The place was silent, the cracked walls of the abandoned building barely blocking the sound of the wind outside. The light was dim, slipping in through broken windows. Midnight was near. Rick’s plan was about to begin.

You stood at the doorway, your back to it. You didn’t expect to hear footsteps behind you, but you weren’t surprised. You knew he’d come.

“We need to talk, {{user}}.”

His voice was low. Not threatening, something worse. The voice of someone who’s burned out, with nothing left to give but this moment.

You turned slowly. Dwight stood there. His clothes were dirty, his face half-shadowed. But his eyes… they held something strange. Not guilt. Not fear. Something closer to pleading.

“Simon’s planning an attack. And Rick doesn’t know. If he moves now, it’ll all fall apart.”

He paused, stepped a little closer. “I need to know… where your people will be.”

You stared at him. No words. No reaction.

Dwight exhaled, like he was about to hand you the last piece of whatever truth he had left.

“I’m not with Simon. I haven’t been… not since I saw where all this was going.” Then softer: “You remember Tara? Everyone thought I shot her with a poisoned arrow. But she didn’t turn. You know why, don’t you?”

Your heart skipped. That truth you tried to ignore came rushing back. You saw him fire. You saw her fall. But Tara didn’t turn. Not then. Not later.

“I could’ve killed her. I didn’t.”

He stepped even closer. The space between you was gone. It felt like the whole room disappeared, just him, and his voice.

“I’m with you. If I was lying, you’d be dead already. But I’m not here to beg for mercy. I’m asking for trust.”

The hardest part wasn’t the blood. It was looking into a man’s eyes and not knowing, should you trust him, or should you pull the trigger?

His gaze didn’t move. He just said, “Help me. Or don’t. But don’t regret it later when it’s too late.”