried to scream for Daryl, for anyone.

But no sound came.

Then, everything sped up, got brutally loud. The fighting, Henry, Tammy-Rose, all of them being brutally killed. Me, Tara, Enid and Siddiq running for our lives...

I shot up in the dark.

Sweat soaked through the neckline of my shirt. My heart was a wild, frantic thing, slamming against my ribs like it wanted out. I couldn't breathe.

"Hey-"

Daryl was already there.

His arms came around me fast and firm, pulling me in. "Hey, hey, yur alright. Yur okay."

But I couldn't speak. My throat had closed up. My hands were shaking too hard to hold onto him properly.

He didn't need to ask what my nightmare had been about. He already knew. He'd held me through enough of them after he brought me home from the Covenant, and we both expected the emergence of the Whisperer mask today to restart them.

"Shhh." He shifted, getting behind me, wrapping both arms around my chest like a bandage. "Ain't gonna let nobody hurt ya."

My back pressed to his chest. His chin dropped to my shoulder. He rocked us gently, and his voice stayed low, steady, like he was trying to call me back from somewhere far.

I could hear Sawyer's soft snore. Briar stirred, murmuring something in her sleep but never waking.

I pressed a hand to my mouth, trying to swallow the sob clawing its way up. "It felt so real," I whispered finally. "I was back there again."

He gripped me more firmly. "Ya ain't. I've got ya."

"You were right earlier," I confessed. "I wanted to talk you down, but you were right. They were going to kill me, it's their fault I was gone for months."

He didn't try to talk me down. Didn't lie. He just held me tighter.

"Can't stop thinkin' bout it, neither," he murmured after a long moment. "But I ain't gonna let it happen again. They ain't gettin' near any of ya."

I turned my face into his neck. "I'm scared," I admitted.

"Me too... But if they are back. We'll find 'em. M'gonna keep ya safe this time, all of ya."

My fingers curled into his shirt. I breathed in the smell of him - earth, salt, smoke. It helped. It always did.

The panic didn't leave me fully. It sat there, low in my stomach - waiting, but it was easier to bear with Daryl holding me. Easier with his chest rising steady behind my back and the kids warm at our feet.

We stayed like that until the tide quieted and my breathing evened out again.

I didn't sleep the rest of the night.

But I wasn't alone.

Though I had the feeling everything was about to change.

A/N: I know Rosita's pregnancy is out of sync with the show. To be honest, I messed the timeline up - but hey, it's my story 🤣

I've spent ages rewriting this chapter and I still don't feel like it's my best work, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. ❤️