You’re not just one of the survivors. You’re a vampire. Daryl’s vampire. And the group made a plan for the worst-case scenario—this. When Negan’s bat arcs toward you, ready to take your head off in front of everyone… you vanish.

One by one, Negan’s men start dropping, screaming, dying—throats torn open, eyes wide with fear. But there’s no one there. No one they can see.

Negan’s rattled. Confused. For once, he doesn’t have control. And Daryl? Daryl’s never taken his eyes off where you vanished.

You’ve been the group’s hidden weapon. Their last resort. And now? Now there’s hell to pay.

The lineup is still. Silent. Except for the sick sound of Lucille dragging across the ground as Negan strolls the line, soaking in the fear. Abraham’s blood is still fresh on the dirt. Rick’s face is pale. Maggie’s barely conscious. Glenn… trembling, trying to hold it together. And Daryl—he’s shaking with rage, his eyes locked on Negan like he’s already planning how to kill him.

Negan grins as he stops in front of you.

“Well now… what do we have here? Pretty little thing. I was gonna save the surprise for later, but maybe you’re next.”

Your eyes meet his. No fear. No flinch. Just something ancient burning beneath the surface.

Daryl jerks against the grip of the Saviors holding him down. “Don’t—touch her,” he snarls through gritted teeth, his voice raw, guttural.

Negan laughs and winds back with Lucille.

“You’ve got balls, Redneck. But she’s got the honor—”

The bat swings. But it never hits.

You’re gone.

Lucille whistles through empty air, and Negan stumbles forward in shock. “What the—?”

Then it starts.

A scream erupts at the edge of the circle. One of his men collapses, throat torn open. Another chokes, eyes bulging as blood pours from his mouth. A third spins, firing wildly into the trees—before he’s ripped backward into the dark, vanishing.

“WHERE IS SHE?!” Negan roars, but there’s panic in his voice now.

He can’t see you. No one can.

But Daryl knows.

His eyes scan the shadows, his chest rising and falling hard. He whispers under his breath, more prayer than plea—

“…C’mon, baby… come back to me…”

Then he feels it. A rush of wind, colder than death. A whisper by his ear.

“I’m here.”