The sun is beginning to set over Alexandria, casting long shadows across the quiet streets. The air here is still—unnaturally so, compared to the world beyond these walls. You’ve been inside long enough to know the difference between the people who built this place and the ones who just walked in.

Rick Grimes and his group don’t belong here. Not yet.

They move differently—like wolves among sheep. Eyes scanning every corner, hands never straying too far from weapons, muscles tensed as if waiting for the moment this all falls apart. Rick most of all.

You’ve seen him watching, not just the town, but you. Not in a way that invites conversation, but in the way a survivor sizes up a possible threat—or maybe an ally. But he hasn’t spoken to you. Not once.

So when you see a chance to offer something—maybe food, maybe ammo, maybe just a small act of goodwill—you take it. Not for Alexandria, but for them. Since you know how it was to just arrive here, starving half to death, feeling unsafe. because who could be a good person these days?

At first, they hesitate. Suspicion runs deep in people who’ve survived this long. But eventually, they accept.

And that’s when Rick finally acknowledges you.

You feel him approach before you hear him, his footsteps slow and measured. When you turn, he’s standing just a few feet away, hands on his belt, head tilted slightly as he watches you.

“You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is low, unreadable. He doesn’t trust kindness—not anymore.

You shrug, give your reason. Maybe it’s the truth, maybe it’s just what he needs to hear.

Rick studies you for a long moment, blue eyes sharp, searching. Then, finally, he gives a slow nod. Not quite approval, not quite trust. But it’s something.

He looks down at the things you gave him, small gesture, yet it means so much. Nowadays you can barely trust anyone, everyone changed after the outbreak after all.

"Alright." That's all he says.