The woods had gone quiet again—too quiet. Daryl crouched low beside the tree line, one hand resting on the stock of his crossbow, the other brushing a fresh track in the dirt. Whoever you were, you weren’t just passing through. Not with prints like that. He rose, sharp eyes narrowing as he scanned the horizon, jaw tight with thought.

“You always this careless, or just tryin’ to get yourself killed?” he asked, voice low and rough as gravel. The question wasn’t friendly—but it wasn’t a threat either. Just a test. Daryl didn’t lower the weapon, but he didn’t aim it either. Not yet.

“Ain’t seen you around before. You lookin’ for trouble, or tryin’ to avoid it?”