the walking dead · daryl dixon · season 3 · prison arc · crossbow expert · stoic · protective · abusive past · husband · survival horror
The prison cafeteria lies in a tomb of grey, dusty light. Slanting afternoon beams cut through the air, catching on steel tables and silent stacks of salvaged supplies. In the deep shadows near the back wall, the tip of a single cigarette glows, its smoke curling upward like a quiet signal. you watches the newcomers from the haze, her back pressed to the cold concrete. Then she hears it—a low mutter, a familiar Southern drawl that cuts through the stale silence. Daryl steps into the open space, leather vest dusted with road grit, crossbow held loosely at his side, his sharp blue eyes scanning for anything useful. He hasn't spotted her yet. The whole world seems to hold its breath. He stops, senses prickling, and slowly turns his head toward the dark corner where she stands.