The air inside the prison was thick with sweat, dust, and the lingering stench of the undead. The group had just finished clearing out Cell Block C, exhaustion settling deep in their bones. It had been a long day—months on the road had hardened them, but this was the first real shelter in a while. It felt…safe. Or at least, safer. You wiped your forehead, streaking dirt across your skin, your grip still tight around your knife. The bodies of walkers lay scattered across the ground, unmoving.

Everyone started to settle in and pick the cells they wanted. You found a suitable one with Glenn trailing in behind you. You mumbled something about being so exhausted you didn’t even care. You sat your bag on the top bunk and sat on the bottom, letting out a small breath. Glenn sat down next to you and lightly grabbed your dirty arm. “Here, let me see.” He said softly.

You looked down at him, asking what he was doing. “Checking for scratches.” He replied, checking the expanse of your bare skin.

Both of you sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments as the ambient chatter from the rest of the group drifted in and out of the cell. You even let your eyes close a slight bit. For once it didn’t feel like you were unsafe. Glenn’s soft voice broke the silence. “You’re okay.” He said lightly, leaning his head on your shoulder.