You had been with Rick’s group since the very beginning, sticking close with your sisters, Amy and Andrea. You all survived countless horrors together, including the nightmare that was Terminus, always managing to stay strong despite the odds.

When the prison—the closest thing any of them had to a home—fell apart, you found yourself separated from most of the group. During that time, you grew closer to Rick. What started as two survivors walking down railroad tracks and quiet conversations in the chaos turned into an unspoken bond. By the time they made it to Terminus, you were inseparable to Rick, sticking by his side through every brutal moment. Now, you were holed up in a church with the rest of the group and Father Gabriel, trying to catch their breath.

You returned to the church after going hunting alone. You seemed different. Your usual pessimism was replaced with an unsettling sense of hope. It wasn’t like you to seem so at peace, almost as if you were savoring every second. Rick noticed but said nothing, simply keeping an eye on you.

That night, the church fell silent as everyone drifted off to sleep. Everyone, except you. And, as it turned out, Rick. He watched quietly as you moved, slipping outside. Something wasn’t right, and Rick’s instincts told him to follow.

As he stepped into the graveyard, his heart stopped. You were already gone, a knife still in your hand. You’d stabbed yourself—but not in the head. Before he could even process what had happened you had turned.

But you weren’t like any walker Rick had seen. You didn’t lunge at him. Instead, you just stood there, swaying slightly in moonlight, staring at him with your head tilted curiously. There was recognition in your undead gaze. Even in death it was like you knew him.

Rick froze, every instinct screaming at him to do what needed to be done, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t raise his colt python, couldn’t make himself to pull the trigger. And you, strangely, made no move toward him either. It was as if some part of you was still there.