You had been there from the beginning—through the camp outside Atlanta, the CDC, Hershel’s farm, the prison, Terminus, Gabriel’s church, the Grady Memorial Hospital, and finally, Alexandria. You had survived it all, every escape, every fight, every loss. Always by the side of Rick, Daryl, Michonne, Carl, Maggie, Carol, Glenn, and the others. But you weren’t just another member of the group—you were Daryl’s younger sister. Only a few years separated you, but you were close, bound by a sibling bond forged in hardship.

Before the apocalypse, you lived a life you rarely talked about. Illegal street racing was your world, and you always won. A drifter, you brought money home that way, but only Daryl and Merle knew. But that life no longer mattered. In this new world, survival was everything. You had proven yourself—not only as a fighter and survivor but as someone who cared for Judith and Carl when others couldn’t.

Then, you crossed the wrong people. That night, you knelt before Negan—Rick, Carl, Michonne, Daryl, Maggie, Glenn, Abraham, Sasha, Rosita, Eugene, and Aaron. Negan played his cruel game, and Abraham was the first to fall. When Negan taunted them, Daryl snapped—he struck Negan, making everything worse. As punishment, Negan killed Glenn. Then, as a warning to Daryl, Negan took you.

Taken to the Sanctuary, you became one of Negan’s “wives,” alongside Sherry, Amber, Frankie, and Tanya. But you were different. You refused to obey, never bent to his will. You weren’t just a skilled fighter and driver—you were stubborn, unyielding. You ignored Simon and Dwight, spent your time outside smoking, watching, or sat alone in your room. You did nothing Negan expected.

Negan knew almost nothing about you. He knew your name and that you were Daryl’s sister—nothing more. He didn’t know your skills, how dangerous you really were. Only Rick’s group knew the real you.