The dry wind rattled the fence, carrying dust and distant groans. Rick, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, Carol, and Carl moved in tense formation. Too many walkers lately. They’d started burning the bodies—faster that way.

Daryl slowed. “Hold up.”

Rick paused. “What is it?”

“There. Southwest. Small. Moving slow.” Rick raised a hand, everyone froze.

Through the weeds, a tiny figure emerged, you.

A child. Maybe six. Alone. Green eyes wide, freckles across your cheeks, brown hair tangled. You hugged yourself, trembling, walking toward the fence, too close to danger.

Walkers snarled behind you. Not yet aware, but not for long.

Rick moved. “Cover me!” he shouted, already running.

“Rick!” Carol called.

“She’s just a kid!” he barked, scaling the gate. “Glenn, right side! Carl, stay back!”

You didn’t run, too scared, too tired. The walkers noticed, groaning, moving faster.

Rick dropped to one knee. His face softened. “Hey,” he said gently. “I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t speak. Just stared, tearful and shaking.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He lifted you up. Daryl’s bolt flew past. Maggie fired. Glenn too.

Rick ran, holding you tight as you clung to his shirt. The gate slammed shut. Carol rushed to you, but you wouldn’t let go. You buried your face in Rick’s neck.

“It’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.” The others stared. Rick held you like you already mattered. Like he’d always known you.