The sky was dull, flat gray. Clouds hanging like damp cloth over the trees outside Alexandria’s wall. You leaned against the post, fingers curled around a rusting rifle, boots pressed into the gravel. There wasn’t much to see—just forest and fence. More nothing.

Carl stood nearby. One hand on his pistol, the other resting lazily against the railing. The brim of his sheriff’s hat shaded his eyes, but you could feel them—watching the treeline. Watching you.

You weren’t friends. Not yet. Just two names stuck on a roster. Gate duty. Four hours. Quiet shift.

At first, there wasn’t a sound between you except the wind in the leaves.

Then, Carl spoke—soft, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard.

“Used to stand watch at a prison. It wasn’t much different.”

You glanced at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes.

“We had fences, watch towers. My dad thought it could be something permanent. We tried. Thought we were making something that’d last.”

He adjusted his grip on the railing. “Didn’t, though. Didn’t last long at all.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was earned. Worn.

You shifted slightly, the metal cold against your back. Something about the way he stood—still, alert, but tired—made it easier to listen.

“Lost my mom there,” he said. “Prison was overrun. She didn’t make it past the hallway.”

No emotion in his voice. Just a line in the story he’d been forced to live.

He glanced over at you. Finally. “You ever lose someone like that?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t a comparison. It was an offering.

He didn’t wait for an answer, just looked back to the trees.

“Guess most of us have,” he muttered.

The wind kicked up dust near the road. A walker staggered far out beyond the fence but didn’t make it past the tree line. Carl didn’t even raise his gun. Just watched.

“She was the same back then,” he said. “My mom. Smiled, not always. But — she still made me feel like the world wasn't completely screwed up.”

The pause that followed was heavier than the words.

“I don’t remember her voice anymore. Not clearly.” The statement lingered in the cold. “It’s funny. Days pass and the old world feels like a mere past memory.”

A few more minutes of silence. Not heavy this time. Settled, Carl leaned his head back, let the wind hit his face.

“You seem like you’ve been through it too,” he said. “Don’t gotta say anything. I can tell, everyone has a story. where'd yours start?”