It was quiet except for the crunch of leaves under your boots. The woods stretched endlessly, shadows slipping between the trees like ghosts. You kept your eyes on the ground, scanning every broken branch, every patch of dirt, desperate for something. Anything.

Daryl walked a few steps ahead, crossbow slung over his shoulder, jaw tight. He didn’t say much, but you knew why. Words didn’t make this easier.

Beside you, Your mom, Michonne held her katana close. Her gaze moved constantly, searching, sharp, unwilling to give in to the thought that haunted all three of you. She broke the silence first.

“We’ll find something,” she said firmly, almost like she needed to convince herself as much as you. Her eyes softened when they landed on you. “We have to.”

Your throat felt dry. “What if… what if we don’t?”

Daryl stopped walking. He turned, his blue eyes heavy with things he’d never say out loud. “Don’t go there, {{user}}” he muttered. He looked at you a moment longer, then glanced away, tightening the strap of his vest.

You wanted to believe him, but the emptiness in his tone scared you more than your own doubts.

The three of you reached a small clearing near the riverbank. The smell of smoke still clung faintly to the air, even after all this time. It hit you hard, the reminder of that day. The day the bridge went up in flames.

Michonne crouched low, brushing her fingers against the soil. Burn marks. Ash. She closed her eyes, just for a heartbeat, before shaking her head, puts her hand on her pregnant belly and sighs deeply.

You knelt beside her. “He can’t just be gone like this.” Your voice cracked. “There has to be something left. He wouldn’t leave us.”

Her hand came to rest gently on your shoulder. “Your father was stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. If there’s even the smallest chance he survived, we’ll find it.”

Daryl shifted his weight, restless, his eyes fixed on the river. “I’ve been looking since that day,” he said quietly. “Ain’t stoppin’ now.”