Chapter 39 - Ella

Our little blanket nest couldn't make me feel safe. Daryl's arms couldn't make me feel safe. When the sun went down and I laid there, staring at the ceiling of our mostly empty bedroom, I couldn't stop the memories.

Every time I closed my eyes I could see Paul above me, pants around his ankles. I could hear Ian crying, begging for me, for Daryl. I could smell the sweat on Paul's body, the dust on that lumpy couch he laid me on.

Even with Daryl's arms around me, the ghosts were louder. His heartbeat under my cheek couldn't drown out the sound of Paul's voice in my head.

I turned and turned all night, restless and raw, until I gave up trying to sleep altogether. I started making lists instead—small, normal things to keep the memories at bay.

We were running low on diapers for Ruby. We'd have to start making cloth ones, or go scavenging again. Ian was slowly growing out of his clothes. I'd have to ask around or trade. Or... maybe start sewing them myself.

I thought back to our time at the prison, when I was heavily pregnant with Ruby and Daryl helped me stitch a blanket. Maybe I could make clothes for Ian, too.

The school had slowly come to a stop. It didn't feel as important now, not with so few kids left. The Wolves' attack had taken Ron and Sam, and two other children who tried to run from the walkers.

Their mothers kept them close, and I understood.

Maybe I could start teaching Ian here, in the living room or the kitchen, with Ruby cooing beside us. Maybe the other mothers would come if I offered to share lessons, but... maybe not.

I knew Carl and Enid wouldn't come back. They knew what they needed to know to survive in this world.

Daryl shifted in his sleep, turning onto his back, and pulled me with him like he couldn't let go even in dreams. His hand settled heavy and warm on my hip, his chest rising and falling slow and steady under my cheek.

I let my eyes close and kept making my lists.

There was laundry to do. Diapers to sew. Lessons to plan.

I didn't feel safe. But the rhythm of his breathing under me, the slow rise and fall of his chest, was enough to keep me from slipping under completely.

Eventually, I slept. Not because the memories stopped. But because he was still there. Because the warmth of his skin, the rasp of his breath, was enough to hold me back from the edge.

For now...

It was enough.

~

"Dad," a little voice whispered. "Daaaaad. Dad. Dad. Dad. Daaaaaaaad!"

"Jesus, boy," Daryl groaned, his voice rumbling in his chest beneath me. "I'm up, son. Don't gotta keep sayin' my name."

"You weren't wakin' up," Ian said, not even trying to be quiet. "And Mom needs her sleep."

"Well," Daryl grunted. "I'm up now. What d'you need?"

"I wanna make her breakfast, but you said I can't touch the stove. And Ruby's room smells like shit."

"Hey!" Daryl snapped. "Told you not to say that... at least when Mom's around."

"Mom's asleep," Ian scoffed, sounding much older than five. "Shit, shit, shit."

"Boy," Daryl muttered, carefully untangling me from him. I kept my eyes closed, fighting back the smile threatening to burst through. "You're lucky I ain't my Daddy. He'd have tanned my hide seven ways from Sunday."

"I don't even know what that means!" Ian giggled, his voice trailing off as he padded out of the bedroom.

"Yeah," Daryl huffed a quiet laugh. "And you never will if I have a say."

Warmth bloomed in my chest. Proof that Daryl was a good man—a man who learned from his father's mistakes, and made damn sure not to repeat them.

"Go on, boy," he said, a smile in his voice. "Head downstairs while I get your sister sorted. Then we'll make Mom somethin' to eat."

"What about me? I'm hungry too, y'know!" Ian giggled, his small feet pattering down the hall.

Daryl just sighed, and I heard the quiet pop of his joints as he stretched.

"That boy's a weird one," he murmured, almost to himself, a soft chuckle in his throat. "But fuck if I don't love him for it."

I listened as he padded out of the room, shutting the door behind him, the echoes of his love and Ian's laughter warming the cold corners of my mind.

I must have drifted back to sleep, because the next thing I knew I was blinking awake to a wet, slobbery kiss right on my mouth. I blinked rapidly, bringing a hand to wipe the crust from my eyes, only to find my baby girl smiling as she leaned in for another slobbery kiss.

I rolled my eyes at her as I wiped my mouth.

"Well good morning to you too little miss," I cooed at her. "Thank you for the kisses, but next time hold the drool please."

Ruby gurgled as her hands fisted in my shirt, her focus clearly drawn elsewhere.

"Did Daddy set you in here? Huh?" I asked her as I sat up in the blanket nest. "Or did you suddenly learn how to climb out of your crib, and walk all the way down the hall?"

She gurgled in answer, still gripping my shirt tightly.

"Guess we'll never know, huh?" I smiled down at her as I pulled her into my lap and lifted my shirt so she could nurse. She latched with practiced ease. I chuckled as she suckled down as much milk as she could.

The door creaked open slowly as Daryl peeked his head into the room.

"Hey baby," he smiled at me. "She wake you up?"

"With a slobbery kiss to boot," I giggled. "Lucky me."

"I was hopin' she'd go back down for a bit." He shrugged. "I'm makin' food downstairs. You hungry?"

I nodded and reached my free hand out to him. He pulled me to my feet with ease as I held onto our daughter. He stroked her chubby cheek with a single finger. She smiled around my breast, milk leaking down her cheeks.

"Messy little thing," he cooed at her. "Better save some room. Your brothers made you some eggs and apple sauce."

I shifted Ruby to my other side, tucking her little feet under my arm. Her small, soft sighs and warm weight in my lap were a comfort I didn't know I needed.

Daryl reached for her tiny foot, giving it a playful squeeze.

"She's gettin' big," he murmured, his eyes soft with that proud papa gleam.

"She's a chunk," I teased, brushing her hair back from her forehead.

He kissed my temple before pulling back. "Come on down when you're ready. Ian's... well, he's in charge," he said with a grin that told me exactly how that was going.

"Uh oh," I chuckled, adjusting Ruby's latch and kissing her silky hair. "Better go supervise before he burns the house down."

By the time I stepped into the kitchen—Ruby in my arms, milk-drunk and dozing—Daryl had the scene under control... if you could call it that.

Ian was at the table, his face solemn as he held a wooden spoon like it was a sword.

"I'm keepin' the eggs safe, Mom," he declared as I walked in. "And I told Dad you're not supposed to touch the knives without me seein' it first."

"Oh, did you now?" I teased, smiling at his serious little face.

Daryl just rolled his eyes, flipping the eggs in a battered pan. "Kid thinks he's the law around here."

"I am," Ian said, nodding wisely. "Gotta keep you all safe."

I settled into the one chair left—no table anymore, but Daryl had set up a little camp-like spot on the floor, an upturned crate as a makeshift table. He slid a plate in front of me, eggs scrambled with some dried herbs and what looked like slivers of onion.

"There ya go, El," he murmured, handing me a fork. "Not much, but..."

"It's perfect," I said, my throat tight around the truth of it. The love. The effort. The way they made this broken world feel like home.

Ian scrambled onto my lap, careful of his baby sister as he tucked close, his small hand grabbing a fork of his own. "I taste-tested it, Mom," he said, his voice full of pride. "It's safe."

I pressed a kiss to his curls, breathing in the warm, sweaty scent of him—my brave little guard dog. "Thank you, baby. I needed that."

We got through breakfast without incident, but Ian was insistent that I take Ruby to the living room and play, because he and Daryl were "taking care of the dishes."

Daryl shot me a look, then rolled his eyes at our son.

"When'd you get so bossy?" he asked as he started rinsing the plates.

"Since Mom had a bad day yesterday," Ian said firmly. "You told me we have to take care of our girls. Mom was sad, so she gets to play. We get dishes."

My heart swelled in my chest—my sweet, wise little boy.

Daryl didn't argue, just nodded and started soaping up the dishes beside Ian.

Two gentle knocks on the front door broke the quiet rhythm. Ian sprinted over, not even bothering to peek out.

"WHO'S THERE?" he screeched.

"Jesus..." I could hear Carl's muffled voice through the door. "Not this again. Ian, it's me and my dad. You've known us since you were two!"

Ian reached for the door handle, opening it at a snail's pace, his face set in a stubborn scowl.

"Are you here for my mom or my dad?" he demanded.

Daryl sighed and strode over, lifting our wild child up onto his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Ian let out an indignant yelp, pounding his small fists on Daryl's back.

"Enough, kid," Daryl muttered, pulling the door open and gesturing for Rick and Carl to come in.

Rick's lips twitched, barely hiding a smile. Carl rolled his eye, exasperated but amused.

But the second I saw Carl—really saw him—my breath caught in my throat.

His bandages were gone. The angry, red, exposed skin of his empty socket was on full display despite how he tried to brush his hair over it.

I scrambled up from the floor, leaving Ruby to her toys, and pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing hug.

"Honey, what happened? Where's your bandages?" I breathed out, my voice shaking.

Carl stiffened in my arms, but he didn't pull away. Daryl kept Ian turned away, his own face shadowed with a mix of pity and quiet rage.

"Negan made me take them off," Carl said, his voice low and resigned.

My fingers tightened in his flannel shirt. "I'll kill him," I whispered fiercely.

Carl let out a humorless laugh. "Calm down, killer. It's fine. Besides, I'll get some more soon."

I pulled back enough to search his face, my brows knit in confusion and anger.

Rick's voice cut in, quiet and grave. "We need to talk to you both."

I met Daryl's eyes across the room, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. He nodded once, his gaze steady and calm even in the face of this new storm.

He walked over and gathered Ruby in his arms, his other arm still wrapped firmly around Ian, hiked high on his shoulder. The quiet strength of his movements—this is my family, and I'll keep them safe—settled me as he carried the kids upstairs to their bedrooms.

I took a slow breath, my hands shaking just a little as I turned back to Rick and Carl, ready for whatever came next.

~

The Hilltop's gates loomed ahead as we stepped out of the car. Ian's small hand was a warm, steady weight in mine, his tiny fingers gripping hard like he was holding me in place. Ruby babbled against my chest, snug and secure in her wrap. Daryl lumbered out behind me, his skin scraping warm against my shoulder.

"I hope she's okay," I murmured, glancing up at him.

"We'd've heard somethin' if she wasn't," he said, his voice low but sure.

I nodded, trying to push down the flutter of worry in my chest as Rick, Carl, Beth, and Michonne climbed out of the other car. Tara and Rosita followed from the back seat of ours. We all walked up to the gates together.

I heard it before I saw it—a soft gasp, a hiccup of breath caught between hope and relief. My head snapped up to the guard post. And there she was. Maggie.

"Maggie!" Beth cried, her voice cracking as she stumbled forward.

The gates swung open, and Beth crashed into Maggie's arms, her hands immediately on Maggie's rounded belly, her words spilling out too fast to follow. She was already fussing over Maggie, smoothing her hair back, her face alight with a frantic kind of joy.

Maggie was crying. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she pressed her face into Beth's shoulder. I watched them both, a tight ache in my chest. The sisters clung to each other like they were the only thing tethering them to the ground.

I could put up with Beth for a few hours if it meant seeing Maggie again. I'd let her fuss and flutter, as long as she stayed the hell away from Daryl and me. Things had settled down between us since that night she'd tried to stake her claim on him—my fists and her lip had seen to that. But now? We were solid. I wouldn't let her near that line again.

"Ella?" Maggie's voice cut through the tangle of memories, and I blinked, refocusing. She pulled back from Beth, tears still wet on her cheeks, and turned to me with a shaky smile.

"Hey," I murmured, returning the smile even though it trembled at the edges. "You look good."

Maggie stepped forward and pulled me into a gentle hug, her hand cradling the back of Ruby's head with a tenderness that cracked something open in my chest.

"I feel better," she said softly, pressing a kiss to Ruby's silky hair. Her voice wobbled. "She's gotten so much bigger."

"She's a little bruiser," I said, my throat tight.

Maggie pulled back and crouched low, her eyes shining as she turned to Ian. "Hi there, little monster."

"Aunt Maggie!" Ian launched himself forward, wrapping his arms around her neck. He was careful, like I'd told him to be in the car, but his hug was fierce, his little body trembling with relief.

"I missed you so much!" he said, his voice muffled in her hair.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Maggie murmured, her hand smoothing over his messy curls. "You been good for your Mama and Daddy?"

"I've been protectin' Mom while Dad was gone," Ian said proudly, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his small hands. His lips quirked in a solemn little smile. "Made sure she was safe. And I'm sorry about Uncle Glenn," he added, his voice catching. "Mom told me we have to give our con—condal—" He stopped, glancing up at me for help.

"Condolences," I supplied, my own voice thick with tears.

"Condolences," he repeated, nodding firmly. "I'm gonna miss Uncle Glenn."

Maggie's eyes welled over, tears slipping free as she pulled him tighter to her, burying her face in his hair. "I know, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I miss him too. He loved you so much—you know that, right?"

Ian nodded solemnly, his little brow furrowed. My own tears threatened to spill as I watched them. Daryl's hand found my back, his thumb brushing slow circles against my spine—solid, steady, here.

Maggie pulled back just enough to kiss Ian's forehead, her lips lingering like she was trying to press the memory of him deep into her bones. She smoothed his hair again, her fingers shaking.

Her hands smoothed down Ian's arms before she finally let him go, standing back up to greet the others. She hugged Rick tightly, pressing her cheek to his shoulder. But he pulled back after a moment, one hand resting on the nape of her neck as he searched her face.

"You're okay?" he asked softly, his eyes scanning hers like he needed to hear it in every breath she took.

Maggie nodded, her hand drifting down to her small, barely noticeable bump. "I'm okay," she said again, her voice stronger this time. "We're okay."

Rick's shoulders slumped in relief. His hand slid from her neck to her arm, holding her gently, like he was afraid she'd vanish if he let go.

"You were right," he said, his voice low and rough. "From the start—you told us to get ready to fight." He shook his head, his gaze dropping to the ground. "I didn't listen. I couldn't..." His breath hitched as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "But I can now. I'm ready to listen."

The weight of those words settled over all of us like a quiet promise—one I could almost believe in.

As Rick moved to greet Sasha and Jesus, I caught sight of Enid stepping forward. My brow furrowed in surprise.

"Enid?" I murmured, taking a few hesitant steps toward her. "When did you get here? How did you get here?"

Enid shook her head, her eyes soft and shimmering. "I had to see Maggie," she said, her voice trembling with something I recognized—grief, relief, love.

My gaze flicked to Carl, catching the way his shoulders straightened, the way his one good eye lit up when he saw her. My lips curved in a small, secret smile. I'd tease him about it later—but for now, I let them have this moment.

I shifted Ruby in my arms, her little legs kicking at the edge of her wrap. Sasha approached, her smile wide and warm as she reached out to cup my daughter's chubby cheek.

"Hi, big girl," Sasha cooed, her voice soft and bright. I felt Daryl's arm snake around my waist as I gently handed Ruby to her. "Look at you—what's your mama been feeding you, huh?"

Daryl rested his chin on top of my head, his breath warm and steady against my hair. I leaned back into his chest, letting the comfort of his touch ground me as I watched Sasha rock Ruby gently, murmuring sweet nonsense in her ear.

Around us, the others finished greeting each other, voices low and hopeful. And when we finally turned toward the towering house—our ragtag family moving as one—I felt a flicker of something I hadn't let myself feel in a long time.

Hope.

~

I'd heard enough stories about Gregory to know what to expect—some petty, small-time tyrant in a world that didn't have room for cowards anymore.

And he didn't disappoint.

We gathered in his office, cramped and stale, as Rick and Maggie took turns laying out the plan.

"No," Gregory scoffed, pacing behind his desk like a king holding court. "No way in hell! That wasn't the deal."

I rolled my eyes at the sight of him, all buttoned up and smug in that clean suit, the bald spot on his head shining under the flickering light. He didn't know a damn thing about hunger. About survival. About fighting.

Not the way we did.

"You people swore to take out the Saviors," he said, his voice rising as his hands swept wide. "And you failed. So, in my eyes, any arrangement we had is over. Done. Null and void." He stopped pacing, leaning over the desk like he was about to deliver some final decree. "We aren't trade partners. We're not friends. In fact, we've never even met."

"Oh, believe me," I shot back, my mouth twisting into a smirk. "I wish we hadn't met either."

Daryl huffed a quiet laugh behind me, his hand tightening on my waist—a silent plea to behave.

When would he learn?

I'd never behaved a day in my life.

Gregory's eyes flickered down to Ruby, her chubby hand curled around my shirt. For a second, his mouth twitched, like he was about to say something. I met his stare head on, my chin high, daring him.

"As I said," he continued, flopping back into that fancy chair like a bored prince. "We don't know each other. I owe you nothing. In fact, you owe me," he added, his gaze shifting to Rick. "For taking in the refugees. At great personal risk."

"Oh, yes," Jesus said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How could we forget your bravery? Hiding in here while Maggie and Sasha saved this place. Truly inspiring."

Maggie's mouth twitched, a bitter smile ghosting over her lips as she squeezed Beth's hand. I watched her stand there—worn and grieving, but stronger than I'd ever seen her.

Gregory shot a glare at Jesus. "Don't you work for me? Aren't we friends?"

Rick stepped up, his voice low and hard. "We already started this."

"You started—"

"We did!" Rick cut in, his jaw tight. "And we're gonna win."

Gregory's mouth fell open. "These guys are killers!"

Rick's voice didn't waver. "Is this how you want to live? Under Negan's thumb? Watching them take and take and kill?"

Gregory looked at him like he was insane. "We don't choose how things shake out, Ricky. Sometimes you have to count your blessings."

"And what blessings are those?" I snapped, my voice sharp as a blade. "Because from where I'm standing, you're the only fucker around here benefitting." I tried to step forward, but Daryl's arm locked around me, holding me in place.

"And you're content to let your people pay the price?" I spat.

"Enough," Daryl growled, his voice low in my ear, his hand tightening to a bruising grip. "Don't make it worse."

I glared up at him, Ruby fussing softly on my hip. I wanted to scream, to shove Gregory out of his pretty chair and show him what it really meant to fight.

But Daryl leaned down, his lips brushing my temple, his breath warm and steady. "Bustin' his balls ain't gonna get us nowhere, darlin'."

"It'll make me feel better," I muttered, but the bite in my voice was already fading.

Daryl's teeth nipped at the edge of my ear, and he let out a low, quiet laugh. His hand loosened on my waist, that familiar warmth washing over me.

He was right.

For now...

But I wouldn't forget this.

"How many people can we spare?" Maggie stepped forward, her hands resting on the back of an old upholstered chair in front of Gregory's desk. Her voice was steady—strong. "How many people here can fight?"

"We?" Gregory scoffed, his lip curling. "I don't even know how many people we have, Margret."

Daryl's hand slid up my waist, covering my mouth before I could let loose. "Don't," he growled softly, and I rolled my eyes at him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, I stuck out my tongue and licked up the center of his palm.

He blinked, brows arching, and then—oh god—he licked that same spot on his own hand. My cheeks went hot as fire, and for a split second, the room and Gregory's bullshit disappeared.

I turned back to the conversation, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling.

"What do you expect us to do?" Gregory demanded, his voice dripping condescension. "Form a platoon of sorghum farmers? That's what we have here. They grow things. They don't want to fight."

"You're wrong," Tara said firmly. "When people have the chance to do the right thing, they usually step up." She looked around the room, her voice low and sure. "I mean... people just—"

"Stop," Gregory cut her off with a flourish of his hand. "Who would even train this... cannon fodder?"

"I will," Sasha said, her voice calm and fierce. "Give me a week."

"I will too," Rosita added, standing straight beside her.

"Rhetorical!" Gregory said slowly, like they were idiots. "I don't want to know! I don't want to hear about any of this—ever."

"Fucking coward," I muttered under my breath, my arms tightening around Ruby as she squirmed.

Rick's jaw tensed. "Would we be better off without the Saviors?" he asked, his voice rising. "Yes or no?"

Gregory spread his hands wide, rolling his eyes. "Yeah. Sure. Okay."

Michonne stepped up then, nudging Rick gently aside. "So what will you do to fix the problem?"

"That's just it," Gregory said, jabbing a finger at her. "I never said I had a problem. You did. And whatever happens outside of my purview is outside of my purview."

I felt my blood boil. My skin itched with the need to move. I shoved Ruby into Daryl's arms before he could stop me, stepping forward with my voice low and cutting.

"Oh my god," I said, my voice shaking with fury. "You are such a fucking baby. Either you're with us or you're not. You sit there in that stupid fucking chair like you're king of the castle, letting your people suffer because it keeps you comfy." My hands shook as I pointed at him, my voice rising. "These people deserve better than you."

Gregory's eyes narrowed as he stood, bracing his hands on the desk. "I think I've made myself clear. Thank you for not being here today, and not having this meeting with me. And never having met me. Or being seen on your way out."

Rick let out a quiet, humorless snort, jerking his chin to the door. "Let's go."

The room filled with the rustle of boots and muttered curses as we turned and stomped out, the cold air in the foyer biting at our skin.

We stopped near a small table in the corner—its surface cluttered with a vase of bright, beautiful flowers. They were out of place here—too soft, too pretty for all the blood and dirt we'd tracked in.

I stared at them for a moment, feeling the irony like a stone in my chest.

"We don't need him anyway," Daryl muttered, his voice low and sure.

"Yeah," Rick agreed, his eyes still hard. "We don't. We've got Sasha, Maggie, Jesus—"

"And Enid," Maggie added, her voice soft but steady as Enid came through the door, her shoulders tense.

"Enid?" Maggie asked gently. "What's wrong?"

Enid's lips twitched at the corners. "Nothing... just... come outside."

Maggie didn't hesitate. She stepped out first, and the rest of us followed, the afternoon sun warm on our faces.

A small group was waiting on the dirt path—ten people, maybe more, their faces pinched but determined. A woman with kind eyes and tangled hair stepped forward, her hands twisting nervously in front of her.

"Hey," she said, offering Maggie a small smile. "I'm Bertie. And I owe my life to you all. All of us do, really." She swallowed, her gaze flitting to the ground. "Enid said you went to Gregory. Asked him to fight the Saviors. Is that true?"

Maggie nodded slowly, her shoulders square. "Yes."

Bertie took a deep breath, her eyes darting to the people behind her, then back to Maggie. "Do you... do you really think we could win? Do you think we stand a chance? Us?"

Maggie didn't blink. She reached up to adjust the brim of her baseball cap, her voice low and steady. "I do."

Bertie let out a shaky breath, her lips curving into a small, hopeful smile. "Enid says you can show us the way. I'm ready."

A quiet chorus of agreement rose from the others behind her. I felt Daryl's hand settle on my back, grounding me as the world shifted—just a little—around us.

"It's a start," he said softly.

"We'll get more," Sasha added, her voice sure.

"It's not enough," I murmured, my eyes scanning the small group. "But it might be enough to start."

Daryl's arm slipped around my shoulder, pulling me in closer. "If we get the right stuff, we can make it work for damn sure," he said. His mouth curved in that half-smirk I loved. "We won't need the numbers if we blow 'em all to hell."

I let out a small laugh, my head resting against his shoulder.

Rick's jaw was tight as he turned back to the group. "We still need more hands. Maybe another whole group. Negan's got outposts—he's got numbers, and the distance works against us." His voice dropped low, heavy with the weight of it. "We need to get back. If the Saviors catch us here, it'll only make a bad situation worse."

"You don't have to get back just yet," Jesus said suddenly, stepping forward. He pulled a small walkie from his pocket, holding it up. "I snagged this off one of their trucks when they came through. Long range—we can track them."

Michonne's brow lifted. "If we're not going home... where are we going?"

Jesus's lips curled into a small, mysterious smile. "I think it's time I introduce you to Ezekiel." He paused, his eyes twinkling just a little. "King Ezekiel."

Rick's brows shot up. "King?" he asked, half disbelieving.

I let out a quiet breath, feeling the air shift around us again—like a door opening to something new.

"King," Jesus said again, his smile growing. "Trust me. You're gonna wanna see this."

From there, we started to load up. Rick tried to convince me and the kids to head back to Alexandria—his voice tight, that worried fatherly edge creeping in. But Jesus wouldn't hear it.

"She's coming," he said with that calm smile of his. "Trust me—Ian's gonna love what we're about to see."

I gave him a tight smile, trying to swallow the worry that kept fluttering in my chest. Ian was practically vibrating with excitement as we all climbed into the cars. Beth decided to stay behind at Hilltop with Maggie, and I swear I could've jumped for joy at that news.

Carl, Michonne, Jesus, and Rick piled into one car, while Daryl and I took another with Tara. I let Tara hold Ruby, listening to her coo and baby-talk my daughter while we followed behind Rick.

"Dad, do you think he's got a crown?" Ian asked from the backseat, his voice high with wonder.

Daryl's mouth twitched, and he gave me a quick sideways glance, his smile warm. "I dunno, bud. Guess we'll have to wait and see."

"What about a castle? You think he's got a drawbridge? Oh! Or a moat—to throw my enemies in?!" Ian was practically bouncing out of his seat, the words spilling out too fast to catch them all.

"What enemies does a five-year-old have?" Tara chuckled, bouncing Ruby on her knee.

"Miss Tara," Ian sighed dramatically. "You wouldn't understand. I have a lot of enemies."

"Yeah," she teased, raising a brow. "That's not totally creepy, kid."

I pressed my lips together to hide a laugh, but Daryl just shook his head, his hand reaching back to ruffle Ian's hair like he couldn't help himself.

The rest of the ride was filled with Ian's endless questions, Daryl's tired but patient answers, and Tara's quiet coos to Ruby. Daryl was starting to look a little overwhelmed, but even he couldn't hide the small smile on his lips.

By the time we finally pulled to a stop behind Rick's car, he let out a groan, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the wheel.

"Oh my god, we're here!" Ian squealed, his voice echoing in the car.

I twisted around, fixing him with my best Mom Stare. "Ian Samuel Dixon," I said, my voice calm and firm. "What did I tell you about shouting outside the walls?"

Ian rolled his eyes—rolled them—and crossed his arms. "That I'm not allowed because it'll draw the walkers," he said, in a tone that was a little too sassy for my liking.

"If you'd like, we can just go home instead," I said, keeping my face perfectly neutral.

His eyes went wide, his bottom lip starting to wobble. "No! Mommy, I'm sorry!" he said quickly. "I won't yell anymore. I promise."

Daryl scrubbed a hand down his face, trying not to laugh as he unbuckled and climbed out. He leaned in and lifted Ian out of the car, holding him close to his chest for a moment. I watched the way his hand settled on the back of Ian's head, his thumb stroking gently.

It was those little moments that kept me breathing.

Ian recited the rules I'd drilled into him—"Hold your hand. Stay close. If there's trouble, run."—and I gave him a proud smile as I took Ruby from Tara and settled her into the wrap across my chest.

Drool dripped down Ruby's chin as she patted my cheeks with her chubby hands. "Hi, baby girl," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft hair.

We waited near the cars, watching as Rick and Jesus talked in low voices by the hood.

"Hey!" Daryl called out, his voice gruff but not unkind. "What're we waitin' for?"

Then we heard it—the soft clip-clop of hooves on pavement.

Jesus turned back to us with that faint smile of his, pointing down the road. "We're waiting for them," he said.

I turned, catching my breath as the horses came into view—real horses, manes shining in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, the world felt almost like it used to—like something out of a storybook. And I realized maybe that's what we were giving Ian today. A little bit of magic in the middle of all this ruin.