SHE WISHED IT WAS ALL A NIGHTMARE.

That she'd open her eyes and Daryl would be right there beside her like he always was—one arm slung lazily over her waist, breathing steady, safe. That Glenn would be in the kitchen, already flipping eggs and grinning like he always did because "breakfast is survival fuel, not optional." That Abraham would be on watch, grumbling about squirrels being just rats in cuter outfits as he scared them off with warning shots, cursing every time they rustled too close and woke him up.

But this morning, there were no squirrels. No sizzling eggs. No sarcastic swearing from the gate.

Because there was no Daryl. No Glenn. No Abraham.

Just silence.

And the brutal reality that everything she loved had been ripped away in a single night.

The light bleeding through the curtains was soft, but it still made Marcie squint. Her shoulder ached — a deep, grinding throb from where it had been shoved back into place the night before. She didn't move right away. Lying still meant not feeling it as much.

Lying still also meant not facing what came next.

She stared at the ceiling above her, listening to the distant thud of someone splitting wood, the muffled voices outside. Life at Hilltop was already moving. Just like that.

Like nothing had happened.

Her throat was dry, but she didn't call out. She didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be seen yet. Not like this.

Not without him.

She blinked up at the ceiling, vision blurry from sleep and grief, and her mind drifted, unbidden, to Daryl.

He'd promised her once — whispered it into her hair that morning after Terminus, "I'll be here when you wake up. Always."

At the time, she'd believed him. Because Daryl didn't make promises unless he meant to keep them. He'd never been the type to sugarcoat anything, never told her something just to make her feel better. So when he said that — when he held her like it was truth — she let herself believe it.

But she'd woken up alone today.

And that promise was shattered.

She didn't even know where they'd taken him. What they were doing to him. If he'd eaten. If he was hurt. If he blamed himself for what happened to Glenn. If he thought she was dead.

Her stomach turned.

Her hand drifted across her waist, fingers curling into the blanket. It wasn't her blanket. None of this was hers. Even the clothes felt wrong, foreign, like nothing she'd earned—just what was handed to her because she survived.

And Glenn hadn't.

Her chest tightened. Her eyes filled.

She remembered him teasing her once on a supply run—nudging her side and grinning, "You gonna stare at Daryl all day or actually grab the canned peaches?"

He'd said it like a brother would.

He'd felt like a brother.

She pressed her face into the pillow and whispered, "You weren't supposed to die."

Her breath hitched. Daryl was gone. Glenn was gone. Her arm was wrecked, her soul worse.

And she was still here.

Still breathing.

Somehow.

Eventually, she'd have to get up. She'd have to check on Maggie. Say something to Sasha. Try to figure out the next move. Try to pretend there was a next move.

But not yet.

For now, she stayed curled up in the narrow bed, holding onto the warmth he'd once promised would never leave her side.

And knowing now what a lie that was — not because he didn't love her, but because love hadn't been enough to keep any of them safe.

Not this time.

With a sigh, Marcie sat up slowly, careful not to put any weight on her injured arm. The doctor had given her a sling, but she'd left it folded on the nightstand. She didn't want to look weak. Not in front of Maggie. Not in front of anyone.

The sunlight outside was warm and blinding as she stepped out of the trailer, and she instinctively lifted her good hand to shield her eyes.

It was a beautiful day. She hated that.

"Good morning."

Marcie turned at the voice. Jesus was approaching from the garden path, arms full of green-stemmed flowers.

"Is it?" she said flatly, her gaze drifting past him to the Hilltop residents tending their gardens, mending fences—living like the world hadn't just fallen apart again.

Jesus didn't argue. He just gave her a quiet, sympathetic smile. "C'mon. Maggie and Sasha are at the graves."

"Did she..." She didn't even wanna finish the sentence, fearing the answer," ... the baby?"

"The baby's okay." Jesus assured her before gesturing for her to follow,

Without another word, Marcie followed, pushing through the pain in her shoulder and ignoring the curious eyes on her. Her feet felt heavy as they rounded the corner behind the big house—and then she stopped short.

There they were.

Maggie and Sasha, kneeling in the grass, hands resting gently on the dirt that now held the ones they loved.

Marcie swallowed hard, her throat suddenly tight.

"It's good to see you up," Jesus said to them, holding up the bundle in his arms. "Brought some flowers."

Maggie blinked down at the stems—green and leafy with tight blooms. "It was you," she said softly.

Sasha gave her a soft smile, "Put some on your bed, too."

"I read somewhere that blue flowers inspire strength and calm," Jesus informed them, gently replacing the old, wilted stems with the new. 

Maggie looked up, brow furrowed. "What's green?" 

"Release." He answered, "Letting go. Not forgetting—but moving forward."

Marcie stared at the graves. Glenn. Abraham. Her chest ached.

She didn't know how to let go.

But maybe she didn't have to—yet.

"Thank god you're finally awake." They all turned to see Gregory approaching, a frantic aura around him, "You people said you got them all."

"We thought we did." Maggie answered, "It was just an outpost."

"How many of them were there?" Gregory asked, his face twisting,

"There were a lot. Maybe hundreds."

"Do they know the deal you made us take, Marsha?"

Marcie narrowed her eyes at the man, "It's Maggie." She corrected him.

"No." Maggie answered, staying composed, "And we didn't make you take the deal, Gregory."

Gregory raised his hands, changing the topic, "I-I-I'm happy we could patch you up. You need to go. Make sure you let Rich know what we did for you." He began to walk away,

"Dr. Carson said I should stay." Maggie argued, stopping Gregory in his tracks,

He turned around, scowling, "If he thinks he has the authority to make that decision, he's mistaken." The four of them glared at him, "Don't look at me like that. She'll be safer with her own people. And we'll be safer without her." He turned to Sasha, "You need to keep your distance from Maggie and stay focused on your work here at Hilltop."

The three of them looked at each other, confused. Did he think Sasha was one of his own?

"Did you do this?" Gregory asked, glancing at the graves, "We don't bury our dead. We burn them."

"I did it." Sasha snapped at him, "I don't live here."

"Gregory, this is Sasha and Marcie. They got Maggie here. They're from Alexandria." Jesus explained,

"I can't- I-I don't have time to keep track of everybody." He glared at Jesus, "I've been recuperating, too, Jesus- from a stab wound. You know? Maggie said that her people could take care of the Saviors. S-So far, all they've done is put our community at risk."

Marcie stepped forward then, jaw tight. "You think this is about keeping you safe?"

Gregory didn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes.

"You know, if they see you here, they'll think we colluded." Gregory stated after a moment,

"We did." Sasha stated,

"I did not agree to this." He motioned to the graves, "If they think we helped attack their outpost, they'll do that to us." He turned to his right hand man, "Jesus, do you have any idea what plausible deniability means?"

"Yes."

"Well, then you know it's our way out. If they leave, we have plausible deniability." Gregory continued,

"Gregory, it-it'll be night soon. It's not safe for them to leave now." Jesus insisted,

Gregory scoffed, "Look, I'm a good guy. You can stay the night. But leave in the morning."

Marcie fought the urge to scoff back. Yeah, a good guy alright.

"We'll talk more about it tonight." Jesus called out to him as he was leaving.

Gregory paused, "No, I made my decision."

"I'm just saying that maybe-"

He interrupted them, "Do you want to go back with them?"

"I'll take them back." Jesus stated, standing his ground,

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant." He cut in sharply,

Gregory looked between them all, clearly annoyed, "So it's settled." 

"No," Marcie said, stepping forward. Her voice was quiet but sharp, cutting through the tension. "It's not."

Gregory stopped. Turned. "Excuse me?"

"Maggie is pregnant."

He blinked. "Well... that's her mistake."

Marcie moved before she could stop herself, fury boiling in her veins—but Maggie caught her good arm just in time.

"Wait," Maggie said softly, holding her back. Her voice didn't waver, but her eyes burned with quiet defiance.

Maggie needed to stay at Hilltop. For both her sake, and the baby's.