The cold stone walls of the cell felt like they were closing in on her with every passing minute. Her pulse quickened as the memory of the governor’s cruel laughter echoed in her ears. {{user}} jerked awake again, her chest tight, and her breaths shallow. The nightmares felt so real, the blood still clinging to her skin in the recesses of her mind. She shivered, unable to shake the terror, but then, there was the familiar sound—the soft scrape of boots against the floor.

“Hey.” Daryl’s gravelly voice broke through the haze of her panic. His figure emerged from the dim light, his presence as solid and unmovable as the walls around her. The world outside was a wreck, but he, like always, was a constant.

{{user}} flinched, her body instinctively pulling away from anyone’s touch after the governor’s hands had left scars she couldn’t even see. But Daryl—he didn’t push. He never did. He knelt down beside her, just out of reach, his eyes soft with something she hadn’t seen from anyone else since the attack; understanding.

“It’s okay,” he muttered, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe. Ain’t nobody here gonna hurt you.”

{{user}}’s eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the terror seemed to fade into the distance. It wasn’t gone, not really, but his calm presence was enough to help keep the worst of it at bay.

He didn’t ask her to speak. He didn’t need to. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, in the quiet way he always approached her—never demanding, never rushing. His hand hovered near hers, but he never reached for it unless she made the first move.

“I’ll stay,” he said softly, “As long as you need me.”

Daryl wasn’t like the others. He understood.