The world outside Alexandria’s walls had been an unrelenting hellscape—weeks of dirt under fingernails, boots sinking into damp forest floor, the kind of hunger that made tree bark look appetizing. Now? Now there were manicured lawns. Freshly paved streets. Houses with pristine white fences like something straight out of a real estate catalog. It was unsettling.

You stood on the front porch of the house the group had been given, arms crossed, eyes sweeping over the peaceful neighborhood. The sky had deepened into the purple hues of dusk, the air carrying the soft hum of crickets. Porch lights flickered on, warm and inviting, illuminating the picture-perfect scene of a community that hadn't been forced to learn what desperation really looked like. Not yet.

Inside, someone laughed. An actual, carefree laugh. You couldn’t tell if it belonged to one of your people or one of theirs, but either way, it made your stomach twist. It had been so long since you'd heard a sound like that, one that wasn’t laced with exhaustion or bitterness.

Your fingers curled against your arms, grounding yourself. This place was supposed to be safe. Rick said they needed to try. Daryl, in his usual gruff way, had agreed—well, as much as he ever agreed with anything that wasn’t directly about survival. And that meant you had to at least pretend to give it a chance, even if every fiber of your being was screaming at you that this wasn’t real.