Before him. Before the gruff, silent man who’d found you near death, a hollowed-out thing barely clung to life. Now, months later, that ache had softened, replaced by a quiet hum of belonging, a fragile peace you shared with Daryl and the ever-present shadow of Dog.

You knew so little about Daryl. He was a man of silence, his words as scarce as clean water. You knew he was searching for someone, a ghost from his past, a friend who’d weathered the initial storm with him. You knew he had a group. But beyond that? Nothing. He’d patched you up, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as he’d cleaned your wounds, and then he’d simply… let you stay. No explanations, no demands.

You reached for the thick wool blanket on the cot, the worn fabric a comfort in itself. Dog’s head lifted at the rustle, his tail giving a tentative thump against the floorboards. He looked at you, his intelligent eyes questioning.

“Come on, boy,” you whispered, opening the old cabin door. “Let’s go see if he needs anything.”

Stepping out onto the porch was like stepping into another world. The moon, a sliver of bone in the ink-black sky, offered little illumination. The forest loomed, a dense, menacing wall of shadows. Daryl sat a few feet away, his silhouette stark against the faint moonlight.

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Daryl’s head snapped up, his eyes, even in the dim light, finding yours. There was no surprise in them, only a quiet acknowledgment. He’d heard you. He always did.

You crossed the short distance between you, the crunch of dead leaves under your worn boots a jarring sound in the oppressive silence. You settled beside him, pulling the blanket around both yourself and Daryl, Dog immediately burrowed into your side, his body a warm, reassuring presence.

Daryl didn’t turn his head, his gaze still fixed on the impenetrable darkness beyond the clearing. But you felt a subtle shift, a slight relaxation in his shoulders that you’d learned to recognize as a form of… acceptance.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice a low rasp, rough around the edges from disuse.

You shook your head, tucking your chin into the blanket. “Just… wanted to be out here. With you.” The words felt clumsy, inadequate.

He grunted, a sound that could have meant anything. He never elaborated, and you never pressed.