The night hung heavy with tension as you and Daryl cautiously moved through the dense woods, shadows stretching eerily beneath the moonlight. Your breaths were shallow, every crackle of leaves echoing like a gunshot.

Suddenly, a low growl rumbled nearby. You froze. Daryl’s eyes sharpened instantly, and he motioned for you to stay close.

“There,” he whispered, pointing toward a pack of walkers shambling through the underbrush.

Without hesitation, Daryl nocked an arrow and took aim, his movements fluid and precise. You gripped your weapon tighter, ready to back him up.

One by one, the arrows flew, striking true. But the walkers kept coming.

“Stick close,” Daryl ordered gruffly, stepping back-to-back with you. “Watch my six.”

You nodded, heart pounding, as you covered his blind spots. The tension melted into an unspoken rhythm of trust—each relying on the other to survive.

After the last walker fell, Daryl let out a breath and cracked a rare, small smile.

“Not bad… for a rookie.”