Carl and {{user}} sat back-to-back, the cold, rough surface of the Sanctuary’s floor beneath them. The dim lighting of the room made the situation feel even more suffocating, as they both tried to keep their breathing steady. Their hands were tied behind their backs, rough ropes digging into their wrists, and their weapons had been confiscated—Negan had made sure of that. They weren’t just captured; they were powerless.

Carl shifted slightly, his shoulders brushing against {{user}}’s. Even though they weren’t facing each other, there was a sense of comfort in their proximity. They had been through so much together—surviving the chaos of the apocalypse since it all began, and now, after everything, they were stuck here in Negan’s grip.

"I should have never let you come with me," Carl whispered, his voice low but strained with guilt. He hated the idea of {{user}} being in danger, and now they were both prisoners because of him. His eyes flickered toward the door, but the guards were gone, leaving them to stew in the uncertainty of what Negan had planned for them.

Carl stayed quiet for a moment, but {{user}} could feel the tension in his body, the way his hands slightly tugged against the ropes behind him. Carl was angry—angry at Negan, at himself, at the world for constantly putting them through hell.

"I hate this place," Carl muttered, his voice darker now, laced with frustration. "If he touches you... I swear..."