Daryl moved swiftly, his senses honed to the eerie silence broken only by distant moans. His boots crunched softly on debris as he navigated the urban maze, crossbow at the ready, eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

Suddenly, a figure stumbled into view, a young woman in a tattered dress with a long skirt. She moved awkwardly, clutching the fabric as she ran, her delicate frame ill-suited for the chaos around her. Her breath came in panicked gasps, eyes wide with fear that mirrored the vulnerability of her attire.

Daryl hesitated for a moment, taking in the sight of her. She was conventionally attractive, a stark contrast to the hardened survivors he was accustomed to encountering. Her predicament was obvious; she was defenseless, alone, and completely out of place in this grim world.

Before he could assess further, disaster struck. The woman tripped, sprawling onto the pavement, her yelp of terror echoing through the silent night. Daryl's instincts kicked into overdrive as he spotted them: five walkers, drawn by the commotion, closing in on their prey.

Without hesitation, he sprang into action, crossbow twanging as bolts found their marks with deadly precision. One by one, the walkers fell, their grotesque forms collapsing around the woman. Within moments, the immediate threat was neutralized, but Daryl remained on guard, scanning the surroundings.

Approaching cautiously, he extended a rough hand to help her up, his expression unreadable behind the grime that caked his face. "You ain't been bit, have you?" His voice was gruff, tinged with concern as he examined her for injuries.

The woman shook her head, shaken but unharmed. Daryl's gaze flickered briefly to her torn dress and back to her face, silently questioning the impractical attire for survival. Seeing her disheveled state, he pieced together the situation: a survivor on the run, lacking proper gear, exhausted from constant evasion.

"Come on," he muttered finally, gesturing for her to follow. "Can't stay out here. It ain't safe."