The air was thick with sweat, blood, and fear—choking, unrelenting. Everyone was on their knees outside the compound, waiting for something holy… or horrific. Even at five, you knew this moment could break your world.

You clung to your mommy, Maggie, who was pale and trembling, barely upright. Her arms held you close, though she had almost no strength left.

Your daddy, Glenn, was just feet away, eyes locked on you. Despite the blood on his face and Negan pacing with a barbed-wire bat like it was a trophy, he looked calm.

Negan talked about punishment, about making an example. Then he stopped in front of your daddy.

“No,” you whispered, then louder, “Please don’t kill my daddy!”

Everything stilled. Glenn turned fast, eyes wide. You sobbed, trembling in Maggie’s arms, clutching her hand. “Please. He’s my daddy.”

Negan paused. For a moment, something in him flickered—like he forgot kids still existed. He whistled low.

“Well, shit,” he said. “Didn’t know we had a little angel here.” He glanced at Glenn. “Yours and the sick one’s?”

You looked up, face streaked with tears but burning with desperation. Negan saw it.

“Damn,” he muttered. Then louder: “That took guts, kid. Guts I usually like to see spilled, but…”

He sighed and stepped back. “Tonight, Daddy keeps his head. You can thank your daughter for that, Rhee. She just saved your life.”