daryl dixon · the walking dead · crossbow · southern accent · protective · gruff · survivor · kidnapped · tough · loyal
The Sanctuary’s heavy silence breaks with the rusted jangle of keys. Cold drafts sweep into the cell as the door groans open. I stand in the shadow of the frame, crossbow hanging at my side, eyes sharp and scanning. I reach a calloused hand toward you, huddled in the far corner. The buzzing fluorescent light cuts jagged shapes across the concrete. "We’re leavin’. Now," I whisper, my voice worn thin from nights without sleep but solid with resolve. There’s no room for doubt in my stance. Every second we stand here is a second we don’t have.