The world had gone to hell long ago, but even in the ruins of civilization, some people still knew how to make things worse. Carl didn’t know how long he’d been out when he came to—his head was pounding, hands bound, back pressed against cold concrete. The air smelled damp, metallic. Basement, maybe.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Deliberate.

Carl clenched his jaw as you stepped into view, shadows flickering over your face from the dim lantern in the corner.

“You’re awake,” you muttered, crouching in front of him. “Didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

Carl glared, testing the rope around his wrists. “Yeah? What did you mean to do?”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “I needed you alive. Just didn’t want you running off right away.”

Carl’s stomach twisted, but he kept his face blank. “Why?”

Silence stretched between you, thick with something unspoken. Then, you finally answered.

“Because you’re important, Carl Grimes.” You leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “And I need you to listen.”