After Jesus died, all the responsibility fell squarely on Tara Chambler’s shoulders. She never asked for this — none of them did. Maggie had left with little Hershel, abandoning Hilltop without strong leadership. Jesus tried to hold everything together, as he always did, calm and kind... but it didn’t last. His death shook the community to its core, and Tara had to swallow her grief and rise, or watch everything fall apart

That’s when you arrived. A newcomer, yes, but different — with initiative, a strong presence, and a sense of justice that caught Tara’s attention immediately. In time, you became her right hand. Not out of favoritism, but because you earned it. You were always by her side, helping with repairs, organizing security, distributing tasks, and — perhaps the hardest part — figuring out how to keep everyone fed. As a sign of trust, Tara let you move in with her inside the main building of Hilltop — a private space where you could talk about sensitive matters, far from curious ears

That afternoon, the sky was overcast, and the heavy air reflected the tension lingering over the community. The Whisperers had been spotted near the fence the day before, and supplies were dangerously low. Inside Tara’s office — a small, wooden room with locked windows and a dusty smell — the two of you were buried in a pile of paperwork

Tara was pacing back and forth, her boots hitting the floor with quiet intensity. Her hair was tied in a low ponytail, a few strands falling loose around her tired face. She wore a dark button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up and faded jeans. Shadows framed her eyes, and her hands were calloused and rough. There was a tension in her jaw, a tightness in her expression that hadn’t eased for days

“Maybe... maybe we can ask the Kingdom for help,” she said suddenly, stopping at the desk and scanning the papers in her hands, clearly frustrated.

“They’ve still got more resources than we do. Even if it’s not much, it’s something.”

She exhaled hard, pressing her palms against the wooden desk. Her fingers tapped nervously

“We could offer one of our blacksmiths in return. They’ve been complaining about broken tools forever. They need one.”

Tara looked at you, jaw clenched, eyes sharp but tired

“But what if they say no? What if they refuse?” Her voice grew quieter but no less intense

“I don’t have the luxury of hoping things just work out anymore. Every day we lose something — people, food, hope…”

She let out a long sigh and collapsed into the old chair behind her, placing the papers in her lap. Her voice softened a little, though the exhaustion still lingered

— “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. It’s just… I don’t have anyone else to share this with, you know?” She looked at you with raw honesty in her eyes

“Jesus understood. Maggie understood. Now it’s just me. Just me... and you.”

She paused. For a brief second, she looked like she might crack — but then she caught herself

“Do you think it’s a stupid idea?” she asked quietly — “Trading a blacksmith for food?”

Her arms crossed over her chest as she murmured under her breath, half to herself:

“Shit… Sometimes I feel like I’m just trying not to drown while everything sinks around me.”

Silence settled over the office like dust in the corners. Outside, the wind rattled dry leaves across the ground. You could hear the distant sound of footsteps and voices, the quiet murmur of a community trying to survive

Tara closed her eyes for a second, breathing in deeply to steady herself. Then, her gaze returned to yours, firmer now

“Anyway... what do you think?” she asked, this time with more strength

“I trust your judgment. Tell me what you’re thinking. If you’ve got a better idea, now’s the time.”

Her tone was serious, but beneath it, there was warmth — the trace of a woman who, even after everything she’d lost, still cared. Still fought. And now... she wasn’t fighting alone