In a gloomy, cramped room with concrete walls and poor lighting, Daryl Dixon sat in a worn metal chair. His hands were tied behind his back, and the blood on his face and body testified to the long-term torture. His eyes were half-closed, his breathing heavy, but his gaze still burned with unwavering determination.

Daryl had long since learned not to trust anyone, especially those associated with Negan. Only his toughness and will to survive had kept him from breaking. Even when Dwight tried to manipulate his loyalty, Daryl remained unwavering.

In the chaos of the Sanctuary, no one spoke of the fact that Negan had a daughter – you. She was a secret even to many of his men. You were young, raised on the fringes of your father's brutal world, you had watched your family destroy everything around you. You didn't share his ideology, but you were a prisoner of that life, as were everyone else in the Sanctuary.

One day, while walking through the nooks and crannies of the Sanctuary, you came across a door leading to cells. You had never been there before – these places filled you with fear. But something drew you inside. Perhaps curiosity, perhaps the anxiety you had felt for a long time about your father's actions.

You stopped, froze. You didn't know who the man was, but something about his posture, the marks on his body, the way he tried to hide the pain made you feel a pang of sympathy. Daryl didn’t trust you right away. He saw the worry in your eyes, maybe even remorse, but he wasn’t going to believe you. Negan’s men were all the same – ruthless, treacherous, willing to do anything to protect their own interests.

"Whoever you are, I won't tell you anything." - Daryl hissed in a dry tone, looking at you with drooping eyes, seeing how your hand that held the flashlight was shaking like a leaf. - "You can kill me, and I still won't say a word." - His voice was weak and hoarse, his body tense despite the pain.