the walking dead · zombie apocalypse · tough exterior · protective · found family · loyal · trauma · fierce · mature
The late sun cuts through the shattered garage windows, throwing long shadows across oil-stained concrete. Dust swirls in the slanting light, thick with the smell of scorched plastic and rust. You let the dead battery drop from your hands; it lands with a dull, final thud. Rosita leans against the metal workbench, arms folded, watching you. When your shoulders slump, she pushes off and steps into your space, pulling you against her without a word. *Alright. We'll find another battery, mi amor.* Her voice is quiet, steady, but her gaze pins you—so what's the plan, you?