〰

It has been an entire week since Andrea's visit to the prison. After her warning about the Governor and the people in Woodbury, Rick, Carl, and Michonne had set off to scavenge for more supplies. When they returned, they had brought back a significant haul—guns, food, and other essentials. Carl had even found a photograph of Lori.

He had rushed to show it to Elodie, and the moment she saw it, something twisted deep inside her. It wasn't exactly nausea, but something close to it. The feeling was like a bouncing ball rolling around in her stomach, occasionally rising to her throat, and it made her want to curl into a small ball and hide.

It wasn't even the photo itself. It was what it meant. Carl had found it because he wanted Judith to know what her mother looked like, but Elodie couldn't stop thinking about the fact that Judith would never truly know Lori. Not like Carl did. Judith's only memory of her mother would be that photo—just a stupid, flimsy piece of paper. It felt wrong, unfair. Lori should've been alive, should've been here with them. That was the part that hurt the most.

But there was some good news: Elodie was walking again. Well, stumbling, more like, but she was moving on her own without the need for help. Her leg still ached, but it was bearable. Hershel had said it was healing well, though it would leave a scar. Elodie hadn't expected anything less. She was starting to accept that they would always be a part of her. The scar from the farm had already marked her body, and now the one from the prison would too. She'd just have to live with it.

There were other things she wasn't too thrilled about, though. Merle had really started to get on her nerves. He'd gotten comfortable in his new surroundings, and as a result, gone back to his old ways. His snarky remarks, attempts to provoke everyone, and his attempts to call Elodie over—she avoided them all. She didn't want to deal with him. No one did.

That new woman—Michonne—was actually pretty nice. Carl must've mentioned Elodie liked word games when they went on their supply run, because when they returned, Michonne had handed Elodie a puzzle book filled with word games. It was the first time in a while that Elodie felt entertained—five pages of word games, and she felt like she'd won a small victory. It was the most normal she'd felt in days.

Then came the bad news. Andrea had set up a meeting between Rick and the Governor. That alone was unsettling, but when Rick came back, he had confirmed Elodie's fears: they were going to war.

War. 

And now, everyone was preparing for exactly that. Out in the yard, Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne were setting up traps—and others were reinforcing the fences, laying down wooden pallets for cover, making sure everything was in place in case the Governor's people decided to make a move again. Inside, others were organizing ammunition, making sure the right bullets went with the right guns, all while caring for Judith.

Elodie had wanted to help, to do anything, but Daryl and Rick had both insisted she rest. "Don't put too much pressure on that leg," they'd told her. They were right, of course, but it made her feel useless. All she could do was sit on a picnic table, watching as everyone else worked, waiting for something to happen.

She had her hearing aids off—no one was talking to her anyway, and the batteries would last longer if she was careful with them. She had a dozen fresh ones now, thanks to Merle's strange generosity, but still. There was no point in wasting them.

And anyway, the noise of Maggie and Carl pounding the plastic buckets in the background was more irritating than anything. She was glad she could barely hear it now. Only if she really focused.

Eventually, Daryl, Glenn, and Michonne returned to the courtyard after finishing their work outside. It seemed their traps were all set, and now, they'd probably move on to something else. Elodie briefly wondered if there was any way she could help, but she quickly shoved the thought away. No one was going to let her do anything while her leg was still healing.

The group gathered together, discussing what they were going to do next. Carl and Maggie joined them, both of them out of breath from their work. But then Carl hurried over to Elodie, and the rest of the group scattered, probably to continue planning somewhere else.

"Hi," he said, and Elodie felt a quiet swell of pride at being able to read his lips. It wasn't difficult, he'd just said "hi," but still—progress. But then his mouth moved again, and now she wasn't so sure what he was saying anymore.

Carl wasn't that good in sign language yet, so Elodie told him to wait as she switched her hearing aids back on. "Okay, now I can hear ya. Hi."

He grinned. "Hi. What are you doing?"

"Just watchin' everyone," Elodie said, shrugging slightly as she scooted over to make room for Carl beside her. "Your dad and Daryl aren't lettin' me do anything."

"Well, your leg's still hurting," Carl pointed out as he sat down. "If you start doing heavy stuff now, it'll hurt even more."

"But I could've helped with drawin' the Walkers away. I only use my arms for that."

Carl rolled his shoulder, wincing dramatically. "You're lucky. My arm hurts now."

Elodie chuckled quietly, her gaze drifting back to the fence. The walkers outside were still clawing at the gaps, their rotting fingers scraping desperately against the metal. Every now and then, one of them would press its face to the fence, moaning softly. The sight twisted something in her chest. It gave her a weird, dreadful feeling, like the fence could give way at any moment. She didn't want to lose this place, not like they had lost the farm and their first camp. The prison was their home now. It had to be.

"Think I'm gonna go inside," Elodie said, getting off the table with more ease than she had in days. "Ya comin'?"

Carl stood up and nodded. "Yeah."

They stepped into the cool darkness of the prison, grateful for the break from the blazing sun outside. The air inside was calm and a bit stale, but it felt like a welcome relief after the courtyard's heat.

As Elodie's eyes adjusted, she noticed Carol and Merle were the only ones there. The sight of Merle put her on edge. Daryl had made it clear that she should steer clear of him, though he hadn't explained exactly why. She listened, though more out of habit than any real understanding. 

She was also starting to feel less angry at Daryl, which surprised her. For days, her emotions had bounced between ignoring him and wanting to talk to him. Merle had made fun of her about it, saying she was a "lil' girl full of moodswings." 

She'd tried to ignore him, but she wasn't as subtle as she thought. Daryl had noticed her reaction, her brows knitted together and the warmth of embarrassment blooming on her cheeks.

But now, she didn't want to be angry anymore. Being angry at Daryl hurt, and more than that, it felt wrong. She wanted to spend time with him again. So, she just decided to act normal again, though it went with a little difficulty. Whenever he left the prison grounds, she couldn't shake the fear that maybe he wouldn't come back, despite his promises. She wanted to trust his word again, to feel safe in it like she used to—but that trust was cracked, and she wasn't sure how to fix it.

"Darlin', you got somethin' nice for me to drink 'ere?" Merle's voice scratched through the air, and Elodie blinked in confusion when she realized he was talking to her.

She twisted her nose, glancing at Carl, who shrugged like he didn't understand Merle any more than she did. Confused, she glanced over at the tap in the corner and pointed. "There's water right there," she said slowly, not understanding why he'd ask her when the answer was so obvious.

He laughed, shaking his head. "You're a cute one. What I meant—"

"Leave her alone, Merle," Carol interrupted tiredly. She rose from her seat and placed a gentle hand on Elodie's shoulder, guiding her out of the room.

She glanced back at Merle, still confused but willing to leave. She'd barely had time to process his strange behavior, but she was more than happy to be taken away from it. Carl followed behind them, casting Merle a cold glare before heading out.

Just as they reached the doorway, Merle's voice followed them. "Aw, don't be so sensitive, sweetheart. Maybe if ya had a little more of yer mama in ya, you wouldn't be so easy to scare off."

Elodie's heart stuttered, her eyes widening in confusion. Her mama? The words rattled around in her head as she tried to make sense of what he'd said. She felt Carol grip her arm gently, urging her forward, but her feet felt rooted to the ground.

She turned her head back to Merle. "What?" Her voice came out softer than usual, smaller than she'd intended.

"Merle, that's enough," Carol snapped, sharper now, her grip firm but protective as she led Elodie into the cellblock. "Shut up."

Merle's smirk deepened, but he didn't say anything else—just tipped his head in a lazy nod and muttered, "Run along now."

With Carol guiding her, Elodie finally took a step back. She blinked at Merle one more time, her face scrunching in confusion. His grin remained, like he was enjoying the confusion he'd stirred up. 

She barely noticed when they entered the cellblock and the sound of Carl shutting the door behind them. Carol let go of her shoulder, but before pulling her hand back, she gently pushed back a few stray curls that had fallen into Elodie's face.

"You ignore him, okay?" Carol's voice was softer now, a comfort. "All he's doing is tryin' to get under your skin. He's like that. Don't let him."

Elodie didn't say anything, just nodded slowly. She wasn't sure what else to say.

Once the door was securely shut behind them, she shuffled over to her cell. She moved slow, her legs still a little stiff from the injury but manageable enough. As she approached her bed, her gaze flicked to the small puzzle book that she'd left lying on top of her bunk. It was something to do. She didn't want to think about Merle, or the strange comment he had made, or about the mother she still had too many questions about that she wasn't allowed to ask.

She pulled herself up onto the lower bunk, ignoring the slight strain in her leg as she did so. With a sigh, she grabbed the puzzle book, opening it to the page where she'd last left off.

She let her mind sink into the puzzle, the letters and shapes providing an escape, something she could control. The puzzle didn't ask questions she couldn't answer. The letters fit together in a way that made sense, nothing like the mess in her head. Here, things could be solved. Here, everything had a place, and she could find it if she just looked hard enough.

〰

An hour or two passed before Elodie finally left her cell, puzzle book in her hand, and checked the main room to see if Merle was still there. He wasn't, which meant she could head outside and maybe find Daryl. At least, without Merle's strange, off-handed comments and weird looks.

Her reason for wanting to find Daryl was simple: she was stuck. Stuck on that stupid word in her puzzle book. She knew it was probably something small, something obvious, but it was like her brain kept hitting a brick wall every time she tried to think it through.

She didn't know why she thought Daryl would be able to help her, but she didn't want to annoy everyone else by pestering them. People were busy, and she didn't want to bother them with something as trivial as a word game when they had so much on their plate already.

Her eyes flickered to where Hershel sat with Beth and Maggie, the three of them holding hands, his voice calm as he recited verses from the Bible. There was a sense of peace there, something almost sacred in the way they leaned into each other.

For a moment, Elodie hesitated, not wanting to disturb that calm. But the pull of the puzzle, the irritation of being stuck, was stronger.

Sorry, Hershel. I'll be really quiet.

So, as quietly as possible, she eased the door open just enough to slip through, barely making a sound. They didn't look up, which meant she'd been successful, at least for now. She padded across the main room and reached the door that led outside, repeating her careful maneuver with a sense of pride.

Though, she knew better than to assume she was really that quiet—Daryl had reminded her more than once that she tended to stomp and shuffle when she thought she was sneaking.

No matter how much she tried, she just wasn't as quiet as she thought, couldn't hear the tiniest sounds she'd make. She'd step on a leaf, and it would crunch loud enough to startle nearby birds, or she'd kick a rock without noticing, sending it bouncing against a log and scaring off whatever animal they'd been tracking.

Each time, Daryl would glance over his shoulder, brow furrowed, and she'd look around, expecting to see something lurking behind her. But no, it was always her. She felt like a small thunderstorm every time she joined him on a hunt, unaware of the noise she made. That's why she had stopped coming along in the winter.

It was strange. When she was younger, she could hear those things. Really hear them. It had been faint, but it was there. She just didn't understand why she couldn't anymore.

She found Daryl just outside, standing watch over the courtyard with a rifle held at his side. He scanned the horizon, squinting slightly against the sun. The field was still crawling with walkers, shuffling aimlessly just beyond the fences. They hadn't had the time—or maybe the resources—to clear them yet, and part of her thought they might be keeping them on purpose. No one wanted to cross a field drowning in undead, after all.

"Daryl?" she called, picking up her pace as she crossed the courtyard to him.

He turned, his expression softening just slightly when he saw her. He gave her a nod, a silent acknowledgment.

She held up her puzzle book, frustration tugging at her features. "Can ya help? I've been stuck on this puzzle for hours."

He scoffed at her obvious exaggeration, taking the book from her and flipping it open to the dog-eared page. He squinted at the letters, his eyes roaming over it for a moment. Then he closed the book with a definitive thud.

"Can't help ya."

"What?" She pouted, taking the book back from him. "Why?"

"You're handin' me a puzzle with 'bout twenty random letters, expectin' me to just pull a word outta thin air?"

Elodie frowned, clutching the book tighter. She should've known better than to think he'd want to sit and puzzle out a word. Daryl wasn't exactly a man of words; he was a man of action. And patience, maybe, but a different kind of patience—the kind that involved waiting silently for a deer to show up, not sitting around over a puzzle with a pencil in hand.

"I just thought you'd... y'know. Be good at it," she mumbled, shifting her weight uncomfortably, embarrassment prickling at her.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "What, just 'cause I can work a crossbow means I can solve a crossword ?" He patted her shoulder, plucking a thin thread out of the fabric of her jacket. "Ain't my thing."

"'Kay." She muttered a quick thanks, more out of habit than anything, and turned away, heading toward one of the picnic tables nearby. She could do this by herself. It was just a puzzle, right? She wasn't that dumb.

She settled onto one of the picnic tables near the edge of the courtyard, letting her puzzle book flop open onto the rough wood. She traced the letters on the page with her pencil, her eyes narrowing as she focused in on them.  One by one, she tapped the pencil on each letter, counting carefully.

Ten. That was way less than twenty.

The more she stared at it, the more it seemed like the word just should come to her, but it didn't. It just stared up at her mockingly. 

She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at it.

Daryl, meanwhile, stood still for a moment, watching her from a distance. He had already turned back to his lookout, but something about the way she sat there, squinting at the puzzle with a little frown on her face made him feel like an asshole. He hadn't meant to make her feel stupid. He was just... well, he didn't like puzzles.

With a small grunt, he pushed himself away from the corner of the courtyard where he had been leaning against the fence anyway, rifle still in hand. He made his way over to the table where Elodie sat, her head slightly bent over the book, eyes darting back and forth. She looked so serious, like it was the most important thing in the world.

Without saying a word, he slid onto the bench next to her, leaning in to look at the puzzle.

She looked up, confused. "I thought ya didn't like puzzles."

"Suck ass at these," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I ain't got nothin' better to do right now, so might as well give it a try."

"Suck ass—?"

"No," he said quickly, waving a hand. "Forget I said that."

Elodie pouted in mock exasperation, her arms folding on the table as she let her head drop onto them. She watched Daryl carefully as he nudged the book closer to himself, squinting his eyes as if that would make him figure out the scrambled word better.

"Ten," she mumbled, her words muffled by her arms.

"Ten what?" he asked, cocking his head, confused.

"Letters," she clarified, glancing at him with a small sigh. "Ya said twenty. It has ten letters."

Daryl blinked, glancing down at the puzzle in front of him, then chuckled under his breath. "Jesus, Lo," he muttered. "I didn't seriously count the damn letters."

Elodie's face flushed a little, and she quickly tucked her head deeper into her arms. "Oh," she muttered, embarrassed.

"Okay," he said, his finger moving along the spaces. "How 'bout 'H' first? Could be 'H' and 'A.'"

She nodded and wrote down the letters in the empty spaces. She glanced back at Daryl, who was still scanning the puzzle, clearly putting his mind to work on the next part.

"Hah... ha... ha-ha... hahhh..." she muttered, the sound trailing off into a frustrated mumble.

Daryl paused for a moment, his eyes flicking over to Elodie as she mumbled to herself. He raised an eyebrow, watching her in silence.

He'd learned by now not to overthink her quirks, especially when they didn't seem to have any real logic behind them. So, he went back to the puzzle, muttering, "Yeah, sure, kid. Whatever helps."

Just as they were on the verge of figuring it out—or giving up, Daryl wasn't sure which—Rick suddenly appeared around the corner, heading their way.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little breathless, his face drained. There was a visible tension in his movements. Something was wrong.

Elodie froze, quickly closing the puzzle book and sitting up a little straighter. She didn't know why, but she suddenly felt like she'd done something wrong. Daryl straightened too, his expression shifting to one of wariness.

Rick's breath came out in a strained exhale. "It's off. We'll take our chances."

"I'm not sayin' it was the wrong call," Daryl began, glancing over at him with a nod, "but this is definitely the right one."

"What call?" Elodie asked, eager to be included in the conversation. "What's goin' on?"

Rick's face, already tight with stress, only seemed to tighten more. He glanced around the courtyard, looking for something—or someone. Elodie's stomach churned. She didn't like that Rick seemed to be so worried.

Daryl noticed Rick's distracted gaze too. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Looking back at him, Rick answered, "I can't find Merle or Michonne. They've gone."

Elodie wasn't sure she understood what that meant, exactly. Gone? Gone where? And why would they both leave without telling anyone?

Daryl was already moving before Rick had finished speaking, grabbing his rifle. He barely glanced at Elodie as he gave her a sharp look. "Stay here," he told her firmly. Then, without waiting for a response, he turned to Rick. "Come on."

Without another word, the two men turned and strode across the courtyard, heading for the generator room on the far side of the prison. Elodie watched them go, feeling a knot of confusion building in her chest. She wanted to know what was going on, and there was no way she was just going to stay here, stuck with her dumb puzzle while they ran off to... to do something.

She slipped off the bench and hurried after them. She wasn't trying to hide it—she walked right behind them. Both men glanced back at her once but didn't tell her to go back. Neither of them said anything, which only confused her more.

By the time they reached the generator room, Daryl slowed, his eyes scanning the room, taking in every detail of the space before stepping inside. Elodie followed without hesitation, stepping into the room behind them. Daryl examined the cluttered shelves, his eyes moving over the scattered supplies, looking for something.

"He was in here," Daryl muttered, moving deeper into the room. "Said he was lookin' for drugs. Said a lot of things, actually."

Elodie frowned, unsure of what he meant. "Why drugs?"

But her question went ignored as Rick asked, "What else did he say?"

Daryl moved to the far side of the room, where the generators sat humming in the corner. "Said you were gonna change your mind." He knelt down by the generator, his gaze fixed on a cloth lying on the floor. Picking it up, he inspected it closely. "Yeah," he muttered, "he took her here. They mixed it up."

Elodie tilted her head, trying to make sense of what he meant. Mixed it up. Wasn't that something you did when you made a smoothie? The mental image of Michonne in a blender popped into her head, and she grimaced, feeling sick all of a sudden. "Did Merle smoothie Michonne?"

Daryl almost snorted, glancing at her sideways. "Nah, he didn't... 'smoothie' her," he said, the faintest trace of a smile on his face before it faded again. "Just... means there was a fight. A struggle."

"Oh." She wasn't sure whether she was relieved Michonne wasn't in a blender or terrified that the two of them had fought and were now both missing.

 "Damn it!" Rick hissed, pacing across the room. "I'm goin' after him."

Daryl straightened, casting a flat look Rick's way as he followd. "You can't track for shit."

"Then the both of us."

"No. Just me."

"No," Elodie blurted out, her voice higher than she'd meant it to be. She wasn't sure exactly what was going on, but she didn't like the idea of Daryl leaving.

He looked at her, his gaze softening for a split second before he turned back to Rick. "I said I'd go, and I'll go," he insisted firmly. "Plus, they're gon' come back here. You need to be ready. Your family, too."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and pushed through the door, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he stepped into the sunlight.

For a long moment, Elodie just stood there beside Rick, her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn't sure if the sting in her chest was from fear, or from something else. Maybe both.

〰

Swinging her legs, Elodie waited. Waited for Rick to join the rest of them. He had called them all here, said he had something important to tell them. The sun shone down on them, casting warm light across the group, but there was an unusual chill in the air.

Out of the corner of her eye, Elodie noticed Carl looking up. She followed his gaze and saw Rick walking toward them, his expression hard, jaw clenched. That was never a good sign. He was flanked by Maggie and Glenn, their arms crossed tightly as if bracing themselves. They ended up next to Elodie, waiting. Everyone was.

Rick took a deep breath, his eyes scanning their faces as if searching for strength in their presence. "When I met with the Governor," he began, "he offered me a deal. He said—he said he would leave us alone if I gave him Michonne."

A chill crawled up her spine, and she shivered. Michonne. The Governor had wanted her. Was that what had happened? Had Rick actually delivered her to the Governor? But that didn't make sense; she remembered the confusion on Rick's face back in the generator room, the worry in his eyes when they'd realized Michonne wasn't there. If he'd given her up, he would have known. Right?

"And I was gonna do that..." Rick said as he looked down, shame casting shadows over his face. "To keep us safe. I changed my mind. But now Merle took Michonne to fulfill the deal, and Daryl went to stop him, and I don't know if it's too late."

Oh. So that's what happened.

Rick's voice softened, a hint of regret seeping through. "I was wrong not to tell you. And I'm sorry. What I said last year, that first night after the farm..." His gaze flickered to each of them. "It can't be like that. It can't. What we do, what we're willing to do, who we are—it's not my call. It can't be."

He paused, letting his words settle over them, each one sinking in deeper than the last. There was something about Rick and his words—how they always seemed to reach past the surface, striking her somewhere raw and unguarded.

He continued, "I couldn't sacrifice one of us for the greater good because we are the greater good. We're the reason we're still here, not me. This is life and death. How you live... how you die—it isn't up to me. I'm not your Governor. We choose to go. We choose to stay. We stick together. We vote. We can stay and we can fight, or we can go."

Then, without another word, Rick turned and walked away.

〰

The bright blue color that had painted the sky just hours earlier had now been replaced by a stunning orange. The sung hung low in the sky, dipping toward the far horizon. Its sunlight curved through the trees of the forest, tickling Elodie's bare face.

She sat on the grass, her legs tucked underneath her, her face tilted slightly to the sky as she watched the light shift. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, and for a second, the world felt still. Everything felt peaceful. It was a feeling she didn't get very often these days.

By now, most of the others had gone inside. But lately, Elodie had been enjoying watching the sun set. It felt like Earth was giving everyone a second chance. A new day to start over. To fix things. Even though she didn't really know what she was supposed to fix tomorrow, it still felt comforting. Like Mother Nature was telling her that everything would be okay, that tomorrow would be a new day. A fresh start.

She liked the sunsets. They were the only thing that felt certain. Everything else—everything that had happened, everything that could still happen—was like a big blur in her head, too confusing to make sense of. But sunsets, they were something she could count on. Every day. A new one, every time.

But maybe she was just worried about Daryl and waiting for him to come back, passing the time by looking at the sunset.

He'd left so suddenly. No goodbye, no reassurance that he'd return. Maybe he'd take his chance and leave with Merle again.

No, no he won't. He said he'd never do that again. He was sorry.

At least Michonne was back, safe and sound. But she came back alone an hour or something ago. She had said Merle had a weird change of heart, that he'd let her go because he had some "unfinished business", whatever that meant.

Merle, who never let anyone go, who only took and took, had just... let her go?

The whole story was weird, and the thought that Michonne had killed Merle even crossed Elodie's mind for a brief moment before she shoved it right back out again. Maybe Merle really did have a change of heart. Maybe he was more like Daryl than she—and everyone else—had thought.

Then, just as the sun dipped lower, she saw him.

Daryl appeared from the trees, his silhouette dark against the fading light. He didn't head toward the cellblock, didn't go inside. Instead, he walked to the nearest picnic table. When he sat down, he didn't look around. His arms dropped into his lap, and he hunched over, his head falling into his hands.

Something was very, very wrong.

For a moment, Elodie hesitated. He hadn't even seen her. Maybe it would be a little weird to just suddenly join him. But something inside her told her to go to him, to at least make sure he wasn't alone.

So, she stood, her feet carrying her toward him before she had time to second-guess herself.

When she reached him, she stood there for a moment, silent. Just watching him. He didn't say anything, but she could see his body stiffen, like he knew she was there. But he didn't look up. Like he was too ashamed to, for some reason.

Her feet shuffled forward, awkward as she tried to figure out what to do. She'd never seen Daryl like this before. He was always so tough, so steady, like nothing could get to him. But now, he looked the complete opposite of those words.

Hesitantly, she sat down beside him, unsure if he even wanted her there. She couldn't stop herself from glancing over at him, though. That's when she really realised that he was alone.

He'd gone out to find Michonne and Merle. Michonne had returned hours ago, so Daryl should have been with her—or, at the very least, Merle. But Daryl was here, sitting by himself, his face buried in his hands. He hadn't come back with Merle.

Merle, who still had unfinished business. Whatever that meant.

And after a long, quiet moment of thinking, Elodie understood exactly what it meant.

A terrible thing she knew far too well. The loss of an older brother. The hollow feeling that followed, the way it made you feel like you didn't even belong in your own skin anymore.

Elodie didn't speak. She didn't have the words.

Instead, she scooted closer and wrapped her arms around his torso from the side, pulling herself into him. Her cheek rested against his rough jacket as she squeezed him tightly, holding on like she could take some of the sadness away. Like maybe it would make him feel better. Would make him feel less alone, like how alone she had felt after Jamie.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, all at once, it was like something cracked inside him. His hands fell away from his face, and his head dropped, leaning against hers. His breath hitched, and she could feel the way his body trembled, like he was fighting it, like he didn't want to cry, but couldn't stop it.

She'd never seen him like this. He was always so strong, so tough. He had this way about him, like nothing could break him. But right now, Elodie could feel the cracks in him. She could feel it in the way he let her hug him, in the way he leaned into her, like he couldn't hold himself up anymore.

And for the first time, it was her turn to make him feel okay again. Just like he had made her feel okay after the loss of her family.

✎ AUTHOR'S NOTE:

we're almost at the end of season 3!!!!!! i'm so excited to write the fall of the prison and alexandria ugh i almost want to rush through this BUT I WON'T because i know i'll regret it later...

rip merle! won't miss ur ass #lol