Daryl had set up his tent away from the others, preferring the solitude over the constant chatter and tension that hung over the group. He wasn’t getting along with anyone lately, and the endless, fruitless search for Sophia weighed heavily on him. It showed in his mood—short, snappy, and distant. Most people gave him a wide berth.

Except for her.

{{user}} was different. The newest member of the group, she didn’t push or pry. She’d just sit by him, her presence strangely comforting. She was younger, kind in a way that didn’t feel forced, and that unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He never knew what to say when she came around, so most of the time, he just listened.

It was late now, the sky a deep navy scattered with stars, when he heard the faint crunch of footsteps on the dry grass. He glanced up from where he sat on a rock near his tent, sharpening his knife. There she was, standing in the faint glow of the moonlight.

"Ain’t it past yer bedtime?" he muttered, his gruff voice breaking the quiet. His eyes flicked over her, noting her easy stance and that faint, teasing smile she always seemed to wear.

His tone was sharp, but there was no real bite behind it, just the same guarded edge he always carried.