Chapter 12 - Daryl

After we found the body in the woods, Aaron and I pressed on, continuing our search for others we could bring back to Alexandria. The tension between us was palpable, but I focused on the task, trying to push thoughts of my family from my mind. Ella was at home with the kids, and part of me feared that, while I was gone, she was wondering whether she should throw me out again. I could feel the space between us growing, and I hated it.

I needed her. Needed to feel her warmth, hear her voice, hold her close. Without Ella, without my children, my life felt like it had lost all meaning. They were my everything. And yet, here I was, miles away from them, wondering if she was missing me as much as I missed her.

Aaron's footsteps were too loud in the quiet forest, his presence too close behind me. But today, I welcomed the distraction. It kept my mind occupied, kept it from wandering back to the nagging doubts about what was happening back home. I focused on the path ahead, noticing the subtle shift in the brush underfoot, the way the leaves and twigs were bent in places. Someone had been here recently.

"Someone came through a while ago," I said, pausing to examine the tracks more closely.

Aaron slowed his pace, scanning the surroundings. "If we see them, we hang back, set up the mic. Then we watch and listen." His tone was businesslike, calm as always, but there was an undercurrent of tension that I couldn't shake.

I raised an eyebrow, glancing back at him. "How long we gotta do that shit for?"

Aaron's lips pressed into a thin line as he looked down at the creek we had come up to. "Until we get a good grip on who they are."

I nodded, stepping carefully onto the stones that formed a rough path across the creek. My long stride made it easy to cross, but I had to be careful, the water slick from recent rain. Aaron followed closely, though his pace was slower, more cautious. The sound of the creek rushing beneath us was a small comfort, but it didn't do much to ease the weight on my chest.

"You said you've sent people away before, right?" I asked, the question hanging between us.

Aaron's expression darkened. He paused just long enough that I knew he was thinking about how to answer, then replied, his voice clipped. "Yeah."

"What happened with them?" I prodded, trying to push past the surface of his words.

Aaron's gaze dropped to the ground as he made it across the creek. "It was early on," he began, his voice quieter now, like the memory still weighed on him. "Two men and a woman. Davidson was their leader. He was smart as hell, strong. I thought they'd work out. But they didn't. I brought them in, so I had to be the one to send them out."

I kept walking, the sharp crackle of the dried leaves underfoot the only sound for a few moments. "And you just... sent 'em away?" I asked, suspicion creeping into my voice. It didn't sit right with me. I wanted to know more.

Aaron's footsteps faltered briefly before he picked up the pace again, falling into step beside me. "Aiden, Nicholas, and I... we drove them pretty far out. Gave them some food, water. But then we left them."

I shot him a sideways glance, my brow furrowing in confusion. "They just went?"

Aaron didn't meet my eyes. "We had their guns," he said quietly, almost like he was confessing something. "We had all the guns." His gaze flickered nervously around the woods, his shoulders tense. "I can't make that mistake again. It'll kill me if I do."

The weight of his words hit me harder than I expected. I could feel the guilt hanging over him, a burden he hadn't fully shared with anyone. I didn't speak for a while, letting the quiet of the forest settle between us.

After a moment, I nodded, understanding more than I had before. Aaron wasn't just talking about the logistics of survival. He was talking about the cost of decisions, the line between right and wrong blurring in a world that no longer had clear answers.

I could feel the shift inside him, that part of him that still carried the weight of what had happened. He was doing what he thought was necessary, but I could tell it wasn't easy for him. No one who had been through what we had came out unchanged.

"I get it," I said quietly, my voice rough. "You did what you had to do." But there was something else behind his words. Something darker that he was still carrying with him.

Aaron didn't say anything else. We walked in silence for a while, the tension of the day hanging thick between us. I kept my mind on the path ahead, the quiet hum of the woods around us, but I knew that this wasn't over. Whatever had happened in the past, whatever decisions we had made, it wasn't something either of us could just walk away from. Not completely.

Before long, we caught up with our target. I watched him through the binoculars, every movement of his scrutinized, while Aaron stayed focused, listening through the mic, the scope attached to it allowing him to track the guy in the red poncho.

I studied him as he bent down, rubbing something between his hands and then smearing it on his face.

"What's he doing?" Aaron asked, his voice quiet, but tinged with curiosity.

"Using wild leeks," I muttered, my eyes fixed on the target. "Keeps the mosquitoes off you. Son of a bitch's pretty damn smart to be usin' 'em."

When the guy started moving again, Aaron and I kept our distance, but we made sure he stayed in our sights. I kept reminding Aaron to step softer, to watch where his feet went. I told him I'd keep an eye on the guy—he could focus on the mic.

But my mind kept drifting back to her. Ella. I missed her more than I could put into words. The ache in my chest had been there every damn minute since I'd left. All I could think about was her, about being close to her again. I wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her warmth next to me again. It wasn't just about the physical part, though that's what my body craved, what I wanted more than anything. It was about her—just being with her.

I thought about that moment in the kitchen before she left for school. I had wanted to kiss her then, so badly, to feel her lips against mine, to remind both of us of the love we shared, the love that still lingered between us. I had been standing right there, holding her face in my hands, and my heart was pounding in my chest. The rhythm of it was her name, soft and steady. Every part of me wanted to lean in, to close the gap between us, to remind myself that she was mine. To remind her of it, too.

It had always been easy for us—physical touch, kissing, sex. That was never where we struggled. It had been the emotional part, the opening up. I wasn't good at it, never had been. But Ella... she made it so damn easy. She had always known how to make me feel like it was safe, like it was okay to open up and let the words spill out. After thirty years of bottling everything up inside, having her there beside me, comforting me, listening to me—that was something I had never known I needed until I had it.

Ella was the one who filled the silence in my life, the silence that had always been there in my heart, in my soul. She would chatter away, just like Ian did now. Talking about everything on her mind, never holding back. Back then, I knew it was because she was nervous, always wondering if she was saying the wrong thing, always hoping she wouldn't bore me. But now? The silence between us was heavy, stilted, full of things we hadn't said and couldn't find the words to express.

I hated it. I hated the space between us. The way it felt like we were both reaching out, but never quite making it.

I just wish I knew how to put us back together, how to fix what was broken. I needed her to understand just how much she meant to me, how much I needed her. She had to know that she was my everything. She was the one person who made sense of this messed-up world for me. I would do anything for her, be anything she needed me to be. And God, I needed her—more than I needed to breathe.

I closed my eyes for a second, the image of her face in my mind, the way her eyes would light up when she looked at me, the way she'd laugh. God, I miss you, I thought, the words heavy in my chest.

I wasn't sure how to make her see it, but I had to try. I had to show her that there was still love between us. That we weren't lost, not yet. But more than anything, I wanted to hold her again. I needed to.

I looked up from the ground, cursing under my breath. I had lost him. The guy in the red poncho was gone. We had been tracking him through the woods, but now we found ourselves standing in front of a factory, the distant outline of chain-link fencing rising before us. A flash of red caught my eye—he had slipped inside the gates. One second he was there, and the next, he was gone.

I stood there for a moment, staring at the empty space where he had vanished, frustration gnawing at my gut. Aaron's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Sometimes they slip away," Aaron sighed, his hand gripping the fence, his posture a little defeated as he looked out over the factory grounds. "It happens."

I raised the binoculars to my eyes again, scanning the area beyond the gates. Nothing. He was gone, and the longer we stood there, the more I could feel the weight of my own carelessness pressing down on me. My mind had wandered. I had let him slip through my fingers.

I lowered the binoculars, my jaw tightening. "I lost him. I should've kept my head in the game."

Aaron shot me a sideways glance, giving a small, sympathetic smile. "But you don't come across something like that every day," he said, pointing at the food factory just inside the gates. "We might find something useful here."

I glanced over at the factory, its looming silhouette against the sky. It could be something important.

"If we do this now," I said, eyeing the factory, "it means we're givin' up on the poncho guy, doesn't it?"

Aaron didn't hesitate. "Home's fifty miles back," he said, his tone firm but weary. "It's time we start heading back. What we saw last night... it proves it. There are bad people out here."

I gritted my teeth, my frustration flaring again. "Ain't that why we have to keep looking for the good ones?"

Aaron turned his head to meet my eyes, the weariness in his gaze stark against the fading light. "We need more people. But when we find them, we're gonna need to feed them. You know that. We can't just keep chasing shadows."

He was right. I knew it, even as the words stuck in my throat. We needed to think practically, not just chase after every lead we came across.

"Alright, you win," I muttered, turning away from the fence and reaching for my knife. The frustration still lingered, but I was learning to set it aside. Aaron was right about one thing—this wasn't the time to get stuck on one guy.

I stepped up to the fence and tapped my knife against one of the metal supports. The sharp clang echoed through the air, louder than I'd intended. A few seconds later, the sound of shuffling footsteps reached my ears.

Walkers.

I stepped back, watching as they began to shuffle towards the noise, their vacant eyes locking onto the movement. One by one, they approached the gate. I caught Aaron's eye, a silent agreement passing between us.

"We'll deal with this first," I said, giving a small nod to Aaron as I pulled out my crossbow, the familiar weight of it feeling like a brief moment of comfort in this mess. "Then we head inside."

Once we took down the walkers, we moved quickly, keeping low and focused as we approached the factory. The scent of metal and old oil mixed with the dank, musty air around us. We came upon the loading dock and found four large trailers parked haphazardly, casting long shadows in the fading light.

Three of them had their latches torn off, hanging loosely from their hinges. One trailer, however, had a latch that looked intact.

"Woah!" Aaron exclaimed, bending down to the concrete. He grabbed something off the ground. I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what he was doing. He'd found another license plate to add to his collection.

"Seriously?" I muttered, watching as he pulled a screwdriver from his belt and began unscrewing it. "The guy in the red poncho is long gone. We'll spot him from a mile away. No need to waste time."

Aaron's voice was muffled as he twisted the screwdriver. "I don't like giving up, either," he said, holding the plate up triumphantly. "But hey, a good souvenir never hurt anyone."

I grunted, not really listening as I eyed the trailers again. Something felt off. Three of the trailers had clearly been scavenged—no latch, no lock, just emptiness. Whoever had been here before had already taken what they wanted. But why leave the fourth trailer untouched?

Pushing the uneasy feeling aside, I focused on the task at hand. "We've already gone miles without a sign of him," I said. "But if we find a trailer full of cans, at least we won't leave empty-handed."

Aaron nodded and stood, the yellow license plate now in his hand, the word "Alaska" stamped across it.

I approached the last trailer with the working latch, squatting down to get a closer look. My heart was pounding louder now, a sense of urgency prickling at the back of my neck.

"Well, here we go," I muttered, gripping the latch with my fingers. As I pulled, a wire snapped, and the loud metallic pop echoed through the air.

The moment I opened the hatch, the stench hit me like a wall. Rot. Death. I staggered back, my stomach churning. The smell was unbearable—something I hadn't gotten used to, even after everything we'd seen.

Before I could even think, the hatches of the other three trailers popped open simultaneously. The groaning of the dead filled the air, and a wave of walkers came spilling out, flooding the loading dock.

"Shit!" I shouted, adrenaline flooding my system. "Run!"

Aaron and I turned and sprinted toward the narrow gap between the trailers. My heart hammered in my chest, the sound of the walkers' slow, dragging feet growing louder as they shuffled after us. My pulse pounded in my ears.

I pulled my knife from its sheath, moving with purpose, every strike going straight for their skulls. My body moved like a machine—swift, efficient. There was no room for hesitation.

I found a gap between two trailers with fewer walkers and dashed through it, Aaron right behind me. But more walkers were spilling out, swarming from every direction. The air felt thick with the stench of decay, and I barely ducked under one trailer, slipping through the mud to escape their reach.

"C'mon!" I yelled, looking back at Aaron. He was struggling to stay ahead, the walkers closing in too quickly.

Aaron kicked one in the chest, but more were pouring through the narrow spaces, relentless. I barely had time to think before I came face to face with a walker. Its eyes were glassy and vacant, but what froze me was the mark—another W carved deep into its forehead.

What the hell was going on with these W marks? They were everywhere lately, and I had no idea what they meant, but the sight made my stomach tighten with unease.

I pushed the thought aside. I had no time for it now.

I grabbed a rusted chain lying nearby and swung it with all my strength at three walkers trying to block my path. The chain made contact with a sickening crack as their skulls splintered. Blood splattered against the concrete, and the walkers crumpled to the ground.

But just as I thought we had a moment's reprieve, I saw Aaron struggling. A walker had grabbed hold of him, its decayed fingers wrapped around his jacket.

I sprinted to him, shoving the walker into the side of the trailer with a grunt, my knife sinking into its skull. The sound of it going in was sickening—one more thing that would haunt me later.

Aaron quickly yanked his pack back onto his shoulders, but he was distracted, his movements slow. That's when another walker lunged at him, its jagged teeth snapping.

I swung my knife again, slicing through its skull with precision, pushing it away from Aaron. He barely acknowledged me as he hacked at another walker with his hatchet. The tension in the air was thick. More were coming. We were getting boxed in.

Through the chaos, my eyes locked onto a van parked in the distance, just past the trailers. It was our only chance.

"Let's move!" I shouted, grabbing Aaron by the jacket and hauling him toward the van.

We reached it in a blur of movement, hearts pounding, and I threw open the door, scrambling into the passenger seat. I didn't waste a second. I climbed over the console to the driver's side, barely squeezing in as Aaron slammed the door shut behind us.

We both sat in silence for a moment, the heavy air thick with the sound of walkers thudding against the van, their groans echoing through the metal. I could feel the vibrations through the floor, the force of their pounding hands on the windows. My heart was still racing, thumping in my chest like it was trying to break free.

Aaron's voice cut through the noise, strained and anxious. "The glass will hold, right?"

I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself, but my lungs felt like they were still struggling to catch up. "Maybe," I said, my voice tight. My chest heaved with each breath, the air feeling too thick. "Maybe if we're lucky. But if they keep at it, I don't know how long it'll last." I paused, the sound of the walkers scratching at the van almost drowning out my thoughts. "Maybe we can block their view. Something to cover the windows. Somethin' to keep them from seeing us. Eventually, something will come by, and they'll follow it out. Gotta be a way."

Aaron reached between the seats, searching for something to use. He stopped suddenly, his hand closing around a crumpled yellow piece of paper. He pulled it free, unfolding it with the kind of caution you only get when something feels off. The note was hastily scribbled, half written in pen, the other half smeared with blood.

"Trap. Bad people coming. Don't stay."

We both stared at the note, the words sinking in with an uncomfortable heaviness. The blood was still fresh, the ink barely dried.

Aaron's eyes flicked to mine, and we exchanged a silent understanding. This wasn't just bad luck. This was something else—something dangerous, and we were caught in the middle of it.

"Motherfucker, man," I muttered, my fist slamming into the steering wheel. The sound of my frustration echoed inside the van, but it didn't make me feel any better. I couldn't control this. I couldn't control what was happening outside, or how much closer we were to being trapped in here for good.

I leaned back in my seat, letting the weight of it all crash down on me. My mind raced, trying to think of a way out of this. But in the back of my mind, one thought kept circling around, louder than the rest. Even now, even in the face of death, I couldn't stop thinking about Ella, about the kids. Were they safe? What was happening back at Alexandria?

I chuckled softly, though it was tinged with bitter irony, as I let my head fall back to the headrest. The van creaked beneath me, the distant sound of walkers still rattling the windows. "What the hell did I get myself into?" I muttered under my breath, the question more to myself than anyone else. But it was impossible to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut—the one that told me everything was about to get a lot worse.

"What?" Aaron asked, his voice soft but with a hint of confusion, like he didn't quite understand where I was going with it.

I leaned back against the seat, letting out a long breath as I stared out the window at nothing in particular. "I agreed to do this, you know? Come out here, look for more people, get away from the walls for a while. I thought if I got out here, maybe it'd clear my head. I'm not like everyone else. I spent most of my life out in the woods, even before this mess. But now, here I am, stuck in this damn van with you, as closed in as it gets. And all I can think about is her. About Ian and Ruby."

I turned to Aaron, my voice catching a little. "When I'm with them, it's like nothing else matters. They never make me feel caged in, not like this. No matter where we are, it feels like home. That's what it is. Home." I could feel the words sinking deep into my chest as I said them, like I was finally admitting what I'd been avoiding.

Aaron gave me a soft smile, like he understood. "It's not weird. You love them. They're your home."

"Yeah," I whispered, the words carrying more weight than I expected. "Guess they are." I smiled, the warmth of his words wrapping around me. "I love 'em. Those three are my whole damn world. If I die out here... Ella's gonna be pretty pissed at both of us, y'know?"

Aaron let out a small chuckle, his expression lightening a little. "She'll be pissed that we died getting torn apart by walkers?"

"Hell yeah," I said, a small, bittersweet laugh escaping my lips. "She'll be sad at first, but then she'll get pissed. I can see it now, her yellin' and screamin' at the air like we can hear her, cussin' us out from beyond the grave. That's how she is—always had a temper, always a fire in her."

I leaned back, closing my eyes for a second, remembering her face, those moments when she'd get riled up, her face turning red, her words sharp enough to cut through the toughest of men. It always made me smile.

"That's what I love most about her," I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. "She ain't afraid to go toe-to-toe with anyone. She'll run her mouth, but she's got the fists to back it up."

Aaron nodded, his eyes softening. "She is a fantastic woman, Daryl."

"You don't even know the half of it." I smiled again, this time more tender. "You should see her with the kids. The way she looks at 'em, like every damn thing they do is some kind of miracle. Every smile, every laugh, it's like she's treasuring it. And hell, she is. She sings to 'em when she thinks I can't hear her, when she puts 'em to bed or when they're fussy. She's the best damn mom I've ever seen."

Aaron's smile was small, but there was understanding in it. I reached into my pocket for my dwindling pack of cigarettes, pulling one free. The weight of what I was saying, the truth of it, felt heavier than I thought it would. I lit the cigarette and took a long drag, the smoke filling my lungs and burning at the back of my throat.

"You tell her I'm sorry," I said, the words coming out slow, like they were weighted with more than just regret. "I couldn't fix things between us before I left. I wanted to, but I couldn't. You tell her to take care of our kids, to love 'em like crazy. Tell her to put 'em to bed and tell 'em about me. Tell her everythin', even if it's a damn mess."

Aaron's expression shifted. He didn't say anything at first, just stared at me, his eyes wide with concern.

"Why are you saying that?" he asked quietly, his voice shaky, like he already knew what I was about to say.

I sighed heavily, my chest tightening at the thought of Ella, of the kids. "Tell her... she made me a better man. Tell her I loved her more than anythin' in this world. More than anythin'. And tell my kids... I loved 'em too." I held the cigarette up, staring at it for a moment before taking another long drag. The smoke felt thick in my lungs, and for some reason, it made the heaviness in my chest feel a little harder to bear.

"I'll go. Lead the walkers off. You run back. Get back to my wife and kids."

Aaron's eyes widened, the panic slipping into his voice as he grabbed my arm. "No. No, Daryl. I can't let you do that. You have to get back to them. You—"

"This isn't a question, Aaron." My voice was hard, firm. "This ain't your decision. Just get out as fast as you can. Get back to them. Tell 'em everything I told you. Tell 'em I love 'em."

He shook his head, desperation clear in his eyes. But I could see it—the fear, the understanding. "No, I can't let you—"

I cut him off. "Just let me finish my damn smoke first, alright?"

We locked eyes for a moment longer, the weight of the silence heavy between us. And then, as the walkers continued their shuffle around us, I leaned back in the seat, my thoughts heavy with everything I wanted to say to Ella. But time was running out.

"No," Aaron said quietly, turning to face me with a serious expression. "You don't draw them away. We fight. If I go back home and your wife doesn't see you with me... You said it yourself—the girl has a temper. She'll kill me, and your sacrifice will be for nothing."

I let out a short laugh, the sound almost bitter. He was right. Ella wouldn't hesitate. Hell, I'd probably have to stop her myself.

"We go for the fence. We do this together," Aaron continued, his voice firm. "Because I don't want to face the wrath of Ella."

I smirked at him, shaking my head. "You scared of a five-foot-nothin' woman?"

Aaron shot me a look, raising an eyebrow. "She's your wife. You tell me. Should I be scared?"

I took a long drag from my cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly, letting the words sink in. "Hell, yeah, you should be."

Aaron chuckled, the tension momentarily breaking. "Then we go for the fence together. Whether we make it or not, we do it together. No more hesitation. We have to."

"Alright," I said, a grin spreading across my face as I snuffed out the cigarette. I grabbed my knife, then slid my crossbow over my shoulder, preparing for what was ahead. "We'll go on three. One. Two—"

Before I could finish the count, something crashed into the side of Aaron's window, the sound of bone cracking as a walker's skull split under the impact. I blinked, confusion flashing across my face as the door flew open with a creak. A man—tall, stocky, with a massive wooden stick in his hand—yanked Aaron out of the van with surprising strength.

The man was a whirlwind of motion, swinging that damn stick with brutal efficiency. Each swing took out a walker with a sickening thud, sending them stumbling to the ground or toppling sideways in a heap of rotting limbs. He cleared a path between the two of us, each blow striking with perfect accuracy. His movements were smooth, practiced—like he'd done this a thousand times before.

Aaron and I stumbled back, disoriented for a second, but then instinct kicked in. I grabbed my knife, eyes flicking between the man and the remaining walkers closing in around us. I darted forward, using the blade to jab at the walkers' skulls. My arm moved in a rhythmic pattern, cutting through their decayed flesh like it was second nature.

We pushed forward, taking advantage of the opening the man had created. He was relentless, mowing down walkers left and right with each swing of his massive stick. We followed in his wake, maneuvering through the chaos, stepping over fallen bodies. Every breath was sharp, every movement calculated.

The man led us all the way to the fence. I kept glancing over at him, my mind racing to understand who the hell he was. But there wasn't time to ask questions, not with the walkers still closing in.

Finally, we reached the fence. The gate was there, slightly ajar, but it was enough. We shoved the last few walkers out of the way and slammed it shut. The sound of the gate slamming echoed in the air, the final barrier between us and the chaos outside.

I stepped back, panting, wiping sweat off my forehead as the man gave the stick one final wipe with a cloth, cleaning the blood off with practiced ease. His face was calm, almost detached, but his eyes held a certain intensity.

"That was," Aaron panted, his chest heaving as he stood beside me, his eyes flickering between me and the stranger. "Oh God. Thank you."

The man nodded briefly, his expression unreadable, and then he stood there in silence.

"I'm Aaron. This is Daryl," Aaron said, his voice still rough with adrenaline.

"Morgan," the man replied simply, his eyes briefly meeting mine before drifting off to the horizon.

"Why?" I asked, my voice blunt. "Why'd you save us?"

Morgan repeated the question under his breath, like he was trying to process it. "Why?" he finally said. "Because all life is precious, Daryl."

Aaron and I exchanged a quick look, a silent understanding passing between us. I didn't know whether to trust him yet, but there was something in his voice—something in the way he spoke—that told me he wasn't just another predator.

"The people who set that trap," Aaron started, voice quieter now, "they're coming. But we have good news. We have a community, not too far from here."

I didn't get a bad feeling from Morgan, but I wasn't sure I could call it a good one either. Something about him felt like a puzzle I wasn't sure I was ready to solve.

"We have walls. Electricity. It's safe," Aaron continued, his words calm but persuasive. "If you'd like to come with us—"

Morgan cut him off, his voice steady and direct. "I thank you, but I'm on my way somewhere." He paused, pulling out a crumpled map from his jacket. "Fact is, I'm lost. So, if you could give me directions, that would be great."

He unfolded the map carefully, smoothing out the creases with a practiced hand. I couldn't help but stare at it. There was something old-fashioned about how he handled it, as if he was clinging to something tangible in a world where everything else had crumbled.

"Where'd you get this?" I asked, my eyes following his fingers tracing the edges of the map.

"I found it," Morgan replied with a nod. "Found it in a church. I'm actually looking for the man named on the map. Rick Grimes."

I froze. The smile I had been forcing on my face faltered, but I quickly masked it. Rick Grimes. I knew that name all too well. I could feel the weight of it in my chest.

"How do you know Rick?" I asked, my voice steady, though my mind raced.

Morgan glanced down at the map for a moment before answering, his voice distant, like he was recalling a memory. "I met him at the start," he said, his eyes far away now, like he was traveling back in time. "He told me he was looking for his wife and son. Me and my boy helped patch him up and sent him on his way. We crossed paths again about a year later. He had a woman with him and a boy, said it was his son. He asked me to come back to his camp, said he and a bunch of others had taken over a prison close by."

I nodded slowly, glancing at Aaron. His gaze flickered to Morgan, and I gave him a subtle nod, a silent agreement to continue.

"Well, then you're in luck, Morgan," Aaron said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "Rick Grimes lives in our community. He's one of our constables."

Morgan's face softened, a brief flash of relief crossing his features before he masked it. He smiled, small but genuine, and I felt something inside me shift—a sense of hope, the kind that had been missing for so long.

"Then I guess I'm coming with you after all," Morgan said, his voice quieter now, but firm.

I looked at him closely, trying to gauge whether this was the right call. There was something about him—something steady, but still weighed down by his past. Maybe he was what we needed, or maybe he was another complication we didn't know we could afford. But I wasn't about to turn him away, not when he was looking for the same thing we all were—some sense of purpose, of home.