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Time. It's what Elodie felt she had in endless supply these days—endless stretches of hours where she lay in bed, staring at the peeling ceiling and waiting for the pain to go away.

The morning had been quiet. The door had creaked open, and Maggie had slipped into the dimly lit cell, balancing a bowl of cornflakes or a steaming cup of soup. She'd settled beside Elodie's bed.

"How are you feeling today?" she'd asked. Elodie had responded with a nod or a murmured reply, still too groggy or in too much pain to really talk. They had sat in silence as Maggie peeled an apple or rearranged the sheets on the bed, trying to help in any small way she could.

The afternoon was the hardest. The wound in her leg throbbed like a drumbeat, and no matter how she adjusted herself on the thin prison mattress, she couldn't find a comfortable position. Maggie had brought her lunch—something small, like soup or a sandwich—and left her be.

Carl had come by, too. Sometimes he was alone; other times, Beth was with him. They would play hangman, and Elodie would win each time, much to Carl's annoyance. That was when Beth would suggest tic-tac-toe, offering Carl a fair chance to come out on top. But Elodie always lost at that game, and soon enough, they'd return to hangman.

Elodie was very much aware that Merle was at the prison, too. A part of her felt drawn to confront him, to ask how he had managed to find the exact batteries she needed and why. Yet another part of her recoiled at the thought. Merle wasn't nice at all; he had quite the reputation, and he was the reason Daryl had walked away from her in the first place. Why should she talk to him?

Speaking of, Daryl had been checking on her constantly since she got hurt, popping his head in at least once an hour. At first, she was grateful. He'd sit with her, keep her company, talk about things that didn't matter just to fill the silence.

But as the hours passed, her emotions became more unpredictable, and she didn't know how to deal with it. Sometimes, she'd let him sit by her bed, laughing at his dry humor. She'd feel like herself again. It was like she could forget, even for a little while, that he'd left her. That he'd made her feel so alone.

But other times, she couldn't bring herself to talk to him at all. Instead of answering when he asked how she was doing, she'd roll over and face the wall, take out her hearing aids, and ignore him completely. She didn't want to talk. Didn't want to see him. Didn't want to remember how he'd walked out on her, left her feeling alone and scared.

Daryl would stay in the doorway for a minute, maybe two, and then leave without a word. She knew he understood she was mad, that she was giving him the silent treatment, but it was confusing even to her.

Sometimes she wanted him close, wanted him to sit by her bed and hold her hand, to prove that he wasn't going to leave again. Other times, the sight of him stirred up all the anger and hurt she'd been holding in, and she'd snap at him, telling him to get out.

And Daryl—he just let her be. He never pushed, never got upset, even when she was giving him the silent treatment or telling him to leave. It only made her feel worse.

The previous night, a couple of hours after having endured the pain of the stitches, she had been curled up in bed, and when Daryl came by, she had all but begged him to sit with her. She had taken his hand, her fingers curling around his like a lifeline, her voice small as she asked him to stay. He had sat with her for hours, holding her hand while she drifted in and out of sleep, her grip on him never loosening.

It was confusing, to say the least. And she could see it was confusing him too. She couldn't explain it, really. She was angry—angry that he had left, that she had gotten hurt, that everything was so confusing. 

Now, though, she was distant. Her eyes didn't meet his, and her posture was closed off.

"A'right," he said quietly, "I'll leave ya alone, then."

But just as he reached the doorway, something inside her twisted, and before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out. "No. Stay."

Daryl would always stay. He'd sit by the bed, her hand in his, and just be there. He never tried to make her talk or ask her why she was acting hot and cold, distant one moment and clinging to him the next. He seemed to understand that she didn't have the words to explain it. Sometimes, when she felt brave enough, she'd meet his eyes, and she could see that he got it, even if she didn't.

Elodie had always thought she was different from her mother. In her mind, they were opposites. Her mother had been cold, distant, prone to long silences. Growing up, Elodie had felt those silences more than anything else, like her mother's way of saying everything without saying a word.

It wasn't until now, lying in bed, stuck in the rhythm of pushing Daryl away and then pulling him close, that she realized how much of her mother lived inside her. The silent treatment. The way she shut down when things got too hard to talk about. She hated it when her mother did that.

And now, she was doing the same thing. To Daryl.

She swore she'd never be like that. Swore she'd never use silence as a weapon, as a way to keep people at arm's length. But here she was, doing exactly that. She could see the confusion in his eyes every time she pushed him away, could see how much he wanted to help but didn't know how. And instead of letting him in, she shut down. Just like her mother.

Daryl didn't say much. He never did. He was quiet, like her, maybe a little stubborn too. She knew he wasn't good with words—maybe that's why he understood her silence. He wasn't the kind to ask her to talk if she wasn't ready.

How could she even begin to explain that she was scared? That every time he left the room, a part of her worried he'd walk away for good this time? That the silence she held onto so tightly was just another way of protecting herself from the hurt she was so afraid of?

But then, all of a sudden, he stiffened, his gaze shifting toward the cell door as if he'd heard something from down the hall. His hand went still, and after a moment, he looked back at her, concern passing over his face.

Leaning over, he brushed a calloused hand gently against her hair, and she tensed instinctively, not sure what to feel about his touch at the moment, but he only stroked her hair once before pulling back. "Stay here," he said, before signing it to her just for clarification.

She gave a small, reluctant nod, and with that, he slipped out of the cell.

She laid back down, intending to do exactly as he'd told her. Her leg was a mess of pain, the stitches still fresh from the night before, and she knew any movement would only make it worse. 

But minutes passed, dragging into what felt like hours, and there was still no sign of him. A cold, creeping dread curled in her stomach as she waited.

Maybe he's gone, she thought, panic struggling inside her. Maybe he's finally had enough.

The thought planted seeds of guilt that spread through her like poison.

It had been too long. Way too long. She pressed her lips together, debating, guilt twisting in her stomach. What if he'd left again because she wouldn't talk to him?

She waited. Watched the door. Toyed with her fingers. Waited some more.

Until she couldn't take it anymore.

Trying so hard to ignore the burn in her leg, she reached for her hearing aids and fit them into place, wincing as she shifted to the edge of the bed. Her hands trembled as she pushed herself up, clenching her jaw, pushing down a cry of pain as she forced herself to stand. She braced herself against the wall as she limped out of her cell, one painful step at a time.

The sounds of murmured voices grew louder as she stepped out of her cell, drifting in from the other end of the block. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but she forced herself to keep going. Out her cell, down the stairs—that was the real challenge—and when she finally reached the common area, her heart skipped a beat.

Andrea stood there.

For a moment, she felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. Her gaze locked onto Andrea, and her mind struggled to make sense of it. Andrea, who they'd all thought was dead, was standing there in front of her, looking every bit as real and alive as anyone else in the room.

She was supposed to be dead. Andrea was dead. She had died back at the farm—or so they thought. How is she alive? And how had she found them?

She was thinner than before, her face exhausted and worn out, yet unmistakably alive.

And then, as if sensing her, She looked up, her eyes widening at the sight of Elodie.

"Elodie," she breathed, taking a hesitant step forward. "Oh my God—what happened to you?"

Elodie's sudden entrance drew everyone's attention, their heads snapping toward her in surprise. Hershel's face tightened in concern, and Rick's eyes narrowed with worry as he looked her over, clearly not expecting her to be up and moving; she wasn't supposed to be, after all.

Andrea took another step forward, her hands half-raised, like she wanted to embrace Elodie. But before she could get any closer, Rick stepped in, blocking her path, his face set in a hard line.

Her gaze flickered between him and Elodie, her brow creasing as she held up her hands in a show of peace. "I'm not an enemy, Rick. I just want to check up on her—what happened?"

"One of your boyfriend's men shot her in the leg. Could've been worse." His eyes flicked over to Andrea, holding her gaze as he added, "Besides, we had that field and courtyard, until he tore down the fence with a truck and shot us up."

Elodie glanced between them, feeling as if she were missing something crucial. Boyfriend? She looked at Andrea, trying to read her expression. Who was this boyfriend they were talking about, and was Andrea really involved with the people who'd attacked them?

Andrea's face crumpled, and she swallowed, glancing down at the ground for a second before looking back up. She shifted uncomfortably, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet, confused. "He said you fired first."

Rick's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "Well, he's lying," he said bluntly.

Beside her, Hershel shook his head slowly. "He killed an inmate who had survived here," he said.

Andrea's eyes widened, and she placed a hand over her mouth, her face paling.

Then, Daryl spoke up, making Elodie realise he was there for the first time. "We liked him. He was one of us."

Her face twisted in confusion. Had they really liked Axel? She had never thought of him that way, not after Daryl had warned her to stay away from him, not even to look at him. Axel had always been a stranger in her eyes, and the other inmates had felt dangerous, too. To her, Axel had always been a little creepy with his big mustache, and the way he always seemed to lurk around. She had never considered him "one of them."

But now, guilt crept into her chest, knotting with confusion. What if everyone else had seen Axel as one of their own? What if she was the only one who hadn't accepted him like that? What did it say about her that she hadn't felt that connection?

But then again, maybe Daryl was just saying that to get under Andrea's skin. He still resented her for shooting Elodie at the farm, even if it had been by accident. Daryl had that way of holding grudges, and she wondered if he'd never truly forgiven Andrea like she had. 

Andrea's voice was fragile as she tried to explain herself. "I didn't know anything about that," she insisted, her voice tight with restrained emotion. "As soon as I found out, I came." Her gaze swept over to Glenn and Maggie. "I didn't even know you were in Woodbury until after the shootout."

So Andrea had been in Woodbury, then. That much was clear. Elodie could feel the first prickling edges of doubt. How much had Andrea known? How much had she ignored?

Glenn crossed his arms, his expression icy. "That was days ago."

Andrea's shoulders slumped. "I told you, I came as soon as I could."

When she looked around, scanning everyone's faces, all she was met with was ice cold glares. She clearly wasn't getting the warm welcome she had hoped for. Elodie couldn't help but feel bad for her. True, she was with the Governor, but she still had made an effort to come and find them. To check on them. She still cared, despite her current situation. Didn't that have to count for something?

Andrea whirled around to face Michonne. "What have you told them?"

Not much had been said between Elodie and Michonne. She barely knew the woman, only knew that she had helped Rick rescue Glenn and Maggie, which meant she must be a good person. After all, bad people didn't risk themselves for strangers.

But what confused Elodie, again, was that Andrea seemed to be familiar with her. If they had been strangers, Michonne wouldn't have anything to tell them, right? It was all so confusing.

"Nothing," was Michonne's plain answer.

Andrea's frustration heightened, her tone flavoured with hurt and confusion. "I don't get it. I left Atlanta with you people, and now I'm the odd man out?"

Elodie couldn't hold back her curiosity any longer. She pushed herself up, leaning heavily on her good leg and hobbling toward Daryl. Her footsteps were uneven, each step sending a fresh sting through her wound. His eyes zeroed in on her the second she moved, his brow knitting together as he gave her a silent warning: Get your ass back in bed.

She pretended not to notice, limping over to him instead. Daryl let out a gruff sigh but reached a hand out to steady her, helping her sit down on the bench part of the table since her leg wasn't quite ready for her to manage getting up on the tabletop. 

"He almost killed Michonne," Glenn said, his voice barely above a low, angry growl. "And he would've killed us."

Andrea's eyes flashed as she turned sharply, her finger shooting out to point at Merle, who was leaning against the far wall. Elodie's gaze followed her hand, and she realized with a jolt that Merle had been there all along, oddly silent for once. Normally, he was loud, taunting everyone with his annoying sarcasm. Now, though, he watched everyone with a strangely unreadable expression.

"With his finger on the trigger! Isn't he the one who kidnapped you? Who beat you?" Andrea demanded, her finger stabbing through the air toward Merle as if that alone could make her case.

Elodie's gaze flickered to Merle, who merely shrugged, unbothered by her accusations. But he didn't deny them, either. For once, he didn't have a smart remark, didn't throw out any insults.

She hadn't known the details of what had happened with Glenn and Maggie, but hearing it now, hearing that Merle had been the one to hurt them—it felt like ice had spread through her veins. She had seen how deeply bruised Glenn's face had been. Had wondered who could have done that to him. Because what kind of person does that to another? Shouldn't everyone treat each other kindly, especially now? Especially now that people are all that you have?

Now that she realized it was Merle—she hated to admit it, but it made sense. He was the type to act in ways that could hurt others. Yet he was also the one who had brought Elodie new batteries. He was confusing. She still needed to ask him about that. If he was even allowed to stay much longer, that is; judging by Glenn's expression whenever he locked eyes with Merle, it seemed likely that Merle would be kicked out soon.

"Look," Andrea said with a sigh, tracing her fingers down the sides of her nose in exasperation, "I cannot excuse or explain what Philip has done. But I am here trying to bring us together. We have to work this out."

Elodie genuinely felt for her. All she wanted was for her two groups, her two families, to get along—maybe even coexist peacefully. But as she glanced at Rick, she realized that wasn't going to happen. He looked furious, his frustration directed squarely at Andrea.

"There's nothing to work out," he said, taking one step forward. "We're gonna kill him. I don't know how or when, but we will."

Her heart squeezed at Rick's words. We're gonna kill him. In Elodie's opinion, even if someone was bad—dangerous, even—they didn't deserve to be killed. Maybe she didn't understand everything yet, but the idea of adding more hurt to the world just felt... wrong.

Andrea took a shaky breath, her voice a little more pleading. "We can settle this. There is room at Woodbury for all of you."

A low chuckle sounded and everyone's gaze snapped to Merle. "You know better than that," he drawled, his lips twisting in a smug, knowing smile. Andrea visibly stiffened but didn't respond, her jaw clenching as she bit back her irritation.

Hershel folded his arms and looked Andrea directly in the eye. "What makes you think this man wants to negotiate? Did he say that?"

Eyes dropping to the floor, she hesitated, her silence answering his question before her words did. "No."

Rick took a step forward. "Then why did you come here?"

Andrea took a deep breath, and her gaze softened as if weighing the words before they spilled out. "Because he's gearing up for war," she said finally. "The people are terrified, they see you as killers. They're training to attack."

The room went still and Elodie felt a prickle of fear creep down her spine. The idea of people preparing for war against them, training to come here and hurt them—it made her heart pound. 

She shrank a little, barely noticing as her hands found each other, nails digging at the skin around her fingers. The room felt small, and she wanted to slip out of it, to disappear, or maybe even wake up somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

Daryl must have noticed, because she felt his hand gently land on her shoulder. She flinched at first, instinctively curling inward, but gradually she relaxed and accepted his touch. Daryl found that she had been doing this ever since he returned, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Tell you what," he then told Andrea, his thumb pausing in its soothing path on Elodie's shoulder. "Next time ya see Philip, you tell him I'm gonna take his other eye."

The comment made Elodie even more uncomfortable, a strange, tight feeling twisting in her stomach. She dropped her gaze, focusing on her hands. She didn't like hearing them talk this way, about hurting and killing as if it were just the next step. She didn't want anyone else to get hurt. She didn't want anyone else to lose someone.

"We've taken too much shit for too long," Glenn said. "He wants a war? He's got one."

Elodie stole a glance at him. He looked so angry, so unfazed, as if he was ready for the fight. The softness she'd always seen in him, the Glenn who'd always found the good in people, seemed buried under layers of frustration and rage. It was a little scary, seeing him like this. Seeing all of them so ready to go to war. She understood why they were angry, why they wanted to protect each other, but it didn't make the sight of it any less scary.

Andrea turned to Rick, desperation clear on her face. "Rick," she said, pleading, "if you don't sit down and try to work this out, I don't know what's going to happen. He has a whole town." She glanced around the room, her eyes lingering on each of them as if she hoped to make them understand just how serious this was.

Rick's gaze was steady, unflinching. He just looked at her like he had already made up his mind. He didn't seem swayed at all by what she was saying.

Her frustration was almost visible, as if it were a cloud following her, pulling her shoulders down. She looked at everyone again, her eyes wide and filled with desperation. "Look at you," she said, her voice almost breaking. "You've lost so much already. You can't stand alone anymore."

Rick took a step forward. "You want to make this right? Get us inside."

Andrea flinched, her face growing pale, and she shook her head almost instantly. "No," she said quietly, as if horrified by the thought.

His face didn't change; he simply stared her down. "Then we got nothing to talk about." Without another word, Rick turned and walked away, his back straight, leaving Andrea standing there alone.

"There are innocent people!" she called after him.

But he didn't turn around.

Elodie's chest felt tight, her hands clasped together as she bit down on the skin around her nails, not caring that it hurt.  She hated this feeling. Hated it.

Defeated, Andrea finally lowered her hands, her shoulders slumping as she turned to look at her former group members. Her gaze lingered on Elodie for a second, something almost like guilt in her eyes. Elodie looked back, unsure what to say, if she should say anything at all.

Daryl gave her a gentle nudge, making her look up at him, her head tilting all the way back instead of just turning. He almost laughed, the corners of his mouth quirking up in something close to amusement.

"C'mon," he said, giving her shoulder a little tap—resulting into another slight flinch that he ignored this time, "Ya gotta get back to bed."

She didn't argue. With a quiet whimper, she shifted, and Daryl reached out, steadying her as she tried to get up. Her leg trembled as she leaned on him, her fingers clutching his arm to keep herself steady. The effort of just standing was exhausting, and every tiny movement seemed to tug on her stitches. She bit down hard on her lip, trying not to make any more noise, though Daryl could feel her struggle through the way she leaned heavily into him.

"Here, let me," Andrea offered, stepping forward as if she was ready to take Elodie's other side.

Daryl didn't even look her way. "I got her," he muttered, brushing her off. He didn't look mad, exactly, but his stance was hard, protective, as if her offer to help was some sort of insult.

Elodie could tell that he still resented Andrea, maybe because she'd accidentally shot her. Maybe for other reasons.

Andrea lingered, her face uncertain as she met her gaze. For a moment, Elodie managed a small, polite smile, her lips tight with pain but still trying to be kind. Despite everything, Andrea had come back for them—she was here, wasn't she? She still cared enough to try. And Elodie could see that she was hurting, too.

He helped her clumsily get back to her bed, his hold on her extra gentle, as if he were afraid of breaking her. Elodie clung to his arm for support, her small fingers curling tightly around his arm.

She winced with each step, clinging harder to his arm with every sharp breath. Daryl didn't seem to mind. Never did. He just patiently walked her to her bed, not caring that it was taking way longer than it should have.

"Do you want to use that free cell, or should we try the stairs?" he asked, noticing her obvious dread of the latter. Her face was twisted in a grimace.

"Stairs," she muttered, as if he hadn't even offered a choice. She sighed, dipped her head, and groaned for good measure, finishing off the dramatics.

"Ya know I gave ya an option, right?"

Elodie scrunched her nose, giving Daryl a stubborn look. "My bed's up there," she insisted. "And I'm not sleepin' in an old prisoner's bed. It prob'ly smells like...old prison."

Daryl huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Y'know," he said, as they turned toward the stairs, "ya already are."

She blinked, caught off guard, and then her mouth twisted as she tried to keep from laughing. "Gross."

Daryl smirked, then adjusted his grip on her, shifting to give her the best support he could as they headed up the stairs. Each step made her leg ache, but Daryl was there, his arm around her, almost lifting her up each step to take some weight off of her leg. It was clumsy and slow, and by the time they reached the top, Elodie was breathless.

Finally, they made it to her cell, just to the left. The familiar sight of her bed waiting there made her sigh in relief. Daryl guided her carefully over and helped her sit down, gently helping to ease her legs onto the bed.

As Daryl made sure she was settled, she glanced up at him, her curiosity getting the best of her like it always did. "D'ya know why Merle had the right batteries for my hearin' aids?"

Daryl's brows pulled together. "He did?"

"Yeah. When ya left, Rick gave 'em to me 'n said Merle had 'em."

At the mention of him leaving, Daryl's expression tightened slightly. Or maybe it was for another reason. Either way, he shrugged and glaced down at her hands.

"Guess he just had 'em layin' around," he said, but there was an edge to his voice, like he didn't want to entertain the idea too much. "You been pickin' again?"

"No." She shoved her hands beneath the blanket, warmth creeping up her neck.

Daryl's gaze followed her hands as they disappeared under the blanket, and he let out a gruff sigh. "Ya gotta stop," he muttered. "Gonna make it worse if ya keep diggin' at the scabs."

Elodie felt her cheeks go warm, but she shrugged, half-guilty. "Sorry. I'll stop," she promised, glancing down. She was trying not to , but it was just something she did when things got tense. She couldn't really help it. It was like her hands had a mind of their own.

He squinted at her, clearly unconvinced. "Better," he said firmly, before finally easing back onto his heels, ready to leave her to rest. But Elodie wasn't ready to let him go just yet.

"But why would Merle even have 'em?" she asked, her curiosity refusing to die down. "Carl said it was a lucky guess, but that doesn't make sense."

He didn't answer right away, but his jaw tightened. "Don't matter why," he finally said, his tone dismissive. "You don't trust a damn word he says about anything, ya got that?"

Elodie frowned, a little confused. "But why not?"

"Because he's Merle," he said simply, as if that alone was enough to answer her question. The way he said it was like saying the sun rises in the east or that the sky is blue. It just was.

"Okay." She nodded, ducking her head a bit.

If Daryl didn't want to talk about Merle, then maybe it wasn't her place to keep pushing. She shifted on the bed, pulling the blanket around herself as she looked away.

Changing the subject seemed like a good idea. "Can we paint my rocks?"

That got a blink from Daryl, who raised an eyebrow, looking down at her like he hadn't quite heard right. "Paint your rocks?" he repeated, a hint of a smirk on his face. "With what?"

"Paint," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Paint from where?" he countered, giving her a skeptical look.

"Uh..." She bit her lip, glancing around her cell as if the answer might magically appear. "We can find it, right? Like, next time ya go... um... ya can look for some? And then if ya come back, we can paint."

If. If you come back.

That made Daryl's heart sink just a little. She was hinting at him leaving again, and the thought made his chest tighten. "I ain't leavin' anytime soon, Elodie. Told ya that, didn't I?" His voice had a sharp edge now, and he didn't like it. He didn't want to sound annoyed, but the idea of her thinking he might just up and go again made his stomach churn.

Her shoulders slumped a little at his tone, guilt washing over her as she fell silent, suddenly wishing she hadn't brought it up at all.

It was true, she was suggesting he was going to leave again. But she couldn't help it—it was like her brain had been reprogrammed to think that way. To constantly assume he was going to leave.

That's why she had gotten out of her cell moments ago. She thought he'd left again. She didn't know if her mind would ever fully grasp that he wouldn't. Just because he broke his promise once didn't mean he would break all his future promises. But apparently, that wasn't how it worked.

Seeing her downcast expression, Daryl's shoulders relaxed a bit. He let out a heavy sigh, the tension easing from his face. "Look," he said, "we'll figure somethin' out. Paintin' sounds fun."

"Yeah?" Her eyes lit up again, a smile tugging at her lips.

"Yeah."

Now, a full grin spread across her face. "'Kay."

Daryl watched her smile spread, the corners of his mouth twitching up in return, but he knew it was time to pull back the reins a little. "Alright, now ya gotta rest," he said. "Gotta let that leg heal."

Elodie pouted, her joy slipping slightly. "Can ya stay, please?"

He let out a sigh, leaning back just enough to stretch his legs a little. "A'right, but I ain't sittin' here all hunched over like a damn shrimp. You're gonna give me back problems if I do."

"Sorry," she muttered, her cheeks flushing a bit as she immediately dropped her gaze, biting her lip in embarrassment.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Nah, it's a'right. I'll sit with ya," he told her, sinking down onto the floor beside her bed, leaning against the wall. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but he'd endure it for her sake. Like he had time and time again.

She relaxed a little, the tension in her shoulders easing. She leaned back against her pillow, her eyes drifting toward him. "Are we really goin' to war?"

Daryl shifted slightly against the wall, the chill of the concrete seeping through his jeans as he rested his elbows on his knees. He turned to Elodie, who was looking up at him, her eyes wide with worry. "If Rick says we're goin' to war, then yeah, we're goin' to war."

"I don't want to," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," he said. "But we gotta."

"But why?" she protested, brows scrunching together in worry. "I don't want to fight all the time."

"Nobody does. But we can't just sit back and wait for the bad to come knockin'. If we do that, we might end up losin' everything we care about. It's us or them. Ain't no middle ground."

She glanced away, staring at the wall as if the cracks in the concrete could somehow provide an answer. "But why can't we just...live? Like before? We did it once, right?

"Before ain't comin' back," he replied. "We can't go back to a time when we weren't fightin'. It don't work that way."

She looked at him again. "So we just keep fightin'? Forever?"

"Until we can't anymore," he answered. "And then we fight some more if we have to. That's how it goes."

"That's stupid."

"Yeah, it is."

Silence fell between them, as if neither of them had anything left to say.

Elodie's mind swirled with thoughts, most of which she didn't want to voice. She wished she could pluck them out of her brain and toss them in the bin to never look at again. But that wasn't possible. Lots of things weren't possible nowadays.

✎ AUTHOR'S NOTE:

heyyyyy..... how y'all doin'......

i swear i'm gonna get back on my grind guys this has gotten too far. also. i do not know how to end chapters, hence why more than half of my chapters end awkwardly. pls ignore. thx.

reminder not to be a silent reader!!! love u mwah