THE SAVIORS LEFT, LEAVING THE REMAINS OF RICK'S GROUP BEHIND.

The rumble of engines faded into the distance, but the silence they left behind was worse.

Marcie laid curled on the cold dirt, her dislocated arm cradled to her chest, her body trembling from shock and pain. But she didn't move. Couldn't. Her eyes stayed locked on the empty space where the van had been—where he had been.

Daryl was gone.

They'd ripped him away like it was nothing. Like he didn't matter. And she hadn't been able to stop it. Not even close.

Her scream still echoed in her head, as if her body hadn't accepted that it was over yet. She could still feel the weight of the boot on her arm, hear the sickening pop as the joint gave out. That wasn't the worst part. Not even close.

The worst part was how fast he was gone. How final it felt.

Across from her, Glenn's body lay slumped in the dirt. Or what was left of it. A fly landed near what used to be his eye socket and wandered aimlessly across the shattered remains of his skull.

Marcie swallowed hard, her stomach threatening to turn. She couldn't look away. She wanted to. God, she wanted to. But her eyes were glued to the horror—because looking away would mean letting go. Letting go of Glenn, of Abraham, of Daryl, of the world that had existed before tonight.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, chest too tight to expand. There was blood on her hands. Some of it her own. Some of it wasn't.

All around her, the group barely stirred. No one cried. No one screamed anymore. It was like the violence had sucked the air out of their lungs.

Everything was broken.

And Marcie didn't know how they were supposed to pick any of it back up again.

Not far from Marcie, Vivian knelt in the blood-soaked dirt, unmoving.

Her hands trembled in her lap, stained red—some of it Abraham's, some of it Glenn's. None of it would ever come off. She didn't even try to wipe it away.

Her eyes were dry, too dry. Like her body had shut off the ability to cry because it knew she'd never stop if she started.

Marcie's scream had gutted her. The sound had torn through the clearing like a wounded animal. Vivian had wanted to move, to help, to shield her—anything—but she'd been rooted to the ground, her legs heavy with helplessness. All she could do was watch.

Daryl was gone. And Glenn... Glenn was just—gone.

She didn't need to look at the body again. It was burned into her brain already. Glenn's hand twitching. Maggie's strangled cries. Rick on all fours like a man who had finally been broken.

Vivian slowly turned her head and saw him now. Slumped, dazed, filthy. Their eyes met across the horror-strewn dirt.

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

She saw it in his face—the apology. The failure. The same storm she felt in her own chest. It hit her like a second bat to the skull: she had promised Lori. Promised she would protect them both—Rick and Carl.

And now? Rick looked like a ghost. Carl had nearly lost an arm. Glenn and Abraham were dead. And Daryl was taken.

She had failed. Failed Lori. Failed the group. Failed everyone.

Her fingers clutched at the dirt beneath her. She could still feel Emmett's eyes on her, his hands taking her weapon away. The first time she'd seen him in what felt like years.

And now...

He was gone too.

Gone with the Saviors.

Vivian's throat clenched. Her body gave a slight jerk, like maybe it was trying to cry, but nothing came out. Just air. Just shock.

Emmett hadn't said anything. He'd just stood behind Negan like he belonged there. Like she wasn't even his sister. Like she wasn't the woman who raised him.

And he looked right at her.

Not cold. Not cruel. Just... distant.

Like it hurt him, too.

But he still left.

That was the part that broke her.

The van doors had slammed shut on Daryl. The Saviors had hooted and hollered like they hadn't just shattered the lives of every person in that clearing. And somewhere in the line of boots and guns and cruel smiles...

Her brother had disappeared into the dark with them.

She had found him only to lose him again.

Only this time... he chose it.

Vivian buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking—not from sobs, but from the effort of holding herself together.

Marcie was still on the ground. Rick hadn't moved. Carl was holding his arm like it still might not be there. Maggie looked like she might fall over and never get up.

And Vivian sat in the middle of it all, feeling like a stranger in her own skin. A failure. A liar. A sister abandoned.

"...I'm sorry," she whispered.

To Rick. To Lori. To herself.

To Emmett.

But he wasn't there to hear it.

And maybe that was the worst part.

But she couldn't let herself grieve. Not for long.

There was too much at stake.

Vivian had made too many promises—one of them to Glenn. She remembered the way he'd looked at her, serious beneath all his warmth, and told her, "If something ever happens... you look out for them, okay? Maggie. The baby."

God, she thought. It was like he knew.

Her chest ached, but she shoved it down. Forced herself to move. She wiped her face with a trembling hand and pushed herself to her feet, though her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Carl was sitting up now, dazed but conscious. Vivian crouched beside him briefly, brushing a hand over his cheek and pressing a kiss to the top of his head—an instinct more than a decision. "You okay?" she murmured.

He gave her the smallest nod, and it was enough.

She rose and moved with quiet purpose through the clearing. A hand on Sasha's shoulder as she passed. A silent anchor. Then she dropped to her knees in front of Maggie, whose skin was ashen and eyes glassy with grief.

"You need to get to Hilltop," Vivian said softly, firmly.

Maggie blinked at her, slow to register the words.

"Now's not the time to grieve," Vivian continued, steadying her voice. "You need help. For you and the baby."

She wasn't going to let anything happen to Maggie. Not after what had just happened. Not after Glenn.

A quiet shifted through the clearing. Heads turned. For the first time since the Saviours had driven away, someone was moving. Someone was leading.

"Marcie needs to go too," she said without hesitation, casting a glance to where Marcie still lay curled on the ground, "She needs her arm looked at. I'll take them. The rest of you... you need to get ready."

Rick looked up, eyes hollow. "Ready for what?"

Vivian didn't answer.

She didn't have to.

Maggie began to stand and Vivian helped her, letting the window lean heavily against her,  "To fight them."

A beat of silence. A bitter wind across the blood-soaked earth.

"They have Daryl," Rick said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They have an army. We would die... all of us."

Vivian met his eyes. And even though her heart was shattered, something steadier was rising up in her bones.

Resolve.

"We might," she said quietly. "But if we don't fight... we're already dead."

She needed to fight. For her siblings, for Liam, for Judith.

That was what kept her standing.

Vivian tightened her grip around Maggie's waist, helping her stay upright. Every part of her body ached, but she wouldn't let herself falter—not when someone needed her.

"Go home," Maggie's voice cracked, a tremble of emotion breaking loose as her face crumpled. "You need to go to Alexandria. You were out... out here for me."

"We still are," Rick answered gently, his voice nearly gone.

And then Maggie broke.

All the pain she'd been holding in collapsed in a single breathless sob. Vivian felt the shudder run through her as she clutched Maggie tighter, stroking her back with a slow, rhythmic motion. This was too much—losing Glenn, the father of her child, the last piece of her blood family. She had watched it happen. Powerless. Caged in grief and shock.

"I can make it now," Maggie insisted through her sobs, her hand clenching around Vivian's arm. "I need you to go back. I can't have you out here. I can't have you all out here anymore. I need you to go back."

Vivian's eyes burned. Not from tears, but from everything pressing down on her. She pressed her forehead to Maggie's cheek, grounding herself through the contact.

"Maggie..." her voice cracked before she steadied it, softer now, but resolute. "We're not letting you go. Not alone."

Because Maggie had lost everything—but she wasn't going to lose them too.
Not if Vivian could help it.

Sasha stood, walking over to them, "I'm taking them. I'm gonna get them there." She took Maggie from Vivian's arms, "They need you." Sasha nodded towards Rick and the others, "And those kids back home, they need you there."

Vivian glanced back at the broken man behind her.

Rick hadn't moved much since it ended. He was standing, but his eyes were unfocused, his breath shallow. There was blood on his hands, in his beard, on his shirt—it wasn't all his, but it didn't matter. He looked like a man unrecognizable. Hollowed out. Defeated.

She had never seen him like this. Not after the prison, not after Lori.

This was worse.

This was Rick shattered.

Sasha's words rang in her ears: They need you.

She looked at Maggie again, now leaning into Sasha's arms, barely upright. Vivian's hand lingered for a moment, then slowly let go. Her chest ached with the weight of leaving her, of not seeing this through herself.

But Sasha was right.

Rick needed her. Carl needed her. Judith, Liam... all those people in Alexandria—they needed someone who was still standing.

Vivian gave Maggie's hand a final squeeze. "You get there," she whispered. "You survive. That's the only thing that matters now."

Marcie pushed herself up with one good hand, teeth gritted, the weight of the pain and loss dragging on her bones like gravity had increased tenfold. Her injured arm hung limply at her side, and she moved to cradle it against her ribs.

"I have to go after him," she muttered hoarsely, swaying on her feet.

Vivian was there before she could take a step, steadying her with both hands. Her face was pale, eyes ringed in red, but her grip was solid.

"You can't," Vivian said softly. "Not like this. Not now."

"They took him." Marcie's voice cracked, guilt choking her. "I let them take him."

Vivian didn't flinch. "You tried. You fought—he knows that."

Marcie looked at her, searching for something to hold onto, anything to make this feel less like the end.

"I have to get him back."

"We will." Vivian's voice hardened. "But not today. You can't go after him like this. You need to get that arm looked at. You need to survive this first."

Marcie's eyes burned. "I can't just leave."

Vivian nodded slowly, eyes glossing over with emotion she was trying so damn hard to contain. "I know. I know it feels wrong. But you're not leaving him. You're just not dying today."

Sasha went over to speak to Rosita, who was hovering over Abraham's body while Maggie was crying in Carl's arms.

Vivian looked back toward Rick and the others, her jaw tight. "I'm staying. But you... you go with them. Take care of Maggie. Take care of yourself."

Marcie turned her gaze toward Maggie, who looked like she might shatter with one more breath. Glenn's name was a ghost in the air around her.

Marcie hesitated a moment longer—then nodded.

And with that, everything slowly began to shift. A grim choreography born of shock and heartbreak.

Sasha, Rosita, and Eugene moved in quiet coordination, carrying Abraham's body as if he might still feel pain. Every movement was reverent. Careful. As if jostling him too roughly might make this all more real.

The others gathered around Glenn. No one spoke. No one had to. They lifted him as gently as they could, the broken pieces of him a mirror to the pieces they each felt missing inside. The weight of his body wasn't what made it hard—it was the weight of knowing.

Marcie stood rooted, barely breathing, until she felt Maggie start to shake beside her.

She turned, gently wrapping her good arm around Maggie's trembling form, drawing her in close. Maggie didn't resist—she collapsed into her. Her sobs were raw and unfiltered, the kind of sound that couldn't be softened or held back. It was the sound of someone being hollowed out from the inside.

Marcie held her tighter, teeth clenched against her own grief. She wanted to crumble, too. Wanted to fall to her knees and scream until her voice gave out. But she couldn't. Not here. Not yet.

Maggie needed her.

They all did.

So she stood strong, even as her disolacted arm throbbed and her heart splintered beneath the surface. She pressed her lips to the top of Maggie's head, grounding both of them in the smallest act of comfort.

"I've got you," Marcie whispered. "I've got you."

And though she wasn't sure how they'd survive the days ahead, one thing was certain:

They'd carry each other through it—just like always.