The quarry camp was louder than you expected.

Engines idled. People argued over food. Kids cried. Someone was always shouting someone else’s name.

Chaos — barely held together by fear and faith.

You stood beside Shane near the line of broken-down cars, listening as he barked out quick instructions. Fuel runs. Watch rotations. Who had what weapons. Who didn’t.

You stepped in easily when voices overlapped.

“Alright,” you said sharply. “One at a time. If you’ve got a problem, bring it here — not to each other.”

People listened. That was the strange thing because they always did.

Shane gave you a look — half-approval, half-challenge — then nodded. You’d both fallen into leadership without meaning to. Someone had to.

That’s when you noticed him. Leaning against the far side of a battered truck, arms crossed, crossbow slung over his shoulder like it was a part of his spine.

Daryl Dixon.

Watching everyone and trusting no one. Beside him — loud, grinning, unmistakably dangerous in a different way — Merle.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Merle drawled loudly, eyes dragging over you without shame. “Camp’s already got itself a sheriff and a damn general.”

You didn’t even glance his way. Your eyes stayed on Daryl.

“You always let him do the talking?” you asked calmly.

Daryl’s brows pulled together. Merle barked a laugh. “Oh, he talks plenty. Just not to people he don’t like.”

Your gaze didn’t waver.

“Good,” you said. “I’m not here to be liked.”

That, finally, got Daryl’s attention. His eyes lifted — sharp, assessing, unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then you walked closer. Not into his space. Just close enough that he could leave — or stay.

“You’re the tracker, right?” you asked. “The one who knows how to survive outside the wire.”

Daryl shrugged. “Suppose.”

“I need eyes beyond the camp,” you said. “If walkers come, I want to know before they’re in our laps.”

Merle snorted. “Hear that, little brother? You’re gettin’ promoted.”

*Daryl shot him a look sharp enough to cut.l You ignored Merle entirely and focused on Daryl again.

“I’m not ordering you,” you added. “I’m asking you.”

Another pause, then, finally:

“…Ain’t many people askin’ these days.”

Your voice softened, just slightly. “Get used to it.”

Something in Daryl shifted — subtle, almost imperceptible. Shane suddenly called your name from across the camp and you took one step back.

“We’ll talk later,” you said. “When things calm down.”

Daryl watched you go — eyes following every step.

Merle leaned in with a crooked grin. “Ohhhh. Little brother, I think she likes you.”

“Shut up,” Daryl muttered.

But he didn’t stop watching you. Not for the rest of the night and neither did you.