〰

Elodie sat cross-legged on the cold, concrete floor of her cell. The room was bare, save for the scattered belongings she was trying to fit into her bag. Her collection of rocks, still unpainted, went into the sides of her backpack. They clinked softly against one another as she pushed them into place. Her clothes followed, a jumble of shirts and jeans hastily shoved in. She took extra care with the batteries for her hearing aids, slipping them into a separate pocket, and made sure they wouldn't get lost under the weight of everything else.

Her doll, though—there wasn't enough space. It refused to fit. Elodie pushed down on her clothes, trying to make space, but the doll's head still stuck out like it was taunting her. She tried one more time before finally giving up, shoving the doll in as best she could and yanking the zipper shut. The poor thing's head poked out awkwardly, but whatever. At least it was coming with her.

She stood, hoisting the bag over her shoulder, the weight tugging her off-balance for a second. She glanced around the cell one last time, its blank walls mocking her with their emptiness. Then, with a deep breath, she stepped out, the door swinging shut behind her.

Downstairs, Carl was there. She caught sight of him just as he yanked his bag across the floor, his face set in a stormy scowl. He stormed past her, not even looking in her direction.

Elodie knew he was angry about the whole situation. Carl always wanted to join the fight, to be like his dad—tough, invincible. But he wasn't. Not yet. He was still just a kid. And yet, it seemed like he refused to see that. Still though, he didn't have to take it out on everyone around him.

Frowning, she followed him outside, her own bag bouncing against her hip.

Outside, the car trunk was already popped open, the back crowded with bags and supplies. Beth stood beside it, her arms crossed, the sunlight catching the loose strands of hair that escaped her braid. Elodie's own hair was braided too—Beth had done it for her earlier that morning. "It'll be easier to manage that way," she had said.

Carl marched past Rick, shaking off his dad's hand like it burned him. Rick just stood there for a second, watching him go. Elodie followed Carl's path to Beth, her bag heavy and awkward on her shoulder, making her feel smaller than she already did. Carl didn't even acknowledge her as he shoved his bag toward Beth with a grunt, not even sparing a glance in her direction. He muttered something under his breath as he stormed off toward the car.

Beth lifted Carl's bag with ease, the muscles in her arms flexing slightly as she tossed it into the trunk. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and turned to Elodie with a warm smile. "Got everything?" she asked softly.

Elodie nodded, holding out her bag. "Yeah."

Her gaze swept over the small crowd, landing on Daryl. He was crouched near his motorcycle, his face turned away from everyone else. He looked quieter than usual, like someone had stolen the fire from him.

It made sense, though. It wasn't hard to understand why. She knew exactly how it felt—knew what it was like when everything seemed to fall apart and you had to keep moving, even when you didn't want to. She'd been there herself. It didn't matter when or how long ago; the feeling was the same. It never really left.

She started toward him, her sneakers crunching on the gravel, but before she could get too close, a gentle hand landed on her back, stopping her. She turned and found Carol standing behind her, giving her that quiet, knowing smile.

Daryl noticed them and glanced up, chewing his lip like he wasn't sure what to say. His poncho was slung over his arm, and his fingers fidgeted with the edge of it.

"You know," he said finally, "Merle never did nothin' like that his whole life."

He was talking about Merle sacrificing himself, about the way he'd given them a fighting chance against the Governor. Elodie didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. She dropped her gaze to the ground, scuffing her shoe against the dirt.

Carol was the one to respond. "He gave us a chance."

Daryl nodded slowly, his hands stilling. For a long moment, none of them spoke. Then Carol reached out, offering her hand. He took it, letting her help him to his feet.

As Carol walked off, he stayed still for a moment longer, lost in his thoughts. Then, almost instinctively, he reached out and stroked the top of Elodie's head, his fingers playing briefly with the end of her braid.

"You do that yourself?" he asked.

Elodie shook her head, her lips tugging into a small, shy smile. "Beth did."

He hummed, his lips pulling into a small, thoughtful line. He caught sight of the thin sweater she was wearing, barely enough to keep out the chill. Without a word, he pulled his poncho off his arm and draped it over her shoulders. It was heavy and scratchy, the fabric falling nearly to her knees. The feeling of the fabric made her cringe a little, which Daryl seemed to notice.

"You'll catch a cold," he murmured.

"It's itchy," she complained quietly, the fabric already scratching at her neck.

"Itchy's better than freezin' your ass off." He tugged the poncho's edge higher on her shoulders. "Don't go whinin' 'bout it. You'll thank me later."

Elodie scrunched up her nose but didn't argue. "Okay," she muttered, pulling the poncho tighter around herself.

She glanced toward the car, where the others were still packing. The yard was filled with nerves, the kind you could feel in your chest. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unsure what else to say.

"You be careful, a'right?" Daryl said, his tone shifting, growing more serious. "Don't go wanderin' off. Stick close to Hershel. Anything happens, ya run. Hear me?"

Elodie nodded, her face serious now. "Yes." She paused before adding, "What if they find us?"

"They won't," he said firmly. "Ain't gonna happen. We got eyes everywhere."

"Not everywhere," she argued, pointing at her eyes. "Just here—that's not enough for a whole army."

Daryl's lips twitched into a half-smile, the kind that barely lifted one corner of his mouth. "Well, lucky for us, it's just a couple a'town folks. We're gonna be fine."

Elodie let out a small sigh, staring down at her pink sneakers. They were covered in dirt and dust, the soles worn thin from countless miles, but she didn't want to find any new ones. It was like she was attached to these shoes, to the memories they held. Of Jamie. Of her mother. It was like if she let go of them, she'd be letting go of those moments, too.

Daryl looked at her for a second longer, like he was searching for something in her face. When he found it—or maybe when he gave up looking for it—he nodded and jerked his head toward the far end of the courtyard. "Head over to Hershel. I'll see ya in a bit."

Elodie nodded quietly, her throat tight. She didn't say anything, just turned and walked toward Hershel, who was standing near the car with Carl and Beth. Judith was nestled in Beth's arms, the tiny baby's face barely visible from the folds of the blanket that cocooned her.

She climbed into the backseat, sliding into the spot by the window. The cool air from outside felt nice against her face as she settled in. The others climbed in after her, Carl sliding into the seat next to her, eyes distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. Beth climbed into the front with Hershel, and as the car started to pull away from the courtyard, Elodie leaned her forehead against the window, her fingers tracing the edge of the glass.

The trees whipped past them in a blur, and the bumps in the road jolted the car enough to make Elodie feel a little nauseous. She held Beth's headrest in front of her, her knuckles white, eyes fixed out the windshield as the landscape sped by.

When they finally arrived at a spot far enough into the woods, the car came to a stop. It was parked in the shade, out of sight, tucked away from prying eyes.

Elodie got out of the car slowly, her sneakers crunching on the dry leaves beneath her. She followed Hershel, Beth, and Carl as they moved to crouch behind a large stone, using it as cover from the open air. And then, they waited.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

After about thirty minutes of waiting, Elodie glanced at Carl. His jaw was clenched, his eyes locked straight ahead, focused on the prison through the trees. His posture was tense, like he was coiled tight, ready to spring into action any second.

She was a little worried about him. Ever since Lori, everything had changed. Carl wasn't the same. He was like a wound that hadn't healed yet, always on edge. He snapped at Rick, at Beth, at her. At everyone. It wasn't like him, not really. Elodie knew he didn't mean what he said, though.

When you looked closely, you could tell it wasn't really anger at all. It was just grief, buried underneath layers of frustration and confusion. Carl wasn't great at dealing with those kinds of feelings, wasn't used to them, and so he pushed them out with harsh words. He'd rather be angry than sad, and Elodie understood that—she did, even if it made things harder.

Sitting in the back with Carl, who had barely said a word, had felt awkward—especially with his constant scowl and his eyes always fixed ahead, as if he was trying to block out the world. She hated awkwardness. It made her feel like she was floating in some weird space, where everything was wrong but no one was willing to say it. She had even been afraid to ask Carl how he was doing because of it.

Now though, she figured she could ask him. "You okay?"

He didn't answer at first, just kept his eyes trained on the prison. Elodie waited, glancing between him and the distant prison walls. The seconds passed, and just as she was about to ask again, thinking maybe he hadn't heard her, Carl muttered a single word.

"Fine."

"Sure?"

"Yes, Elodie."

Biting her lip, she felt the flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, making her feel like she'd just made a fool of herself. She adjusted the poncho Daryl had given her, the fabric hanging awkwardly around her shoulders as if trying to hide how awkward she felt. "'Kay. Sorry."

Everyone's eyes were glued to the prison walls in the distance. They were too far to see clearly, but Elodie knew they were waiting for any sign of movement. A figure. A gunshot. Anything.

Then, as if the air itself had snapped, both Beth and Carl shot to their feet in one fluid motion. Elodie's heart skipped in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat as her body jolted in response. They crouched back down just as quickly, their eyes still trained on the prison, their faces tense with the kind of focus that made Elodie's pulse spike.

Knowing they must have heard something, she shot a glance at Hershel, her fingers nervously picking at the edge of her sleeve. "Are they here?"

He nodded as he wrapped an arm around Beth, pulling her close. "They're here."

Elodie's fingers began to pick harder at her skin, her nails scraping at the edges until it stung. She couldn't help it; the nervous energy had nowhere else to go. The Governor's people—and himself—were on the other side of that wall, shooting up the place. Maggie and Glenn, Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Carol—they were all in danger. They could all get hurt, and Elodie couldn't stop the swirl of anxiety that made the pit in her stomach rise to her throat.

Carl shook his head, finally speaking, "I should be out there."

She turned to him, frowning. He sat stiffly, his fingers twitching with frustration. No one said anything. They all knew why Carl was saying it, and they all knew it wasn't true. He didn't need to be out there. But he thought he did. He thought it would make him better. Stronger. Tougher.

Elodie bit her lip, looking at him silently. She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That it was okay to just stay here. But the words stuck, lodged in her throat like a stone. She couldn't get them out.

Beth looked like she wanted to say something too, but she only pressed her lips together, adjusting Judith in her arms. Hershel glanced at Carl, but he didn't speak either.

Nobody said anything. They all just focused back on the prison.

〰

It felt like hours had passed before Elodie allowed herself to breathe normally again. Her chest finally began to relax when she noticed Hershel's posture shift, his shoulders easing. That meant the shooting was over. That meant either they or the Governor's people had won.

Something told her they weren't on the losing side this time.

But she barely had time to let that sense of relief settle in before Carl's sharp whisper jolted her back into the moment.

"Someone's coming," he said quickly, ushering all of them behind the rock.

Elodie's heart thudded painfully against her ribs as she ducked behind the massive stone, her hands trembling. Beth crouched beside her, still holding Judith close to her chest. Without a second thought, she shifted her body to shield Elodie, and Hershel moved in to cover them both.

Carl, though, was different. He was at the front, his gun already out and steady in his hands. Elodie didn't like how quick he was to aim at whoever was out there. Surely, they didn't need to engage. Couldn't they just let whoever it was pass by, stay hidden? She didn't know who the person was, and neither did Carl.

Before anyone could stop him, he sprang out from behind their cover, his gun aimed sharp at the figure's head.

Elodie grimaced, shrinking back further against Beth. With wide eyes, the rest of them rose hesitantly. There wasn't much point in staying hidden now that Carl had exposed their position. They stepped out into the open, Hershel's gun trained on the stranger as well.

The person Carl had confronted wasn't what — or rather who — Elodie had expected. It wasn't an adult, not a fighter like the Governor's men. It was a boy. He wasn't much older than Carl—maybe the same age as Jamie. And after a double take, Elodie knew he was most definitely the same age as Jamie. It made Elodie feel a little sick.

The boy's voice cracked as he stumbled to a stop. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" he boy stammered, lifting his hands slightly, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. "Don't shoot!"

His hands were trembling, his knuckles white as they gripped a rifle that looked too big for him. His eyes were wide with fear, darting back and forth between them, like a cornered animal.

"Drop the weapon, son," Hershel said firmly, gun aimed right at the boy.

The boy swallowed hard and nodded. He was shaking all over. "Sure." His hands moved slowly, very slowly, the barrel of his gun tilting toward the sky as he began to hand it over to Carl. "Here. Take it."

Elodie could see his fingers trembling, his knuckles white against the metal. He wasn't a threat—he was just scared.

But Carl didn't move. His gun stayed locked on the boy, his finger hovering too close to the trigger. He didn't move to take the weapon. He just stood there.

The boy's breathing grew more erratic as he glanced nervously between Carl and Hershel. His gaze lingered on Elodie and Beth for a split second, his fear so whole that Elodie could feel it crawling under her skin.

Why wasn't Carl taking the gun? Why wasn't anyone saying anything? The boy was giving up. He wasn't fighting. He was scared, trembling, willing to surrender.

She opened her mouth, her voice shaky as she managed, "Carl—"

The silenced shot barely made a sound, just a soft phfft that seemed to suck all the air out of the forest. Elodie flinched, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She hadn't even heard it properly, but she felt it.

Felt it as she watched the boy's body crumple to the ground, his gun slipping from his grasp and landing with a dull thud beside him. Felt it as the blood pooled beneath his head, dark and viscous, soaking into the dirt. Felt it when she stared at it, her chest tightening until it felt like she couldn't breathe.

She felt it. She always felt it.

The boy was dead, and Carl had pulled the trigger.

Carl had just murdered someone.

For a moment, all she could think about was Jamie. How he had been hunched over Amy, his eyes wide and glazed, his hands shaking as he gripped her, so sickeningly hungry in a way he had never been before. And then Rick had run past, and in one motion, he had ended it. Just like that. One shot to the head, and Jamie was gone.

Rick hadn't hesitated.

Carl hadn't either.

〰

The ride back to the prison felt like it went on for hours, even though it was only a short trip. Elodie had taken out her hearing aids the moment they left the clearing, tucking herself into a quiet world where the harshness around her couldn't reach her so easily.

She sat stiffly next to Carl, her fingers picking at the skin on her palms. Her mind wouldn't let go of the image of the boy—the fear in his eyes, the way his hands had trembled as he had tried to surrender. It wouldn't stop playing on a loop. It wouldn't stop feeling like she was there again, watching him fall. She couldn't stop seeing it, couldn't stop feeling it.

Carl hadn't said a word to her either, nor had anyone else. The tension in the car seemed to suffocate all conversation. Elodie kept her eyes on the floor of the car, pretending she didn't notice Carl's occasional glances in her direction.

She didn't want to say she was scared of him. It wasn't fear, exactly. The fact that he had just killed someone, without hesitation, made her uneasy. And she wasn't sure how she felt about being in such close proximity to that. Not when he had done it. Not when it was him who had taken a life.

His occasional glances didn't help. She didn't know if he was waiting for her to say something, or if he was wondering if she was judging him. She wasn't sure which one would make her feel worse.

So, she kept her eyes trained on the floor, hoping the awkward silence would crack open and swallow her whole.

When the prison came into view, Elodie felt relief flood her chest. At least it was over—the boy, the forest, all of it. Or at least, it would be, in a way. But she wasn't fooling herself for long. There was no real escaping.

The car rolled to a stop, and she climbed out of the car without waiting for anyone, her bag bumping against her leg as she made her way toward the cellblock. The poncho was heavy on her shoulders, scratching against her neck, but she didn't have the energy to take it off. She just wanted to get to her cell, curl up, and forget everything.

But before she could make it far, a firm hand caught her shoulder and spun her around.

The sudden motion seemed to drain her, her arms going limp as her bag fell to the ground with a soft thud. She couldn't pull out the energy to move any more. All she could do was stand there, frozen.

Daryl said something, his lips moving, but she couldn't hear him. Didn't even try to read his lips. She stared down at the floor instead, her fingers twisting and pulling at the edge of his poncho that still hung over her shoulders.

He frowned, crouching a little to catch her eye. He gestured toward her ears and then signed slowly, "Are you okay?"

Elodie shook her head, her hands trembling as she signed back, "No."

For a moment, it all became too much. The poncho felt suffocating all of a sudden, tightening around her neck. She tugged at it, her face twisted in frustration, desperate to get it off, but her hands were too weak.

Without a word, Daryl gently guided her arms down before pulling the poncho off. The instant the fabric fell away, it was like she could breathe again—deep, shaky breaths, like a dam had cracked open. She sniffled, dragging her hands down her face, trying to gather herself.

Daryl studied her for a beat, then gestured for her to put her hearing aids back in—so they could really talk. Elodie sighed, her shoulders sagging. She didn't want to hear anything, didn't want to talk, but the look in Daryl's eyes made her pull them out anyway. With shaking hands, she slipped them into her ears. The world came rushing back, and—

"Took out one of the Governor's soldiers," Carl's voice said, as if it was the coolest and toughest thing he has ever done.

Elodie froze. She hadn't been ready to hear that. She hadn't been ready to hear him talk about it like it was just another part of the day. She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes again.

Crybaby. Crybaby, you're such a crybaby.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she buried her face into Daryl's shirt, to hide from everything around her. He didn't say anything. He just stood there, his hand coming up to rest lightly on the back of her head, confused still.

"One of his soldiers?" Hershel asked, his tone sharp. "A kid running away? He stumbled across us."

"No—he drew on us!" Carl shot back, defensive.

Elodie pulled away from Daryl just enough to meet Carl's gaze. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if she feared her words might set him off. "No, he didn't, Carl," she said, the words catching slightly in her throat. It was stupid, but in that moment, the thought of him turning that anger on her made her heart race.

Carl's eyes flickered to her, narrowing in anger. "He did," he bit out.

Rick stepped in then, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to do that," he said gently, like it was some kind of consolation. But Carl didn't need consoling. He didn't look sorry at all.

Instead, he looked proud. "It's what I was there for. I'm going with you."

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing behind the cell door with a sharp slam.

A heavy silence sank down on them then. Elodie could feel it, pressing against her chest, twisting in her stomach. It felt like eyes were on her, even though she knew no one was looking.

Hershel shook his head, turning toward Rick. "That kid was scared. He was handin' his gun over."

Rick's jaw tightened. "He said he drew. Carl said it was in defense."

Watching him desperate to believe Carl's story, desperate to justify what had happened — it was like watching someone drown and refusing to believe the water was rising. It almost annoyed her. She knew Rick wanted to believe Carl hadn't just killed an innocent boy. But she knew the truth. She knew it down to her bones. And Rick had to know it, too.

Hershel wasn't done. "I was there. He didn't have to shoot. He had every reason not to."

"Maybe it looked like that to you—" Rick began, defensive now.

"Rick." Hershel cut him off sharply. "I'm tellin'you. He gunned that kid down."

And with that, Hershel walked away, leaving Rick standing there. His eyes flicked to Elodie, taking in how upset she looked, how small and tired she seemed standing by Daryl. How pale her face was, like she'd just come face-to-face with something out of a nightmare.

Finally, Rick's shoulders slumped. He looked like he believed it now, but that didn't make Elodie feel any better.

Daryl's hand gently nudged her, guiding her toward the cellblock. She followed, her legs feeling like lead beneath her. Each step felt like it took everything out of her.

She'd thought she'd made peace with Jamie's death, but clearly, she hadn't. It felt like the grief was all over again, raw and bleeding in her chest. Stabbing her a thousand times. She could still see him in the boy Carl had shot, in the way he'd crumpled to the ground like his life hadn't meant anything at all.

She wasn't sure if she'd ever make peace with any of it.

〰

The next morning, as the sun broke over the horizon, Rick, Daryl, and Michonne returned from Woodbury. Their mission had been to find the Governor, end it, stop him from coming back to take the prison—or hurt anyone else.

But as Elodie hurried out into the courtyard, all she felt was confusion.

It wasn't just the three of them coming back. Behind them trailed dozens, maybe even a hundred or more, people. Daryl was in the lead, followed closely by a school bus.

A shiver of unease rippled through Elodie, coiling tightly in her chest like a clenched fist. She'd always hated school buses. They brought back memories of kids who laughed at her, who took her seat, called her names and pushed her aside without a second thought.

But this wasn't that kind of school bus. It wasn't kids piling out — mostly it wasn't, anyway. It was adults, teenagers. Old people. Young people. Too many people.

Daryl swung off his bike, brushing dust off his knees as he straightened up. Elodie moved toward him, her voice coming out small and groggy, still heavy with sleep. "What's goin' on? Did you find him?"

He shook his head. "He's gone."

A tightness formed in her chest, as if something was being forced out of her. She bit down on her cheek, her gaze snapping back to the bus. "Who are they?" she asked, her fingers gripping Daryl's sleeve. It had been so long since she'd been surrounded by this many people—by strangers. Atlanta hadn't even come close to this, nothing had. The sheer number of them scared her.

"People from Woodbury," he said simply. "Just people."

Elodie frowned, her hand toying with the fabric of his sleeve. "Ya just... took 'em with ya? I don't understand."

Daryl let out a breath, looking at her directly now. "Governor's gone. Nowhere to be found. These people, they didn't have anyone. They're gonna be joinin' us here. Safer for 'em that way."

She blinked, her gaze drifting back to the line of strangers stepping off the bus, her unease deepening as she tried to process it. A lot of the people looked worn out, sick, or scared. She noticed a man carrying a child in his arms. Another woman clung to the arm of a boy who couldn't have been older than twelve.

"Oh," she mumbled softly. "Okay."

But then her eyes darted over the group again, searching, searching. Something felt wrong. There was a face she expected to see, someone she'd thought would've been at the forefront of it all, and she wasn't there.

"Where's Andrea?" she asked, her voice a little higher now. "Is she comin' off too?"

Daryl's jaw tightened, and he looked away for a moment. The muscles in his face worked like he was chewing on the words before spitting them out. But when he didn't say anything, just placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a slow, somber shake of his head, she knew.

Elodie's lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Her throat tightened as she looked up at him, her hands instinctively clutching the edge of her shirt. "Oh," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

She leaned into him then, her tired body pressing gently against his side. She didn't realize she was doing it, but it felt like the most natural thing in the world. Daryl didn't pull away, his hand still resting on her shoulder as she melted into him.

"It's alright if ya feel like cryin'," he said, but he didn't look at her as he spoke. His gaze was fixed on the group of people still emerging from the bus. It didn't matter; she wasn't looking at him either.

She shook her head, biting harder into her lip before releasing it with a shaky exhale. "I don't wanna cry anymore," she murmured, her hands twisting together tightly. "Only hurts."

Daryl gave her shoulder a squeeze, his eyes scanning the courtyard. "Yeah. It does." He then tugged at her braid again—Elodie huffing and promising herself she wasn't letting Beth near her hair again if Daryl kept pulling this stunt—and said, "C'mon, gotta help 'em settle in."

"'Kay," she murmured. She waited for him to take the first step, though, a little nervous about walking in on her own now that the prison was crowded with people.

So many faces. So many strangers.

✎ AUTHOR'S NOTES:

we've reached the end of season 3!! how we feelin'!!!
i'll be writing a chapter inbetween the small timeskip before we really get into season 4, which i am so incredibly excited for guys omg.

i know people will have some questions about certain things mentioned these past few chapters, but i promise it's all going to make sense! i haven't forgotten about anything ;)

as always, please remember to not be a silent reader and vote!
love u guys sm <3