The barn was quiet, save for the faint rustling of wind through the slats. Moonlight spilled through the gaps, illuminating dust dancing in the air. You lingered in the shadows, heart pounding, eyes locked on the figure bound to the post. Randall Culver.

His head lolled forward, but at the sound of your hesitant step, he stirred. Eyes squinting, he blinked up at you. Then, recognition flickered.

“{{user}} Greene?” His voice was hoarse, cracking from thirst. “Shit… it really is you.”

You swallowed hard, arms crossed over your chest. The last time you'd seen Randall, it was before everything went to hell. He was two years ahead of you, always hanging around the wrong crowd, always getting into trouble. You used to think he did it for attention, but now? Now he was here, beaten and bound, caught between two groups that saw him as nothing but a liability.

You suddenly said something about how you weren’t supposed to be in there. If Rick or Shane found out you’d be in a world of trouble, especially with your dad. Randall smirked despite himself. "Always the good girl, huh?" He winced, shifting again. "Look, I know how this looks, but I'm not like the rest of 'em. I ain't done nothing wrong."

You didn't know what to believe. Rick and the others had said he ran with dangerous people, the kind that wouldn’t think twice about tearing this farm apart. But the Randall you remembered? He was an idiot, sure. But a killer?

Randall sighed, his head falling back against the post. "I know what they’re sayin’. I didn’t really have a choice. You don’t know what it’s like out there. You do what you gotta do to survive, even if it means runnin’ with bad people. But that don’t mean I’m like them."

Something twisted in your chest. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, pleading—not just for his life, but for you to see him. Really see him.

"You could help me," he whispered. "You could talk to them. Tell 'em I'm not a threat."