Daryl returns from the Tombs eventually, lips pursed and his gaze somehow further away. I see him walk through the cell block just as I return from putting Judith down for a nap. The block door clanging open and shut tells me that he's gone again.

For a second, I linger inside Judith's designated "nursery" and listen to the sounds of Hershel reading to Beth and Maggie in the common area. He speaks from the Bible, of deliverance from pestilence and the mighty hand of God. Maybe if I were in a better mood, I'd join them. Glenn and Carol were doing more war prep last I saw them, packing emergency "run for your life" bags and making Molotov cocktails. I haven't seen Michonne or Merle in a while and I've caught glimpses of Rick as he patrols our perimeter.

I find myself going back outside. I'm restless, I know, and I'm just trying to find something to focus all that nervous energy on. The easiest target, probably to his chagrin, is Daryl.

He's back on the guard tower, pacing with a rifle in hand, crossbow on his back. For the second time today, I climb the stairs to join him.

"Did you find Merle?" I ask as I emerge from the stairwell.

He turns to face me, jaw clenching for a second before he realizes that it's me. He lets out a breath and nods, resuming his pacing. "Yeah," he says.

"Everything okay?"

He shrugs. "You don't gotta keep asking. Answer's the same."

I exhale. "I'm sorry," I say, coming closer to him as he paces in my direction. "I'm all...anxious."

"That's fair," he replies. He still isn't looking me in the eye, like he's humouring this conversation but isn't really listening.

I cross my arms over my chest. "You'd tell me if there's something I'm missing here, right?"

"Why d'you say that?"

"Because everything's been off ever since you got back from that meeting with the Governor. We're..." I pause, trying to stop the sudden flood of emotion in my chest. "We're gonna have to fight for this place and...and I don't know, I'm scared. I don't think there's any way we can win but no one's talking about it."

He stops pacing, his gaze softening, and he finally enters my personal space.

"We might not," he says, like he's telling me a secret. I blink and he must see my confusion, because he adds, "We might not have to fight. Rick...the Governor made him a deal."

My stomach twists, maybe from cautious hope, maybe dread. "A...a deal?"

"He wants Michonne. Give her up, he'll leave us be."

Dread. Definitely dread. I don't know what I was hoping for, but I'm pretty sure this is the opposite. "We can't."

"Think Rick's already decided."

My stomach's still twisting and Daryl's looking at me with an emotion I can't place in his eyes. Not malice, certainly not that, but it's resigned nonetheless.

"You aren't okay with that," I say, shaking my head. "You can't be."

"I'm not, but if it's her or us—"

"He'll kill her."

"He's gonna kill us anyway."

I blink hard, voice pinched. "You really think he'll leave us alone? Rick can't be naïve enough to think he will."

"We're damned if we ignore it," he insists. "But...if there's a chance, then maybe..."

I wish I had stayed inside. I wish I had stayed blissfully unaware, because now all I'm thinking about is when and how and why. "He'll kill her," I repeat.

"I know."

Again, I blink against my emotions and, with a sudden burst of clarity, I head for the exit. "I have to talk to Rick."

"Wait!" Daryl starts, but I'm already through the door and down the stairs. I hear him following. "Hope, wait! No one's supposed to know!"

I emerge into the courtyard and make a beeline back towards the cell block. Where did I last see Rick? I rack my brain, Daryl still chasing behind me. I can always ask Hershel and I can check the most obvious spots.

I round the corner and, just my luck, Rick's there. He looks around, staring up at the catwalk between the cell blocks. I break into a jog.

"Rick!" I call.

He turns and comes towards me, meeting me halfway. "Hope, have you—"

"Hold on," I interrupt. "We need to talk about—"

"Hope, Rick," Daryl says, joining our trio. He gives Rick a look, almost as if he's apologizing to him wordlessly. "Rick, sorry, I told her everything."

Rick blinks at me, then his brows furrow. After a second, he shakes his head. "Doesn't matter," he says. "It's off. We'll take our chances."

Relief overwhelms me. "Oh, thank God."

"I'm not saying it was the wrong call, but this is definitely the right one," Daryl says. Again, Rick looks around the courtyard, lips pursing, and Daryl frowns. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find Merle or Michonne. They're gone," he says.

And, just like that, the weight's back. Daryl jumps into action, gripping his rifle closer. "Come on," he says.

Rick and I follow him back into the prison, where he leads us to the generator room. He passes the rifle to me just as we arrive, swinging his crossbow off his shoulder. They spread into the room as I linger by the doorway.

"He was in here," Daryl says. "Said he was looking for drugs. Said a lot of things, actually."

They move around the giant green generator in the centre of the room and I follow.

"Like what?" Rick asks.

"Said that you were gonna change your mind," Daryl says. "Here we go." He kneels next to a striped pillowcase with a splotch of blood on it, then drops it back to the dusty floor. "Yup, he took her here. They mixed it up."

"Damn it!" Rick curses. He pushes through the back door into a narrow hallway. "I'm going after him."

"You can't track for shit," Daryl says.

Rick turns. "Then the both of us."

"Nah, just me." Daryl passes him, pressing his back against the door and nudging it open as I reach the hall entrance. "I said I'd go and I'll go. Plus, they're gonna come back here. You need to be ready. Your family, too." He steps back again, gaze darting to me, and he nods. "Stay safe."

Then, he's gone, and Rick's jaw clenches. I move forward, slinging the gun strap over both my shoulders so that it sits across my back.

"You heard him," I say, pushing the door open. The breeze touches my hair and I give Rick another look even as his brow furrows in questioning. "I'll back him up. You're needed here."

I don't wait for a response before disappearing outside.

----------

It doesn't take long to catch up to Daryl and, if I didn't know him better, I'd think I was sneaking up on him. He's in full tracker mode, eyes roving over every scuff in the dirt, every broken branch, every fallen leaf.

"Have you found their trail?" I ask.

His shoulders hunch a little and I catch him giving me a cursory glance as I reach his side. "Yeah. Dragged her for a bit," he says, pointing out a few ruts in the dirt leading towards the treeline. "Looks like she woke up eventually and they both started walking."

He points off down the road, towards Woodbury, and I nod. Wordlessly, we follow the signs. The trees rustle around us as the wind whips them up, birds calling in the distance.

"What are the chances Merle changes his mind?" I ask. Daryl eyes me and I add, "You know, lets her go, comes back to the prison?"

"Pretty damn low, I'd say. He hasn't exactly felt welcomed."

"Right..."

More walking. I occasionally look over my shoulder, watching for danger. Things are quiet.

We come up to a residential area, where the dirt roads bleed into leaf-strewn concrete. Abandoned houses sit patiently, rotting away with the rest of the world. Up ahead, veering off into a patch of overgrown lawn, a lone figure stabs her katana into a decapitated walker head.

"Hey!" Daryl calls, picking up the pace as Michonne looks up. "Where's my brother?"

Michonne's expression betrays nothing, stoic as always. I'm happy to see she's alive, free, but there's a startling lack of Merle around and that does nothing to lighten the mood.

"You kill him?" Daryl asks, still staring her down.

She shakes her head. "He let me go."

He exhales. "Don't let anyone come after us."

He moves past her and breaks into a jog. I grip the strap of my rifle, hesitating as Michonne watches him leave. Her dark eyes slide back to me as I come closer.

"You okay?" I ask. She lets out a short breath from her nose and I wince. "Sorry, not...the best time to ask. Sorry."

I move past her and start jogging, doing my best to catch up with Daryl as we leave her behind.

----------

We pass a motel with plenty of dead walkers littering the ground. Even I can see that, between the tire tracks and how Daryl follows them back to the road, Merle got a car to go the rest of the way.

Dread won't leave me alone, but I keep running, staying as close to Daryl as I can and praying that we'll find Merle at the end of this, alive and well.

We pass a bar. "Big Jake's," an old sign reads, faded blue and red alongside banners advertising happy hour. Daryl looks at the parking lot, at the bar's broken windows, and motions for me to keep going.

Just when I'm starting to think that this is a lost cause, Daryl slows down for the first time since running into Michonne. He stops to load an arrow, tongue briefly wetting his lips, and he looks over his shoulder at me.

"Better have that ready," he says. "This is where we were supposed to bring Michonne. The Governor was here."

I grimace even as I slide the rifle off my shoulders. "Is he still here?"

He straightens up as we both take in the scene. This place looks like it used to be a farm or maybe a set of garages. Brown, aging buildings dot the grass and I can faintly hear walkers snarling nearby. As we get closer, I see two of them, each bent over a different corpse, elbow deep in their guts.

Daryl doesn't offer a response.

I creep after him as we follow a set of tire tracks cutting through the grass. A black big box Chevy sits abandoned, the driver-side door open as small bursts of song erupt from the static-filled radio.

Daryl and I approach. I duck my head in to check the cabin while he keeps scoping out the area. I hit the eject button a few times. After the third try, a cassette tape pops out, and I drop into the seat as I read the worn writing. "70s/80s," it says in loose scrawl.

I look up to see that Daryl has crept past the distracted walkers, crossbow up, and disappeared around the corner. I check the back of the car and the passenger seat, but all I find is trash from the previous owner—receipts, a fast food bag with the napkins still crumpled inside—and a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. I slip from the car as I pocket the cassette.

The walkers are still eating and I take a page from Daryl's book, moving past them. They're too engrossed in their meal to notice the fresh one wandering past.

I hear a crossbow twang ahead but I keep my slow, careful pace. When I round the corner, I'm met with more brutality. There are bodies everywhere, intestines and brains spilling onto the grass, bright and red in the harsh sunlight. I search their faces. Some were already walkers, their grey skin and bloodied teeth obvious, but I see humans mixed in, their blood still fresh and running from the bite wounds and bullet holes in their skin. These men have to be from Woodbury.

Oh, Merle, what was your goal? I wonder to myself.

Then, I hear a choked, weak sob up ahead and I look up.

Daryl stares at something I can't see, his expression twisted with pain. His crossbow hangs limply from his hand, a hair away from falling. Fear grips me and I pick up the pace, moving towards him, when I hear a snarl.

I stop in my tracks and another wrecked sob escapes Daryl.

Merle stumbles towards him, raw meat dribbling from his bloody mouth, eyes vacant and yellowed as he stares hungrily at his brother. There's a bullet wound in his chest, blood still trickling from it when he moves.

Daryl's crossbow drops from his hand and Merle lunges.

"No!"

Daryl and my voices mix, mine desperate, his filled with pain, but Daryl pushes Merle away. Merle snarls again, coming back for more, and Daryl just pushes him away again. I fumble to get the rifle back over my shoulder as I go for my knife, my hands shaking. I hear yet another blow and another rageful snarl.

"No!" Daryl repeats, choked. "No!"

I look up again just as Daryl rams his knife into Merle's shoulder. Merle roars and Daryl stumbles forward, bodyslamming him into the ground, and I can barely take a step before he stabs Merle between the eyes, striking over and over and over again, each blow punctuated by his heavy, strained breathing. Blood flies and Merle's body goes limp, but Daryl stabs him again, and again, and again, and—

I wrap my arms around his middle just as he rears back for another strike, tugging him back with everything I have. I feel the fight leave him as we tumble, his knife falling as we hit the ground, and I squeeze him as tightly as I can, pressing my face to his back.

Daryl sobs, his body quaking beneath me as he struggles to get his breaths in, wracked with overwhelming grief, and I hold on. I hold on and I don't let go even as my tears spill onto his leather jacket.