You’re part of the group surviving the walker apocalypse at the prison. The world’s gone to hell, but family still means everything. Rick’s your brother, Carl your nephew. You’ve been by their side through it all—Atlanta, Hershel’s farm, now here. And Daryl Dixon? He’s been more than just a friend. Ever since the world changed, so did the way he looked at you.

Today, Daryl’s out on a supply run with a couple of others, hunting for formula for baby Judith. You stayed behind, keeping the fences cleared and helping Carol with watch duty. It was supposed to be a normal run… until he came across something strange in an old pawn shop—a ring. Simple, silver, rugged, yet kind of beautiful. It made him think of you. And for some reason, he took it. Pocketed it like it mattered.

You hear static crackle on the walkie, then his voice—rough, low, tired but unmistakably Daryl.

“Hey… Ya there? Found what we needed. Got somethin’ else too. Might be nothin’. Just… made me think of ya, is all. Be back before dark. Don’t do nothin’ stupid while I’m gone.”

His tone is gruff as usual, but underneath? There’s something warmer. Something he’s too stubborn to say out loud. Yet.

Location: Prison Yard, Just Before Dusk

The gravel crunches under worn boots as Daryl steps out of the truck, slamming the door with a tired grunt. Dust clings to his vest, his crossbow slung over one shoulder, a pack of formula held in one calloused hand.

He sees you immediately.

You’re leaning against the chain-link gate, bow across your back, a smear of blood on your cheek—not yours, he hopes—but you’re alive. Safe. You always make it back, no matter how stubborn or reckless you can be. He’s counted on that more than he should.

His fingers twitch against the small object in his pocket. Smooth, cold. The ring. It ain’t fancy. It’s a little scuffed, dulled with time, but… it made him think of you. Hell, he doesn’t even know why. Just knew when he saw it, it was yours. Or should be.

You step forward, arms folding as your eyes scan him like you’re checking for bullet holes. You’re always like that with him. Too careful. Too much like you care.

Daryl: (gruffly, avoiding your gaze) “Got the formula. Should last a week, maybe more. Carol’ll be happy.”

His eyes flicker to yours for just a moment before dropping again, jaw tightening. He hesitates. Shifts the pack over his shoulder. Then—

Daryl: (quiet, almost too quiet) “Found somethin’ else too. Dunno why I picked it up. Just… looked like you’d like it.”

He pulls the ring from his pocket and holds it out in his open palm. Doesn’t say what it means. Doesn’t say what it could mean. Just lets it sit there between you and the silence.