Chapter 3

Present Day...

The morning routine at the Sanctuary had become second nature. Charlotte stretched in her bed, silk sheets pooling around her as sunlight filtered through actual glass windows, not the boarded-up holes that passed for windows everywhere else. Fresh fruit sat on her nightstand, real soap waited in her bathroom, not shared unlike the worker's one and clothes that actually fit hung in her closet.

All the luxuries in the world, and they still felt like a cage.

She caught her reflection in the mirror as she pulled on her leather jacket. The girl from the lineup was gone, replaced by someone harder, scarred. She looked like a Savior now. Moved like one too, all sharp edges and contained violence.

The transformation had taken years, but Negan noticed everything.

"Well, well," his voice boomed as she entered his room for their daily check-in. "Don't you look ready to take on the world today."

"I think I am." Charlotte dropped into the chair across from his desk, boots propped up on the wooden surface. The casual disrespect would have gotten anyone else a face full of Lucille, but Negan just grinned.

"Careful there, kiddo. That attitude's gonna get you in trouble one of these days."

"With who? You?" She smirked, and for a moment the playful girl she used to be flickered through. "You wouldn't hurt me. You've gone soft."

Negan barked out a laugh. "Soft? That's a new one." He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Speaking of which, I've got a collection run to Alexandria tomorrow."

Charlotte's boots hit the floor with a thud. "I'm coming with you."

"No."

"Come on, Negan—"

"I said no."

The playful atmosphere disappeared. Charlotte leaned forward, her voice taking on that persuasive tone that usually got her what she wanted. "Please? I've been stuck here for months. I'm going crazy!"

"You're staying here where it's safe."

"Safe?" Charlotte stood up, pacing to the window. "I can handle myself. You know I can. I've been training with Simon, I can shoot better than half your fuckin' workers—"

"This isn't a debate." Negan's voice went cold, his usual demanding voice, treating her like a worker. "Alexandria is off limits. End of discussion."

"Why?" The question exploded out of her. "Because you're scared?! I've been to Kingdom and Hilltop!"

"Because I said so!"

"That's not good enough!" Charlotte whirled around, her hands clenched into fists. "You can't keep me locked up here forever! I'm not your pet, I'm not your—"

"You're under my roof," Negan said, rising to his full height. "And that means you do as I say."

Charlotte stared at him for a long moment, breathing hard. Then she turned and stalked toward the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Out." She didn't look back. "Don't wait up."

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The motorcycle roared to life beneath her, the familiar weight of the balaclava covering her face. Charlotte had learned early on that being anonymous was survival, the fewer people who could identify her, the better. The woods outside the Sanctuary were her escape, her hunting ground where she could work out her frustrations on the endless supply of walkers that wandered too close.

She was two miles out when the bike started coughing, black smoke pouring from the engine.

"Shit." She pulled over, kicking the machine in frustration when it finally died completely. The silence of the forest pressed in around her, broken only by the distant moan of the undead.

Perfect.

Charlotte grabbed her battered switchblade and headed deeper into the trees. If she couldn't ride out her anger, she'd hack it out of some rotting skulls instead.

She was so focused on the approaching growls that she didn't hear the footsteps behind her until a gruff voice cut through the air.

"Don't move."

Charlotte froze, a walker mere feet away from her, but the crossbow bolt that embedded itself in its skull wasn't hers.

"Turn around. Slow."

She did, taking in the man before her, tall, broad-shouldered, with his own face covered by a bandana. The crossbow was trained directly on her head.

"Take off the mask."

"No." The word came out harsher than she'd intended.

"Take it off, or I'll take it off for you."

Charlotte tilted her head, letting mockery creep into her voice despite the weapon pointed at her, feigning surrender as she raised her arms in the air, dropping her knife to the ground with a soft thud. "Wow, real tough guy, threatening a girl in the woods. What are you, some kind of hero?"

The man's grip tightened on his weapon. "Last chance."

"Go to hell."

The bolt took her in the shoulder, spinning her around and sending her crashing into the tree behind her. Pain exploded through her body, but she bit back the scream, glaring at her attacker through watering eyes.

"Go... fuck yourself," Charlotte gasped, clutching her shoulder.

The man pulled out a radio. "Rick, it's Daryl. Found someone in the woods. It's... it's a girl. Young. Orders were "don't kill, capture," right?"

The response crackled back: "Bring her in."

Charlotte tried to run, but her legs gave out. She tried listening to the names they used but the ringing in her ears did otherwise. The last thing she saw before darkness took her was the man's bandana as he bent to pick her up.

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Consciousness came back in fragments. White ceiling. A lemony antiseptic smell. Voices murmuring just out of range.

Charlotte tried to sit up and immediately regretted it, pain shooting through her shoulder. But it was bandaged now, professionally done.

"Hey, take it easy." A woman's voice, gentle but unfamiliar. "You lost a lot of blood."

Charlotte's hand flew to her face—bare. Her balaclava was gone. Panic clawed at her throat as she looked around the room. A pharmacy.

Her eyes locked on the man standing by the wall. Crossbow slung across his back, and there, sticking out of his pocket, the burgundy red bandana she recognised too quickly.

"You," she snarled, trying to lunge at him despite her injury. "You shot me!"

"Whoa, hey!" The woman, a doctor, by her coat, tried to hold her down. "You need to stay still, your stitches—"

But Charlotte wasn't listening, like usual. She was trapped, surrounded by unknown enemies, and her head was spinning with blood loss and medication. Charlotte did not like that.

The woman's face swam in and out of focus, a stranger, reaching for her with unknown hands.

Raw instinct took over.

Charlotte's good arm swung out, catching the doctor across the face in a practiced motion. She rolled off the table, grabbing for anything she could use as a weapon. Shouts erupted around her as more people rushed into the room.

"Get back!" She screamed, pointing a scalpel with shaking hands. "Don't touch me!"

Someone grabbed her from behind, the crossbow man, and she drove her elbow back into his ribs before spinning around to slash at anyone who came close.

"She's delirious!" someone shouted. "The blood loss—"

A hand clamped down on her wrist, and the scalpel went flying. Charlotte fought like a wild animal, all teeth and nails and desperate fury, until something hard connected with the back of her head.

The world went black again, she was getting used to being knocked out, and the last sound she heard was the rattle of metal bars sliding shut as she slipped in and out of consciousness.