𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐏
that sounds illegal, i'm in

THE SPORTS CAR CLIMBED the winding mountain road, its engine purring smoothly despite the chaos they'd just escaped. Nadia sat in the passenger seat, her body angled toward the window as she watched the trees blur past. Her hands rested in her lap, still stained with walker blood and grime, but her expression was distant—lost somewhere between the present and the memories that haunted her.

Glenn kept stealing glances at her as he drove, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. Every time he looked over, he found himself more in awe of her. The way she'd moved through that horde, the way she'd hotwired the car without a second thought, the way she'd protected him and Rick like it was second nature—it was unlike anything he'd ever witnessed. She wasn't just capable; she was extraordinary. And the fact that she looked barely older than him made it all the more surreal.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, his voice barely audible over the engine.

Nadia didn't turn her head. "Fine."

But Glenn could see the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers curled slightly against her thighs. She wasn't fine. He wanted to say something more, to ask her about the things she'd done back there, about how she'd learned to fight like that, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, he focused on the road ahead, grateful just to be alive.

The road leveled out as they reached the top of the mountain, and Glenn eased off the accelerator. Through the trees ahead, he could see the faint glow of campfires and the silhouettes of tents and vehicles. Relief washed over him. They'd made it.

"There it is," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion and hope.

Nadia finally turned her head, her hazel eyes scanning the camp ahead. She didn't say anything, but Glenn noticed the way her posture shifted—straightening slightly, her shoulders pulling back. It was subtle, but it reminded him of a soldier preparing to enter enemy territory.

The car rolled to a stop near the edge of the camp, and almost immediately, people began to emerge from their tents and gather around. Glenn cut the engine and let out a long breath, his hands trembling slightly as he released the steering wheel.

Before any of them could get out, a man with curly hair and a big nose stormed toward the car, his face twisted in anger. Glenn recognized him immediately—Shane Walsh, the de facto leader of the camp and a former deputy sheriff. Shane's hands were on his hips, his jaw clenched as he glared at Glenn through the windshield.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Shane shouted as Glenn opened the door and stepped out. "You take off with a sports car, blaring that damn alarm all over these hills? Do you have any idea what you could've brought down on us?"

Glenn flinched, his shoulders hunching slightly under the weight of Shane's anger. "Shane, I—"

"Don't 'Shane' me!" Shane cut him off, stepping closer. "We've got kids here, Glenn. Families. And you go off playing hero in the city, bringing back God knows what kind of attention!"

The rest of the group had gathered now, forming a loose circle around the car. Andrea stood with her arms crossed, her expression hard. Morales looked worried, his eyes darting between Glenn and Shane. Dale, the older man with the fishing hat, watched with a furrowed brow, clearly trying to assess the situation.

Nadia stayed in the car for a moment longer, her eyes flicking over the faces of the people gathered. She could feel their fear, their anger, their desperation. It was the same energy she'd felt in every group of survivors she'd encountered over the past two weeks—people clinging to whatever semblance of control they could find in a world that had spiraled into chaos.

Tired of hearing the pointless yelling, Nadia pushed open the passenger door and stepped out, slamming it hard enough that the sound echoed through the clearing. The sharp crack of metal on metal cut through Shane's tirade, and everyone went silent, turning to look at her.

She stood beside the car, her arms crossed over her chest, her hazel eyes cold and assessing as she met Shane's gaze. "Yelling at him is getting nowhere," she said, her voice calm but edged with steel. "The alarm was blaring all over these hills. Those dumb fucks won't be able to pinpoint where it came from."

A small chuckle came from Glenn, who stood beside her, and Shane's glare shifted from him to Nadia. His eyes narrowed as he took her in—young, covered in blood and grime, but standing with a confidence that didn't match her age.

"Do you think this is funny?" Shane asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Who the hell even are you?"

Nadia shrugged, a smirk tugging at her lips. "None of your damn business if you're going to keep going with that attitude," she retorted, her tone sharp.

Shane's jaw tightened, and for a moment, it looked like he might say something else, but the rumbling of an engine cut him off. Everyone turned as a white truck pulled up behind the sports car, parking with a screech of brakes. The doors flew open, and people began pouring out—Morales's family, T-Dog, and two others Nadia didn't recognize.

But it was the woman and the little boy who caught her attention.

The woman was in her early thirties, with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a face etched with worry and exhaustion. The boy was maybe seven or eight, with wide eyes and a mop of brown hair. They stood near the truck, their backs to the sports car, talking quietly with one of the other survivors.

Rick climbed out of the front seat, his movements slow and deliberate. He adjusted his gun belt and glanced around the camp, his eyes scanning the faces of the people gathered. And then his gaze stopped.

The woman and the boy had turned around.

For a moment, no one moved. The woman's face went pale, her mouth falling open in disbelief. The boy's eyes widened, and then his face crumpled as tears began to stream down his cheeks.

"Dad?" the boy whispered, his voice trembling.

Rick's expression shifted from confusion to shock to overwhelming joy in the span of a heartbeat. "Carl?"

The boy broke into a run, his small legs pumping as he sprinted toward Rick. "Dad! Dad!" he cried, his voice breaking with sobs.

The woman followed, her own tears falling as she ran after her son. "Rick!"

Rick dropped to his knees just as Carl reached him, catching the boy in his arms and pulling him close. The woman—Lori, Nadia realized—collapsed beside them, wrapping her arms around both of them as they clung to each other, their bodies shaking with sobs.

Nadia stood by the car, watching the reunion unfold. She felt a pang of something deep in her chest—something sharp and painful that made it hard to breathe. She was happy for Rick. She was. He'd found his family, the people he thought he'd lost. He'd gotten his miracle.

But as she watched them hold each other, crying and laughing and whispering words she couldn't hear, the weight of her own loss pressed down on her like a physical thing. She had no one. Her brother was gone. Buffy was God knows where. She was alone in a way that felt insurmountable, and watching Rick's joy only made her isolation more acute.

Glenn noticed the shift in her expression—the way her smirk faded, the way her eyes grew distant. He wanted to say something, to offer some kind of comfort, but he didn't know what to say. So he just stood beside her, close enough that she'd know she wasn't entirely alone.

Shane watched the reunion with a complicated expression—relief, yes, but also something darker. His eyes flicked to Lori, lingering on her for a moment too long before he turned away, his jaw tight.

Nadia caught the look and filed it away. There was history there, something unspoken and messy. But it wasn't her business. Not yet, anyway.

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THE NEXT MORNING came too quickly.

Nadia had spent the night on the outskirts of the camp, leaning against a tree with her knife in her lap. She hadn't slept—couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her brother's face, heard his screams. So she stayed awake, watching the camp, listening to the sounds of people breathing and shifting in their tents.

As the sun began to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, the camp started to stir. People emerged from their tents, stretching and yawning, moving through the motions of another day in this new, broken world.

Shane's voice cut through the morning air, loud and authoritative. "Water's here, y'all!" he called out, standing beside a truck filled with canisters and jugs. "Just a reminder to boil before use!"

Several of the women moved toward the truck—Andrea, her younger sister Amy, and a grey-haired woman Nadia didn't recognize. They began unloading the jugs, their movements efficient and practiced.

Nadia stayed where she was, her eyes tracking the activity. She noticed the way Shane moved through the camp, the way people deferred to him, the way he carried himself like someone used to being in charge. He was a leader, or at least he thought he was. But there was something about him that set her on edge—something in the way he looked at people, the way he assessed threats.

She was pulled from her thoughts by a sudden, piercing scream.

"Mom! Dad!"

Nadia was on her feet and running before her brain fully processed the sound. She didn't grab a weapon, didn't think—just moved, her Slayer instincts taking over. Behind her, she could hear the rest of the camp scrambling, people shouting and grabbing guns and knives.

She burst through the tree line and into a small clearing, her eyes immediately locking onto the source of the scream. A walker knelt in the grass, its rotting hands tearing into the carcass of a deer. Three arrows protruded from the animal's side, and blood pooled beneath it, dark and sticky.

The walker's head snapped up at the sound of her approach, its milky eyes fixing on her. It opened its mouth, a low growl rumbling from its throat, and began to rise.

Nadia didn't give it the chance.

She closed the distance in two strides and kicked it square in the head, her boot connecting with a sickening crunch. The force of the blow sent the walker flying backward, its body hitting the ground hard. Before it could recover, Nadia was on it, stomping down on its skull over and over, her boot crushing bone and brain matter with each impact.

The walker twitched once, twice, and then went still.

Nadia stepped back, breathing hard, and wiped her boot on the grass. When she turned around, she found the entire camp staring at her—some with awe, some with fear, and some with outright disbelief.

Glenn stood at the front of the group, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. He'd seen her fight before, but watching her take down a walker with nothing but her bare hands—or feet, in this case—was something else entirely. She was incredible. Terrifying, maybe, but incredible.

Shane stood beside him, his shotgun still raised, his expression a mixture of shock and suspicion. "You killed it all on your own?" he asked, his voice tight.

Nadia raised her head, meeting his gaze with a smirk. "What? Like it's hard?"

The grey-haired woman—Carol, Nadia would learn later—stepped forward, her arms wrapped protectively around a young girl. "It's the first one we've had up here," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "They never come this far up the mountain."

"Well, they're running out of food in the city, that's what," a man named Jim said, his hands wrapped around a shovel.

A branch snapped in the distance, and everyone with a weapon reacted. Shane cocked his shotgun and aimed it at the trees, his body tense.

Nadia turned, her eyes narrowing as she tracked the sound. A moment later, a man stepped out from behind the trees—middle-aged, with strong features and a crossbow slung over his shoulder. His face was twisted in anger as he emerged into the clearing.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed, his voice rough. "That's my deer!"

He stormed toward the carcass, his eyes fixed on the walker's bite marks. "Look at it. All gnawed on by this." He kicked the walker's corpse, his boot connecting with its ribs. "Filthy, disease-bearing, motherless poxy bastard!"

"Calm down, son," Dale said, stepping forward with his hands raised. "That's not helping."

The man—Daryl Dixon, Nadia realized—stopped kicking the corpse and turned to glare at Dale. "What do you know about it, old man? Why don't you take that stupid hat and go back to 'On Golden Pond'?"

He turned back to the deer, crouching down to pull the arrows from its body. "I've been tracking this deer for miles. Gonna drag it back to camp and cook us up some venison. What do you think? Do you think we can cut around this chewed-up part right here?"

Shane shifted his shotgun, resting it behind his neck. "I would not risk that."

Daryl sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "That's a damn shame. I got some squirrels—about a dozen or so. That'll have to do." He stood, showing the group the string of squirrels hanging over his shoulder.

As he turned to head back to camp, his eyes swept over the group—and then stopped on Nadia.

He froze.

For a moment, he just stared at her, his blue eyes locked on her hazel ones. His expression shifted from anger to confusion to something Nadia couldn't quite place. It was like he was seeing a ghost.

Nadia raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Something wrong?"

Daryl blinked, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. "Nah," he muttered, but his voice lacked conviction. He turned away quickly, brushing past her as he headed back toward camp.

But as he walked, his mind was racing. The facial features, the eyes, the way she stood—everything about her reminded him of someone he used to know. An old girlfriend, back before the world went to shit. The resemblance was uncanny, almost unsettling.

He didn't like it. Didn't like the way it made him feel—protective, confused, off-balance. So he shoved the feeling down and focused on the squirrels in his hand.

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BACK AT CAMP, Daryl dropped the squirrels near his tent and began preparing them for cooking. He worked in silence, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he skinned and cleaned the meat.

"Merle!" he called out, his voice echoing through the camp. "Get your ugly ass out here! I got us some squirrel! Let's stew them up!"

Silence.

Daryl frowned, his hands pausing in their work. "Merle?"

Shane stepped forward, his expression tense. "Daryl, just slow down a bit. I need to talk to you."

Daryl turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing. "About what?"

"About Merle." Shane took a breath, his hands resting on his hips. "There was a—there was a problem in Atlanta."

Daryl's stomach dropped. He glanced around at the faces of the people gathered, seeing the worry and guilt written there. "He dead?" he asked, his voice low.

"We're not sure," Shane answered.

"He either is or he ain't!" Daryl snapped, his voice rising as he stepped toward Shane.

Rick moved forward, setting his gun down before walking toward Daryl. "No easy way to say this, so I'll just say it."

Daryl turned to him, his eyes blazing. "Who are you?"

"Rick Grimes."

Daryl's face contorted, his jaw clenching. "Rick Grimes," he repeated, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You got something you want to tell me?"

Rick met his gaze steadily. "Your brother was a danger to us all, so I handcuffed him on a roof and hooked him to a piece of metal. He's still there."

For a moment, Daryl just stared at him, his chest heaving. And then he exploded.

"Hold on. Let me process this." He wiped the sweat from his forehead, his hand shaking slightly. "You're saying you handcuffed my brother to a roof and you left him there?!"

"Yeah," Rick said simply.

Daryl threw the squirrels at Rick, who ducked, and then charged at him. Shane moved fast, tackling Daryl to the ground before he could land a hit. Daryl scrambled back to his feet, pulling a knife from his belt.

"Watch the knife!" T-Dog shouted, dropping the wood he'd been carrying.

Daryl swung at Rick, but Rick caught his arm, his grip firm. Shane moved around behind Daryl and locked him in a headlock, his arm tight around Daryl's throat.

"Okay, okay," Rick said, releasing Daryl's arm.

Daryl struggled against Shane's hold, his face red. "You'd best let me go!"

"Nah, I think it's better if I don't," Shane replied.

"Chokehold's illegal," Daryl bit out, and Nadia couldn't help but snort in amusement from where she stood.

"You can file a complaint," Shane muttered. "Come on, man. We'll keep this up all day."

Rick crouched in front of Daryl, his expression calm but serious. "I'd like to have a calm discussion on this topic. Do you think we can manage that?"

"Yeah," Daryl said through gritted teeth.

Shane released him, and Daryl stumbled forward slightly, catching himself.

"What I did was not on a whim," Rick said, his voice steady. "Your brother does not work and play well with others."

"It's not Rick's fault," T-Dog spoke up, his voice hesitant. "I had the key. I dropped it."

Daryl's head snapped toward him. "You couldn't pick it up?!"

"Well, I dropped it in a drain," T-Dog said.

Daryl scoffed, shaking his head. "If it's supposed to make me feel better, it don't."

"Well, maybe this will," T-Dog said, stepping closer. "Look, I chained the door to the roof so the geeks couldn't get at him—with a padlock."

"It's gotta count for something," Rick added.

Daryl's face twisted into a pained expression. "Hell with all y'all! Just tell me where he is so I can go get him."

"He'll show you," Lori said, her voice cutting through the tension. She stood near the RV, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on Rick. "Isn't that right?"

Rick nodded. "I'm going back."

Lori turned and walked away, her shoulders tight with anger.

Shane followed Rick as he headed toward his tent. "So that's it, huh? You're just gonna walk off? Just to hell with everybody else?"

"I'm not saying to hell with anybody," Rick said, his voice tired. "Not you, Shane. Lori least of all."

"Tell her that," Shane shot back.

"She knows."

"Well, I don't, okay, Rick?" Shane grabbed Rick's arm, pulling him to a stop. "So could you just—could you throw me a bone here, man? Could you just tell me why? Why would you risk your life for a douchebag like Merle Dixon?"

"Hey," Daryl called from where he stood near his gear. "Choose your words more carefully."

Nadia stepped forward, her expression flat. "No, he did. Douchebag is what he meant."

Daryl's eyes snapped to her, and for a moment, he just stared. There it was again—that unsettling familiarity, the way she looked at him like she could see right through him. He wanted to say something, to snap back at her, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he turned away, focusing on loading his crossbow.

"Merle Dixon," Shane said, his voice dripping with disdain. "The guy wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst."

"What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me," Rick said. "I can't let a man die of thirst... me. Thirst and exposure. We left him like an animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let alone a human being."

Shane shook his head. "So you and Daryl, that's your big plan?"

Rick turned to look at Glenn, who stood beside Nadia. When Glenn noticed the silence, he looked up and groaned. "Oh, come on."

"You know the way," Rick said. "You've been there before, in and out, no problem. You said so yourself."

Rick's gaze shifted to Nadia, who straightened immediately, her posture shifting into something almost military. "With that look, I already know you're coming."

Daryl opened his mouth to protest—something about her being too young, too reckless, too much like the girl he used to know—but he stopped himself. He didn't have the right to tell her what to do, and something told him she wouldn't listen anyway.

Glenn sighed, glancing at Nadia. If she could do this without fear, then so could he. And if he wanted to prove himself to her—well, no one else had to know that. "Alright."

"That's just great," Shane said, his voice rising. "Now you're gonna risk three men and a little girl, huh?"

Nadia stepped closer to Shane, her eyes narrowing. "Well, this little girl knows about thirty-two different ways to kill you right now, and that's without a weapon." She smirked. "If you want, I can show you—"

"Nadia," Rick said, his tone scolding, though he couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at his lips.

"Four," T-Dog said, walking up with his gear.

"My day just gets better and better, don't it?" Daryl muttered, looking at the arrowhead in his hand.

"You see anybody else here stepping up to save your brother's cracker ass?" T-Dog asked.

Rick looked at Shane. "That's four."

"It's not just four," Shane said, his voice tight. "You're putting every single one of us at risk! Just know that, Rick. Come on, you saw that walker. It was here, it was in camp. They're moving out of the cities. They come back, we need every able body we've got. We need 'em here. We need 'em to protect camp."

Shane's eyes flicked to Nadia as he spoke, lingering on her for a moment. She was an unknown variable, someone who'd appeared out of nowhere with skills that didn't make sense. He didn't trust her. Didn't trust the way she moved, the way she talked, the way she seemed to have no fear. People like that were dangerous.

"It seems to me what you really need most here are more guns," Rick said.

"Right, the guns," Glenn said, snapping his fingers.

Shane frowned. "Wait. What guns?"

"Six shotguns, two high-powered rifles, over a dozen handguns," Nadia listed, her voice matter-of-fact.

Rick nodded. "I cleaned out the cage back at the station before I left. I dropped the bag in Atlanta when I got swarmed. It's just sitting there on the street, waiting to be picked up."

Shane's expression shifted slightly. "Ammo?"

"Seven hundred rounds, assorted," Rick said.

Shane was silent for a moment, clearly weighing the value of the guns against the risk. Nadia watched him, her jaw tight. He cared more about weapons than people. Typical.

"You went through hell to find us," Lori said, stepping forward. Her voice was strained, her eyes red. "You just got here and you're gonna turn around and leave?"

Nadia leaned toward Glenn, her voice low. "Did she not just suggest for him to take Daryl a few minutes ago?"

Glenn nodded, his expression equally confused.

Carl stepped forward, his small voice cutting through the tension. "Dad, I don't want you to go."

Rick's face softened, and he crouched down in front of his son. Nadia watched the exchange, her chest tightening. Carl's eyes were watering, his lip trembling as he looked at his father. He'd just gotten him back, and now Rick was leaving again. The pain in the boy's face was raw and heartbreaking.

"Merle Dixon—he's not worth it," Nadia said bluntly, ignoring the glare Daryl shot her. "But those guns—we're going to need them whether everyone here realizes that or not."

"Tell me," Lori begged, grabbing Rick's arms. "Make me understand."

Rick sighed, his voice lowering. "I owe a debt to a man I met and his little boy. Lori, if they hadn't taken me in, I'd have died. It's because of them that I made it back to you at all. They said they'd follow me to Atlanta. They'll walk into the same trap I did if I don't warn him."

"What's stopping you?" Lori asked.

"The walkie-talkie, the one in the bag I dropped," Rick said. "He's got the other one. Our plan was to connect when they got closer."

"These are our walkies?" Shane asked.

"Yeah."

"So use the C.B.," Lori said, her voice sharp. "What's wrong with that?"

"The C.B.'s fine," Shane said, shaking his head. "It's the walkies that suck to crap. Date back to the '70s, don't match any other bandwidth, not even the scanners in our cars."

Rick looked at Carl, his expression pained. "I need that bag. Okay?"

Carl took a shaky breath and nodded. "Alright."

Nadia stepped forward, her heart clenching as she looked at the boy. He reminded her so much of her brother—the same wide eyes, the same vulnerability. She crouched down in front of him, meeting his gaze.

"I'll make sure your dad gets back here in one piece," she said, her voice soft but firm. "No matter what."

Carl looked up at her, his eyes searching her face. And then he nodded, a small smile breaking through his tears. "Thank you."

Nadia smiled back, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're welcome."

She stood and turned away, her jaw tight. She'd made a promise, and she intended to keep it. Even if it killed her.

Glenn watched her walk away, his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name. She was protecting Carl, protecting Rick, protecting all of them—and she didn't even know them. But that was who she was, he realized. A protector. A guardian. Someone who would throw herself into danger without hesitation if it meant keeping others safe.

And he'd follow her anywhere.

Shane watched the exchange with narrowed eyes, his suspicion deepening. Nadia was too confident, too capable, too willing to put herself in harm's way. People like that either got everyone killed or became the most dangerous person in the room. He wasn't sure which category she fell into yet, but he intended to find out.

Daryl loaded his crossbow, his hands moving on autopilot as his mind churned. He didn't want to go back to Atlanta. Didn't want to risk his life for a brother who'd probably already gotten himself killed. But he didn't have a choice. And the fact that Nadia was coming—this girl who looked like a ghost from his past and fought like something out of a nightmare—made everything more complicated.

He glanced at her one more time, watching as she checked her knife and adjusted her jacket. She caught his gaze and raised an eyebrow, her expression challenging.

Daryl looked away quickly, his jaw tight.

This was going to be a long trip.