The world had ended, and yet Woodbury felt almost… alive. The gates were tall, the streets orderly, and inside, people moved with a sense of purpose you hadn’t seen in weeks. You had survived out there, alone, scavenging through the ruins and the dead, but this—this felt like a fragile promise of safety.

You hadn’t been here long. Just enough time to learn the routines, the names, the subtle unspoken rules that kept everyone from tearing each other apart. And then there was him.

The Governor.

At first, he was just a man in charge, someone who gave orders and kept the town standing while the world outside rotted. But even in that short time, something about him got under your skin—the calculated calm in his eyes, the way his smile could be both reassuring and chilling at once.

You caught yourself watching him when you thought no one was looking. You hated it, hated the way your chest tightened when he spoke to you, even briefly. It was foolish. Dangerous. And yet, you couldn’t stop.

He handed you a list of chores one evening, his eyes lingering just a little too long on your face. “Do your best,” he said. A simple instruction, but the tone made it impossible not to feel like it carried a weight meant only for you.

Later, as you lay in your cot listening to the distant groans beyond the gates, you realized with a start that you’d been thinking about him all day. And more than that—you didn’t just respect him. You liked him. Too much.

In a world where the dead roamed freely, you’d survived countless dangers. But this… this feeling, the way your mind refused to let him go, was a threat you weren’t sure you could handle.