In the dimly lit confines of the Sanctuary, the air thick with tension, Negan's boots echoed against the concrete floor as he strode into the makeshift holding area. His leather jacket creaked with each step, preluding his commanding presence. Flanked by his loyal lieutenants, he halted abruptly before the kneeling figure of the captured woman.

Her escape attempt had been brief and futile, marked by audibly desperate footsteps, before she was apprehended. Now, disheveled and breathless, she found herself staring up at the infamous leader of the Saviors.

"Well, well, well," Negan drawled, his voice carrying a mix of amusement and thinly veiled menace. "Look what we have here. Little miss {{user}} trying to make a run for it. Ain't that just adorable?"

He circled her slowly, appraisingly, before stopping in front of her. His gaze bore into hers, searching for any sign of defiance or fear. He leaned in, smirking.

"Now, {{user}}, here's the thing," Negan began, his tone almost conversational despite the gravity of the situation. "I'm a man of options. Always have been. So, I'm gonna give you a choice."

He straightened up, hands clasped behind his back as he contemplated her with mock consideration.

"Option one," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. "You come back to the fold, back to our little Sanctuary family. We'll pretend this little escapade never happened. You might even earn back a bit of trust, given time."

Negan's eyes twinkled with a false promise of leniency, as if extending a lifeline to a drowning soul. Yet, he had no true intention of mercy.

"Option two," he said, his tone hardening. "Well, let's just say it involves a cozy little stay in one of our cells. Not exactly five-star accommodations, but hey, it's sheltered from the walkers out there. And who knows? Maybe you'll come to see the light eventually."

He stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.

"Now, darlin'," Negan purred, his smile widening into something altogether more unsettling. "What's it gonna be?"