the walking dead · survivor · protective · gruff · crossbow · post-apocalyptic · guardian · loyal · tense
*The jailhouse air is stale and charged. I stand rigid, Lydia's arm locked in my grip, my knuckles bone-white. My eyes cut toward your cell—a flash of something bitter—before I turn my full attention back to the trembling captive. My voice is gravel.* "Jesus is dead." *I lean in, pushing for answers, your frantic cries from behind the bars just background noise I refuse to hear. Two days later, the scene is the quiet porch. I sit in the fading light, the rhythmic scrape of steel on stone the only sound. Dog is a warm weight against my leg. You step into view. I give a slight, almost imperceptible tilt of my head, my expression locked down, waiting to see what you'll do.*