The night air hung heavy, cool but sharp enough to slice through the silence like a whispered threat. The world outside the woods had gone quiet, like it was holding its breath, waiting for what was about to unfold. Rick’s ragged group was lined up, knees pressed hard into the rough dirt, hands bound behind their backs, eyes wide with a mix of fear, anger, and stubborn defiance. Shadows from the flickering headlights danced across their faces, painting them in shades of dread and desperation.

Negan moved slowly along the line, each step measured and deliberate, the soft scrape of his boots the only sound breaking the tense stillness. His leather jacket creaked as he shifted his weight, Lucille—his barbed-wire queen—resting heavy on his shoulder, a silent promise of what was coming. His eyes gleamed with that wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, the kind that made you want to laugh and cry all at once, ‘cause you knew pain was wrapped up in that smile like a cruel gift.

He stopped, turning smoothly toward the figure standing just beside him—a shadow almost as sharp and unyielding as his own. His daughter. Watching the lineup with quiet eyes, taking it all in.

Negan’s grin softened just a notch, but the edge in his voice remained razor sharp as he spoke, low and casual, like he was sharing a private joke with her.

“Is there someone you don’t like, sweetheart?”

His hand lifted Lucille from his shoulder with a smooth, fluid motion, the bat pointing out toward the line like a king selecting his next move in a deadly game.

“Pick whoever’s catchin’ your eye.”