The cold wind cuts through the air as you push forward, your boots crunching on gravel. Daryl stumbles ahead of you, blood streaking down his face from a gash above his eyebrow. His breathing is ragged, and he’s leaning too hard against the wall for support.

“Come on, Daryl,” you urge, grabbing his arm to steady him. “We’re almost there.”

He grunts, shaking his head. “Ain’t leavin’ without her,” he mutters, voice slurred. He’s still half-delirious from whatever D did to him back in that room — the beatings, the mind games. But you can’t afford to go back now.

“Daryl, she’s gone,” you say firmly. “We gotta go.”

Heavy footsteps echo behind you. D’s voice rings out from the shadows. “You’re wastin’ your time!”

You spin around, raising your knife. D’s silhouette appears at the end of the alley, his men close behind him.

“Go!” you hiss to Daryl, giving him a shove forward. He stumbles, but you stand your ground.

D sneers. “You really think you can get him outta here?”

“I know I can,” you snap, stepping closer with your blade.

D moves fast, faster than you expected. His hand swings out, catching your wrist in a vice grip. You twist hard, driving your knee into his gut. He curses, staggering back.

“Run!” you yell. Daryl’s still lingering, swaying on his feet. “Now!”

Finally, Daryl stumbles into motion, dragging himself toward the street. You follow, but D grabs your jacket, yanking you back. Before he can land a blow, Daryl reappears — bloody, battered, but determined. He swings a piece of rebar right into D’s ribs.

D crumples to the ground, groaning in pain. “Don’t… come back,” Daryl growls, his voice like gravel.

You loop Daryl’s arm over your shoulders, and together you limp down the road. Alexandria’s gates are still miles away, but Daryl’s weight against you feels like proof that you’re both going to make it.