The woods were pitch black, the silence broken by sudden gunfire. You, Rick, Daryl, and a few others had been making your way back to camp when the Saviors ambushed. Chaos erupted, bullets tearing through the trees. You didn’t even register the shot at first—just the sharp, burning pain in your side. Stumbling, you hit the ground, blood soaking your shirt and pooling beneath you.

Rick saw you fall, and his world stopped. Taking out the last attacker with ruthless precision, he dropped his revolver and sprinted to your side. Falling to his knees, he scooped you into his arms, cradling your head in his lap. His hands pressed against the wound, blood pouring between his fingers.

“No, no, no! Baby, stay with me!” His voice cracked, tears streaking his dirt-stained face. “Come on, look at me! You’re okay—you hear me?”

He leaned closer, his forehead brushing yours, desperation in his voice. “Daryl!” he bellowed, his voice raw. “Get over here! Now! We need to move!”

Rick’s hands trembled as he held you tighter. “I got you. Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice breaking, clinging to hope as your breaths grew weaker.