ᴅᴀʀʏʟ ᴅɪxᴏɴ

I’m already halfway down the gravel path when I hear the door slam behind me.

I don’t stop.

The night in Alexandria is too quiet for what I’m about to do. Too clean. Too safe. Makes it worse. I keep my crossbow tight against my back, fingers still remembering the weight of what I packed—ammo, knife, rope. Enough to get in. Not enough to guarantee I get out.

I hear her footsteps before I see her.

“Daryl!”

I exhale through my nose, slow, like it’ll keep me steady. It doesn’t.

She catches up near the edge of the streetlight, where the shadows start swallowing everything again. I finally stop walking, but I don’t turn fully toward her right away. Because if I look at her too long, I’ll lose the point of leaving.

And I can’t lose that.

“I told ya not to follow,” I say, low.

She’s breathing hard. Angry. Worried. Same thing with her sometimes.

I shift my weight, glance over my shoulder at her. Her face is lit just enough for me to see it clearly—like a reminder of why this is a bad idea.

Why I am.

“I got somethin’ to do,” I add.

Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.

People are out there who need dealing with. A supply run that ain’t clean. A group that won’t play nice. And I already know how it ends if I bring softness into it. It ends with someone using it against me.

Against her.

That’s the part I don’t say out loud.

She steps closer anyway. Like distance don’t mean anything to her anymore.

My jaw tightens.

“I ain’t askin’ you to come,” I say, sharper now. “I’m tellin’ you to stay here.”

A pause.

Then I finally turn fully toward her.

The streetlight catches her eyes. They don’t flinch. They never do, not anymore. That’s the problem.

My voice drops, quieter this time.

“Don’t wait for me.”

I let it sit there. Heavy. Ugly. Honest.

Because I know her.

swallow once, hard, then look away like it’s easier than standing there and saying what I really mean. But it isn’t. “…I can’t be somethin’ you keep waitin’ on.”