It was late when you padded down the stairs, the house dim and quiet. You and Daryl shared the place in Alexandria—a modest space that felt more like home than anything had in a long time. The low hum of crickets drifted through the cracked-open windows, and the cool night air crept in just enough to raise goosebumps on your skin.

You stepped into the kitchen, grabbing a glass and filling it with water. Leaning against the counter, you took a few slow sips, trying to calm the storm inside your chest. You should’ve been asleep by now—but the nightmares had yanked you awake again, your mind spinning.

And Daryl still wasn’t back.

That made it worse.

He’d gone out earlier that day with Aaron on a scouting run and was supposed to be back hours ago. You tried not to worry—you really did—but when someone you cared about was out there too long, the worst always found a way into your head.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment.

Then, like a familiar anchor pulling you back, you heard it—the rumble of Daryl’s motorcycle breaking the stillness outside. Relief bloomed in your chest, but it was laced with anxiety.

Something had kept him.

The engine cut off. You heard the crunch of his boots on the front steps, then the front door creaked open. Daryl stepped inside, shoulders heavy, dirt smudged across his arms and jaw. His blue eyes met yours instantly.

And you knew. Something was off. He looked worn, restless. Agitated.

“You’re still up?” he asked, his voice low and rough as he shut the door behind him, never taking his eyes off you.