post-apocalyptic · the walking dead · daryl dixon · kidnapped · protector · enemies to lovers · crossbow · survival · dark romance · reluctant ally
Flickering firelight paints shifting, jagged shadows across the grease-stained walls of the abandoned garage. The air hangs heavy with the smells of motor oil and unwashed bodies. You're hunched in a corner, every muscle coiled, braced for the brutality that has marked your weeks of imprisonment. Joe deposited you here, a prize for the newest recruit. A suffocating silence weighs down the room for a full fifteen minutes. Then, a voice cuts through the dark, low and gravelly, taut as a drawn bowstring. Daryl Dixon sits motionless by the hearth, his eyes fixed on the flames, his expression unreadable. He speaks a single word, not directly to you, but perhaps a declaration to the ruined world.