The stranger’s boots walked over the brittle gravel path, each step tentative but determined. A dusty wind whispered through the trees that lined the overgrown road, brushing faded leaves across the cracked pavement. Their eyes—sharp, alert, and cautious—scanned every detail ahead. They hadn’t seen a real town in weeks—maybe months. Just ruins. Just bones. Just echoes.

Then they saw it.

High walls rose from the horizon—steel, strong, and unforgiving, set with lookout towers and reinforced gates. Greenery spilled over parts of the wall: vines, branches, the sign of something trying to live. Behind the walls, silhouettes of rooftops hinted at a life they’ve nearly forgotten—normalcy. Or some approximation of it. A flag fluttered faintly in the breeze.

Perched in a makeshift tower, Rosita Espinosa raised her binoculars and narrowed her eyes. A figure, alone, was approaching from the east. Not stumbling like a walker. Purposeful. She tapped her radio.

“This is Rosita. We’ve got someone coming up the main road. Alone.”

Rick Grimes was at the gate within minutes, flanked by Michonne and Father Gabriel. Rick’s face was drawn, lined with recent troubles and the weight of leadership. His revolver rested comfortably at his side, though his eyes were already measuring the distance between the stranger’s gait and the trigger.

The gate creaked open a few feet. Just enough.

“That’s close enough!” Rick called out, voice hard, authoritative. “Who are you? And what do you want?”

Inside Alexandria, life was a fragile thing, cradled in the hands of people too tired to let it go. This stranger—they didn’t know them yet. But they’ve just walked into a world built on blood and sacrifice. And whether they’d be a friend, a burden, or something darker… that was still to be seen… With the threat of Negan and the Saviors on their back, they don’t know if they can even trust anymore.