ATLANTA WAS MOSTLY QUIET.

At least that's what Glenn kept saying, grinning like they weren't crouched behind an overturned delivery truck in the middle of a goddamn apocalypse.

Vivian wasn't convinced.

"You hear that?" Glenn whispered.

Vivian strained her ears, heart pounding in her throat. "No."

"Exactly. That's the sound of opportunity."

She shot him a look. "That's the sound of a trap."

Glenn peeked around the corner, ever-so-carefully. "You always this skeptical?"

"I'm always this alive."

He smiled at that. Not in mockery—more like admiration. "Come on," he whispered. "One pharmacy, no walkers. We're in and out in ten. Maybe twelve minutes if I let you grab every single thing 'just in case.'"

She bumped her shoulder into his as they crept toward the shattered storefront. "That's because you only think in snacks and batteries. Meanwhile, I'm making sure we don't bleed to death."

Inside, it was dark. Not apocalyptic-dark—normal dark, like the power had gone out during a storm. It smelled like dust and iodine and melted plastic. Glenn moved fast, with muscle memory from his pizza delivery days. Vivian stuck close, tossing gauze, antiseptic, and antibiotics into her pack. Glenn stuffed his with cough meds and—yep—Slim Jims.

He handed her a pack of gum with a proud smile, "For your apocalypse breath."

"Asshole."

"You'll thank me later."

They moved in sync, two halves of a well-oiled machine, even back then. She didn't realize how much she'd come to rely on that.

Outside, before they made their way back to the truck, Glenn spotted something in the alley. A little stuffed lion wearing a bow tie.

"For the kid," he said, handing it over.

Vivian turned it over in her palm. "Liam will love it."

They stared at each other for a moment. Quiet. Grounded. One of the rare times she felt still since the world had ended.

"You ever think," she said softly, "that we're gonna survive this?"

Glenn didn't answer right away. He looked out over the city—the quiet, hollow buildings, the hazy sky. Then he looked back at her and said, "Yeah. Because we've got people who make it worth trying."

Vivian laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

She remembered how he said it—not with false hope, but with faith.

It stayed with her.

The door creaked open and Carl stood there with Liam and Judith, the younger boy clutching that little lion in his hands.

Vivian gave them a tired, sad smile and lifted the covers without a word. Liam didn't hesitate—he ran to her side and climbed beneath the blankets, curling close. Carl plopped Judith onto her stomach, eliciting a quiet "oof" that made him smirk before he laid down on her other side.

For a few minutes, the world outside didn't exist.

Just breathing. Just warmth. Just them.

And the lion nestled between them—threadbare, familiar, and still here.

"What's gonna happen now?" Carl whispered into the still air.

Vivian glanced over at him, her arm reaching out to brush his hair out of his face, "I don't know. I wish I did."

"Do you think they're okay? Marcie and Maggie?"

God, Maggie. 

She could still see her—hunched over Glenn's body, sobbing like her soul was trying to claw its way out. Pale, fevered, pregnant, and completely shattered. And Marcie— curled on her side as she reached for Daryl.

"I think... they're trying to be," Vivian answered. "They're hurting. But they're strong. Maybe stronger than they should have to be."

Carl nodded slowly, pulling Liam closer to his side, "Do you think Daryl's okay?"

Vivian's throat tightened, and she had to turn her face away for a second before answering.

"I don't know," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I know he's fighting. Even if they're hurting him. He's fighting."

Carl didn't reply. He just laid there, quiet, staring at the ceiling like it might give him the answers she couldn't.

Vivian's hand drifted down, resting gently on Judith's back. Her family—scattered, broken, grieving—and yet somehow, still breathing.

Still here.

"We'll find them," she murmured after a while, "Maggie. Marcie. Daryl. We'll get them back. And we'll bring them home."

Emmett, too.

For a brief moment, the quiet was almost sacred. The soft rise and fall of their breathing, the steady pulse of small hearts, felt like a fragile promise that life could still hold some peace.

The door creaked open gently.

Rick stepped inside, pausing at the threshold. His gaze softened as he took in the scene—Vivian's tired but tender expression, the kids safe and calm despite everything.

For a heartbeat, he just watched, as if committing this moment to memory.

Then his voice broke the stillness.

"Negan's here."

The words hung heavy in the air.

Vivian's body tensed and Carl sat up, "But he said a week."

Rick swallowed hard, meeting Vivian's eyes with a steady, grim look.

The peaceful bubble burst, replaced by the chilling weight of what was to come.

Rick went to the gate, where Negan and the Saviours were waiting. Vivian quickly got out of bed and got dressed before bringing the kids over to her siblings' house,

"Don't fight. Keep your mouth shut." Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared down the street, her mind already bracing for what she'd find at the gate.

Vivian made it just in time to see Negan taking a walker out with his bat. She gulped nervously, wondering if he was gonna use that bat on any of them today.

"Easy peasy lemon squeezy!" He grinned back at them, "All right, everybody. Let's get started. Big day."

She glanced behind him at the Saviours that were lined up behind them, waiting to come in and raid their homes, or kill them, or both.

She was looking for a familiar face, for her little brother, but instead got greeted with someone else.

Right there in the front, was Daryl. Dirty, sweaty, beaten, wearing a stained sweatsuit with a giant yellow 'A' spray painted on the front.

A part of Vivian was grateful that Marcie wasn't there, otherwise there would be bullets and punches flying.

"Hey, Rick, you see that, what I just did? That is some service!" Negan praised himself, "I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate. 'Who is that guy, anyway?' Do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash some ginger's dome in? Nope. I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could've killed one of y'all. Service." He held his bat out towards Rick, "Hold this."

Rick hesitated, his jaw tight as his fingers curled around the handle of Lucille. The bat felt heavier than it should've—like it still carried the weight of Abraham and Glenn in its splintered wood. Vivian watched his grip tighten, saw the moment he forced himself to breathe and keep steady.

Vivian's eyes were still locked on Daryl. He didn't look up—not at her, not at anyone. Just stared straight ahead, unmoving, unblinking. Like he wasn't really there.

The yellow A glared against the gray of his sweatsuit like a brand. She didn't know if it stood for Alexandria, or asshole, or animal—but whatever it meant, it wasn't Daryl. Not the man they knew.

Vivian's heart twisted.

She wanted to call out to him. To do something. But instead, she stood silent, rooted to the ground, playing the same game the rest of them were playing: Survive today, fight tomorrow.

Rick swallowed hard and stepped back, still gripping Lucille, while Negan turned to his men and waved them forward like it was all a game.

"Hot diggity dog! This place is magnificent!" Negan grinned, "An embarrassment of riches, as they say. Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up."

Rick didn't respond, instead, he turned to their friend, "Daryl, hey-"

Negan's smile fell instantly, "No." He stated sternly, "Nope. He's the help. You don't look at him, you don't talk to him, and I don't make you chop anything off of him." Rick looked away and Negan turned to Vivian, who was glaring up at him, "Same goes for everyone. Right?"

Vivian turned without a word, knowing if she stayed there, she'd be the one throwing punches. She went over to stand with Rosita, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the man in charge,

Negan walked back over to Rick, "A lot of suspense there." He whistled, "I don't think she even knew how much."

Rick glared at him, "Oh, sorry, is that your hot piece of ass?" Negan clapped him on the back, "Nice pull. All right, let's get this show on the road. See what kind of goodies you got in the cupboard."

"We put aside half the supplies-"

"No, Rick. No. You don't decide what we take. I do." Negan glanced over his shoulder, "Arat."

A woman stepped forward from the Saviours' ranks, shotgun in hand, "You heard the man. Move out!"

The Saviors scattered like ants through the gates, breaking off in every direction. Vivian stood still for a beat, her eyes scanning their faces, hoping—dreading—to spot Emmett again. But there was too much movement, too many strangers in their streets. Too much chaos for her to see clearly.

Then Negan's voice rang out, cutting through the uneasy murmurs like a knife.

"They're just gonna search the houses a bit, keep the process movin'." He swung Lucille lazily over his shoulder, his tone almost conversational. "All right. You gonna show me around or not?"

Rick's jaw tensed as he turned to Vivian, speaking just loud enough for her to hear, "Go stay with the kids. Make sure—"

"I got it," she said softly, squeezing his arm once before turning away.

Rick watched her for a brief moment, her back straight, her stride steady, disappearing into the cluster of homes like a ghost slipping through a storm. Only when she was gone did he feel Negan step up beside him.

"Well?" Negan prompted, flashing a grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Let's take the grand tour."

Rick swallowed hard and nodded, forcing his feet to move.

Behind them, Alexandria's quiet was being torn apart, one home at a time.

Vivian tried to remain calm as she walked through the streets of her home, her community, as Saviours took out furniture and valuable items.

She made it to her family's house and burst through the door, "Debbie? Finn?" She walked into the living room and paused.

There, his mud covered boots on the beige rug, was her brother. Her other siblings surrounded him, giving him a hug while Liam and Judith stared in confusion.

"Emmett." Vivian whispered, rushing over and wrapping her arms around him as the others stepped back, "Oh, Emmett." Tears filled her eyes, her fingers running through his hair, making sure he was real, "You're here."

She pulled back and placed her hands on his cheeks, "What... how...?"

"I just wanted to see you." He mumbled, "Didn't think I'd get the chance to again."

"Emmett, where did you go?" Finn asked, "We thought you were dead."

"I went to look for Isaac." Emmett answered as he glanced around the room, "The Saviours found me first. And I knew they were dangerous. So I pretended to be alone, to keep them from Alexandria." He sat down, staring up at his siblings, "I tried to stay on the edges—run supply, patch fences, whatever they'd let me do that didn't mean hurting people. I thought maybe if I played along long enough, I'd find a way out. A way back to you."

"Clearly it didn't work so well." Debbie crossed her arms over her chest,

"Well, it worked for a little while. Then someone kept killing Negan's people." Emmett sighed, "I couldn't keep them away any longer."

Debbie sat beside him on the couch, staring at him like she still couldn't believe it. "You could've sent a sign. Something. We thought you were dead."

"He did." Vivian thought back to the army toy, and the initials that were carved into trees in the area, "The carvings."

"It was vague enough so only you guys would know." He explained, "That was the whole idea behind it."

"So what now? What's the plan?" Finn questioned him,

"If they know that you're my family, that I'm from Alexandria, they'll kill me and probably you, too." Emmett told them,

Debbie's jaw tightened and her voice weakened, "So what, you're gonna continue to pretend to be one of them?"

"I don't have a choice."

There was a long, weighted pause before Finn finally asked, "What about Daryl? Can you help him?"

"I don't know," Emmett admitted. "He's guarded tighter than anyone. He fought back... hard. Negan wants to break him. And if he thinks any of us are trying to help him, he'll make an example out of all of us."

Debbie looked from one sibling to the next. "So what do we do?"

Vivian pulled the little green army man from her pocket and placed it gently on the coffee table, "We do what we've always done. We survive. We keep quiet. We stay smart. And when the time's right—we get you out. We get Daryl out. And we end this."

His eyes met hers. "You really think we can?"

Vivian squeezed his hand. "We don't have a choice."

He nodded once, firm. "Then we wait. And when the time comes..."

"We'll be ready," Debbie said.

Finn stood, glancing toward the door. "We should act normal. Keep them off our scent."

Emmett exhaled slowly. "Thank you... for not giving up on me."

Vivian gave him a small, heartbroken smile. "Never."

They headed towards the front door, Emmett grabbing his rifle as he did, "How did you get here anyway? You were in Georgia." He asked his older sister,

"One of our people was from Virginia..." Her heart tightened at the thought of Noah, "We brought him here and Aaron found us."

Emmett gave a small nod, slinging the rifle over his shoulder, "Figured it had to be something like that," he murmured. "The odds of us finding each other again... hell, they weren't good."

Vivian glanced over at him as they reached the door. "None of this has been good. But somehow... we're still breathing."

"Barely," Debbie muttered, but the edge in her voice had softened. She wasn't angry anymore—not really. Just scared. Like the rest of them.

Emmett hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, eyes scanning the quiet street beyond. Saviours moved up and down the sidewalks, ransacking homes, barking orders, laughing too loud for a place draped in grief.

"I'll blend back in," he stated, "They're probably gonna come in here and take stuff. So hide some personal things you'd wanna keep."

"Thanks."

Emmett looked at them one last time, eyes lingering like he was afraid it would be the last.

"You take care of them," he said quietly to Vivian,

Vivian's voice was firm. "Stay safe."

And with that, he stepped out into the chaos, his shoulders straight, his face unreadable. Just another Savior. Another set of boots marching through the ashes of someone else's home.

Vivian closed the door softly behind him, letting her forehead rest against the wood. The air inside felt heavier now, like it had absorbed the weight of every lie they'd have to tell, every secret they'd have to carry.

"We should hide guns under the floor boards." Finn suggested,

"Hurry." Vivian insisted.

Debbie opened her mouth, a question forming—but the sudden crack of a gunshot shattered the stillness.

Vivian froze.

"Shit," she breathed, and took off running before anyone could stop her.

She sprinted through the streets of Alexandria, her boots pounding against the pavement, heart already clawing at her ribs. She burst through the Grimes' front door, eyes scanning—

Carl. Standing firm in the middle of the kitchen, gun raised. Across from him, two Saviors rifled through their cupboards, a box already full of medicine and supplies in their arms. One of them turned lazily toward Carl, smiling like it was a game.

"Carl!" Vivian snapped.

He didn't flinch.

"Put some back," Carl said coldly, eyes locked on the man. "Or the next one goes in you."

The Savior chuckled, amused. "Kid... what do you think happens next?"

Carl didn't blink. "You die."

Vivian stepped in slowly, eyes flicking toward the weapon in Carl's hands, then to the men across from him. The air was tight with tension, brittle and ready to snap.

The front door creaked again.

Rick stepped inside, Negan right behind him, hands casually in his leather jacket, that damn bat slung across his shoulder like a crown.

"Carl," Rick said sharply, "put it down."

"No," Carl snapped. "They're stealing everything. Medicine, food—everything. You said only half."

Negan's smile curled, amused, intrigued. "Oh-ho," he purred, sauntering forward. "Really, kid?"

Carl didn't back down.

Vivian inched closer, ready to lunge between them if she had to.

"You should leave," Carl said, voice low and unwavering, "before you find out how dangerous we really are."

Negan's brows lifted with theatrical surprise. "Well damn," he said, eyes twinkling. "Pardon me, young man. Excuse the ever-loving shit out of my goddamn French, but... did you just threaten me?"

The room froze.

Vivian's pulse pounded in her ears. One wrong move, one twitch of a finger—and it'd be over.

Negan stepped closer to Carl, the room stretching taut around them.

"I get it. Threatening Davey here?" He gestured lazily toward the Savior. "Hell, he does have a punchable face. But threatening me? Mmm... can't have that. Not him. Not me."

"Carl, put it down," Rick said again, voice tighter this time.

But Negan held up a hand, stopping him cold. "No, no. Don't be rude, Rick. Me and the boy are talking."

He leaned in a little toward Carl, grinning like the wolf that's already swallowed the henhouse.

"Now... what were we sayin'? Oh, right." His voice dropped to a low rasp. "You're giant, man-sized balls. Listen, I like you, so I don't want to go hard proving a point here. You don't want that. I said half your shit, and half is what I say it is. I'm serious. Do you want me to prove how serious?"

He let the threat hang in the air.

"Again?"

Vivian finally exhaled as Carl's shoulders sank and he handed his gun over to his father. Relief flickered in her chest—for now.

But Negan wasn't done.

He turned back instantly and plucked the weapon from Rick's hands himself, "You know, Rick, this whole thing reminds me that you have a lot of guns. There's all the guns you took from my outpost when you wasted all my people with a shit-ton of your own guns, and I'm bettin' there's even more, which adds up to an absolute... ass-load of guns, and as this little emotional outburst just made crystal clear... I can't allow that. They're all mine now. So tell me, Rick -- where are my guns?"

Rick tensed, jaw clenching. He said nothing, just turned and led the group outside.

Vivian stepped forward to Carl, her voice low, steady. "Debbie and Judith are waiting for you at the house," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "Go."

Carl hesitated, still fuming, still glaring at Negan's crew like he was memorizing every face. But after a moment, he gave a small nod and turned away, storming off in the direction of their home.

Vivian watched him go, the tension still coiled in her spine like a wire stretched too tight.

This wasn't over.

Not even close.

Six trucks full of Alexandria's supplies rumbled out through the gates.

Beds, furniture, medicine. Gone. Rick had even handed over more guns than were on the inventory list. It pissed Vivian off—but she understood. He was trying to keep them alive.

They were kind enough to leave Judith's crib and Liam's little bed behind—because there weren't any kids at the Sanctuary.

As a gesture of goodwill, they left the food.

While Rick was setting up sleeping bags and scatterpillows in their bedroom—what used to be their bedroom—Vivian slipped out to find Michonne and Rosita. Both women were just as hollowed-out and furious as she felt.

They were on the porch of the Davis house.

Vivian was crouched down, tying her boots like she was preparing for a war that hadn't started—yet. Rosita paced the length of the boards, arms crossed, her jaw tight enough to crack. Michonne leaned against a support beam, silent and watchful, her gaze moving between the two.

"I can't do this," Rosita muttered at last. Her voice was low, sharp like broken glass. "I can't just stand here smiling while they take everything."

Vivian didn't glance up. "You think I'm smiling?"

"I think Rick is," Rosita snapped. "Or pretending to. Letting Negan stroll in like he's got the deed to the place."

"He's trying to keep people breathing," Michonne said quietly, but her voice carried weight. Frustration lived just beneath her calm.

Vivian stood, brushing the dirt from her hands. "Is he? Because it feels like we're bleeding out. Slow. Every visit. Every 'yes sir.' Every time we look away. It's just more of us disappearing."

Rosita stepped closer. "So what, we just roll over and die?"

Vivian paused.

She looked over her shoulder, made sure no one was watching, then bent down and pried up a loose porch board.

From the gap beneath, she pulled out a small pillowcase. Inside: a handgun. Three loaded mags. A short, oiled revolver.

Rosita let out a breath. Michonne stepped forward, her body tense.

"You've been holding out?" Michonne asked, quiet and direct.

Vivian nodded once. "I knew they'd come for the guns. I wasn't giving them everything."

"You didn't tell Rick?" Michonne's voice was steady, but her eyes searched Vivian's face.

Vivian looked down at the weapons, then back up. "Would he have used them? Or would he have turned them in—like he did with your rifle?"

A long silence followed.

Rosita's jaw clenched. "You think he's lost it?"

"No," Vivian said, carefully returning the guns to the pillowcase and hiding them back beneath the porch. "I think he's grieving. I think he's scared. And I think he's doing what he thinks is right to keep us from dying."

Michonne stepped back slightly, crossing her arms. "But you don't think it's enough."

Vivian's voice dropped, low and steady. "If we don't fight—eventually—we're not people anymore. We're just pets."

Rosita leaned in, her eyes sharp. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"The right moment," Vivian said. "When we have numbers. When we have a real plan. If we go too soon, we lose everyone."

Michonne stared at her for a long beat.

"You're not wrong," she said finally. "But when it comes... it's gonna be hell."

Vivian nodded once, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm counting on it."