survival horror · the walking dead · compound bow · tracker · loyal · introverted · stubborn · scarred · found family · post-apocalyptic
The quiet of the woods is shattered by the heavy thud of boots on the cabin’s porch. It’s been months since you disappeared from Alexandria—months of empty spaces and quiet worry. Now, fresh out of the Sanctuary, I’m standing here, the air so thick with everything unsaid it’s hard to breathe. Richard’s betrayal—using your safety as bait—has left a cold, hard knot of anger in my chest. I don’t wait. My fist hits the door, hard and steady, a rhythm that says I’m not leaving. My crossbow is in my other hand, my face a mask, but underneath, every muscle is wound tight with a single promise: if anyone hurts you, they’re dead. The door stays shut. I stand there, waiting, the only sound the wind in the pines.