BETH USED TO hum when she braided Maisie's hair.

Not loud, not showy. Just a quiet little tune, some half-remembered melody from before the world went to hell. Beth never said where it came from. Maybe a lullaby their mom used to sing, or something she made up to fill the silence. Maisie never asked. She just let it happen, let Beth part her curls with gentle fingers and hum like the end of the world wasn't scraping at their doorstep.

It always happened in the mornings. Right before they had to move on, or sneak out to scavenge. Right before the fear crept back in. Beth would sit cross-legged behind her, focused and patient, tucking the strands back tight like maybe, if she could just get it perfect, the day wouldn't fall apart. And Maisie, loud, brash, the one who always bit back, would go quiet for once. She'd let the hum settle into her chest like warmth from a fire.

"Hold still," Beth would murmur, nudging Maisie's shoulder with a knuckle.

Maisie would grumble, roll her eyes, call her a perfectionist.

But she'd sit still. For Beth, always.

Now her hair was a tangled mess, stiff with sweat and dust and grief and blood. No braid. No soft voice behind her. Just wind. Just silence. Just that dry, cracked stretch of road winding endlessly through the trees.

Maisie's fingers twitched at her sides, like they were reaching for something they couldn't find. The braid. The hum. A hand to hold.

Anything.

But there was nothing.

Maggie, expression unreadable. Daryl trudged like a ghost. Sasha was locked inside herself. Riley looked angry. And Rick-Rick was too busy surviving to grieve. So was everyone else.

Beth was dead.

Beth was gone.

Everything felt muted. Like she was underwater, and the surface was somewhere too far to reach.

The sun beat down, pale and uncaring. Wind whispered through the trees like it didn't know what had been taken. Her shoes scuffed against the dirt, step after step after step. Every one of them a betrayal.

She kept waiting for someone to say something. Anything. About Beth. About how she died for nothing. About how wrong it was. But no one did. Not even Maggie.

Maisie's breath hitched. The ache in her chest started to pulse, hot and wild, alive in the worst way. She could feel it rising. Grief, sure. But something else too.

Rage.

Not at Beth. Never at Beth. But at the world. At that woman. At the hospital. At herself. At every quiet moment that let her believe Beth might actually make it. They traded for her. They did everything right. Beth was safe. Beth was there, and then she wasn't.

She made eye contact with a walker, watching it growl and walk towards her. They had gotten slower over time, they were easier to deal with. Now, it was just the people to run from.

Maisie was hunting for them. The walkers. She was practically covered in blood, she was following the others through the woods, making sure she didn't get separated while also getting rid of the dead.

The growls were growing more annoying, so Maisie walked towards it, basically tackling in to the ground and stabbing her knife into its head repeatedly. It was already gone, but she didn't care.

She didn't hesitate. Just yanked the knife out, breathing hard, and turned toward the next one.

She moved like a machine-quick, ruthless, silent. Not graceful, not careful, just fast. Almost like she wanted to get hurt.

The forest was scattered with corpses now. Rotting things that barely resembled people. She wasn't counting how many she'd taken down. Wasn't even thinking. Her heart pounded in her chest like a war drum, sweat plastering hair to her forehead. Her hands were streaked with blood, not hers. Not yet.

But she wouldn't have cared if it was.

Another walker stumbled through the trees. Maisie surged forward.

But a voice cut through the clearing before she made it. "Maisie."

She froze. It was Rick.

He stepped out from the trees, calm but firm. His eyes swept over the scene. Four bodies. Maybe five. A pool of gore by her shoes. She didn't look at him. Just bent to wipe her knife on her pants.

"You shouldn't be out here alone," he said.

Maisie's laugh was dry. Hollow. "You're with me."

Rick stepped closer, cautiously, like she was a wounded animal that might bolt or bite. "You've been sneaking away for days now."

"M'not sneaking. Just moving." She sheathed her knife with a sharp motion. "And taking out what needs taking out."

"You're huntin' walkers like they're a to-do list," Rick said, voice low, steady. "Not like it's survival. Like it's somethin' else."

Maisie turned then. Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and sweat. But her eyes, God, her eyes. They were empty and burning all at once.

"Say what you wanna say, Rick."

He didn't flinch.

"You're grieving. I get that. But this?" He gestured at the carnage around them. "This isn't how Beth would want you to remember her."

Maisie's jaw clenched. "Don't tell me what Beth would want. You're not her."

Rick sighed, ran a hand over his beard. "M'not tryin' to start somethin'. M'tryin' to keep you from gettin' killed."

She turned away from him again, arms crossed, gaze locked on nothing.

"She was my family," Maisie whispered. "She was my family. Before the world ended. Before you, before any of this." Her voice cracked. "And I-I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to do anythin'."

Rick stepped forward, just close enough to be heard, not close enough to be intrusive. "You were there every step before. That counts."

"No, it doesn't. I was supposed to protect her. I promised-" Maisie wiped at her face roughly, smearing more blood across her cheek as her voice cracked at the thought of Hershel. "I swore I'd keep her safe. And I let her die in a goddamn hospital full of liars and cages."

Rick's voice softened. "You didn't let her die."

Maisie shook her head, biting back a sob. "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't. Doesn't make it hurt less."

"No," Rick agreed quietly. "It ain't. It don't."

They stood there a moment, surrounded by the dead. Just two people held together by grief and failure and the unbearable weight of what they'd lost.

"She looked up to you, you know," Rick said. "Beth. Said you were brave. That you didn't run from hard things."

Maisie's throat tightened. "She was wrong," she whispered. "I ran from everythin'. And now she's gone."

"We all run. Some of us just circle back slower."

Maisie looked at him then-really looked. There was no judgment in his eyes. Just the kind of tired understanding that only came from losing too damn much.

He waited a beat, then said, "Come back with me. Before the next one gets lucky."

Maisie glanced at the bloodied clearing one last time, then turned her back on it.

"Yeah," she muttered.

And for the first time in days, she walked toward someone, instead of away.

*

"So all we found was booze?"

Maisie lifted her head from Maggie's shoulder at the sound of Tara's voice. Across the firelight, Tara stood with her arms crossed, eyes narrowed as she watched Abraham and Ethan wrestle the cap off a bottle of liquor like it might be the last one left in the world.

Rosita gave a slow nod. "Yeah."

"It's not gonna help," Tara murmured, glancing at Glenn, who sat hunched over with heavy eyes and a weight on his shoulders that seemed too much for one man to carry.

Rosita sighed, rubbing at her temple. "They know that."

"It's gonna make it worse."

"Yes. It is."

Maisie's gaze drifted back to Ethan. He stared out into the distance, taking a long, hollow swig like it might fill something in him that had been empty too long. Abraham mirrored him, quiet for once, the usual fire in his eyes replaced by something dimmer, something broken.

Ethan must have felt her watching, because he turned his head and held out the bottle with a wordless offer. She reached for it out of instinct, but Maggie's hand caught hers before she could take it. A silent message passed between them, one that didn't need words.

"They're grown men," Eugene spoke up suddenly, his voice low, eyes fixed on a pebble near his boot. His tone was flat, almost apologetic. Maisie didn't feel as angry with him as she expected, even after the lie about the cure. What's the next best thing to saving the world in an apocalypse? Survival. Protection. Lies, even, if they bought you a little more time.

"And I truly do not know if things can get worse," Eugene added after a beat.

"They can," Rosita replied, her voice hard as gravel.

Maisie exhaled slowly and let her head drop back onto Maggie's shoulder. Her fingers threaded absently through Reaper's thick, matted fur. He needed a bath. A proper brushing. A warm bed. Clean water. More than she could give him. But she'd find a way. She'd find a way, or she'd die trying.

Silence settled over the group like ash. Thick. Heavy. Unmoving. Maisie closed her eyes, trying to push out the image of Beth's face. If she could just shut out the thoughts long enough, maybe she'd feel something other than the relentless pull of grief and fury.

She traveled with tension wound tight in her chest, anger burning behind her ribs. She was mad, at the world, at everyone. Everyone but Reaper. And Maggie. Maybe not Jin and Felix, either. They didn't do much besides talk quietly among themselves or try to distract Carl and Maisie with meaningless conversations.

Reaper tensed suddenly beneath her hand, ears pricking up, head snapping toward the woods behind them. He let out a low, warning growl.

Maisie straightened, trying to pull him back to lie down, but Reaper ignored her, his body stiff with unease. Then came the others, low snarls, not human.

Not walkers.

Knives were drawn in an instant.

Four wild dogs emerged from the underbrush, their fur bristling as they barked. It was more challenge than threat, but it wouldn't take much to escalate.

"Reaper, silent," Maisie commanded quietly.

He obeyed without hesitation, falling into line behind her, though the tension never left his body.

The other dogs didn't let up.

Rick moved first, knife in hand, Daryl shadowing him. Maisie flinched as the first silenced shot cracked through the still air. One dog dropped. Then another. And another. By the time the fourth hit the dirt, Maisie's wide eyes found Sasha lowering her rifle, her expression as hollow and cold as the barrel.

Rick didn't say a word. He snapped a stick in two and walked over to the bodies, already preparing for what came next.

The rest passed in a blur.

Maisie turned her back on the group as they began preparing the carcasses. She didn't want to see them skin and carve up what had, moments before, looked just like Reaper.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she buried them in his fur. Reaper panted beside her, his warm tongue brushing her wrist. He didn't care about the hunger or the cold or the death. He cared about her.

And that was enough.

*

The trees swallowed Daryl fast, like they always did. One second he was there, walking stiff and silent down the road with his crossbow slung over his back, and the next, he slipped into the woods, nothing but boots vanishing through the brush.

"Tell them I went to find water."

He cast a look over his shoulder, the kind that spoke louder than words, a silent warning etched in narrowed eyes. He didn't want Maisie to follow. That much was clear. But the stubborn set of her mouth and the storm brewing in her expression said she would anyway, and he saw it. Saw it and hated how well he knew it.

Maisie followed anyway.

She hung back a little at first, shoes light on the pine-needled forest floor, hands brushing against the bark of the trees. She didn't call his name. Didn't make a sound. Just tracked him by instinct, the way she used to when they were still circling the farm, when he'd disappear for hours and she'd pretend she wasn't waiting for him to come back.

After about ten minutes of weaving through trees, Daryl finally stopped. He knew she was there. He'd probably known since the second she stepped off the road.

He didn't turn around.

"You deaf or jus' stupid?" he asked, voice gravel-rough, not angry-but not kind either.

Maisie exhaled through her nose. "Never said I couldn't follow you."

"Didn't have to." he snorted, like that was a bad excuse. "Jus' didn't wanna be around nobody."

Maisie didn't flinch. "That's too bad. M'not just some random person."

That made him turn, slowly. He looked at her for a long time, jaw working, like he didn't know if he wanted to snap or say something real.

Maisie didn't look away.

She was pale. Tired. There were tear and blood streaks on her face she hadn't bothered to wipe away. Her eyes were bloodshot. But she stood tall. Not tough. Just there. Present.

And that was more than either of them had been lately.

"Don't need no babysitter," Daryl muttered.

Maisie's expression twitched. "Never said you did."

They stared at each other, both of them too stubborn to move. The wind sighed through the trees, shaking branches, making the forest whisper things neither of them wanted to hear.

Finally, Daryl turned back around. "Didn't come out here to talk."

Maisie hesitated, then took a slow step closer. "Neither did I."

So they didn't.

They found a barn, sat in front of it against a tree, shoulders touching as they shared a cigarette. Neither spoke, eyes fixed on some faraway point between the trees.

After a long silence, Daryl said, almost too low to hear:

"She was just a kid."

Maisie exhaled.

"Yeah, she really was, wasn't she?"

He nodded, jaw tight. "Didn't think she'd-" He cut himself off, sucked in a breath, shook his head. "Don't matter what I thought."

Maisie looked down. "It matters to me."

That quiet hit again. Heavy. Unforgiving. Daryl didn't say anything for a while. "I should've protected her."

"I should've done a better job of protecting her too."

That was the closest they got to comfort, and maybe it was enough.

They didn't cry. They didn't touch other than their shoulders. But they sat in that grief together, like two people slowly realizing they weren't as alone as they thought.

After a long while, Maisie rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her hands as she cast one last glance in his direction. She didn't say anything, didn't have to. She understood, in that quiet, unspoken way they both shared, that he hadn't wandered off for alone time. He needed space, needed to breathe without the weight of eyes and grief pressing in on him. So she left him to it.

Her shoes moved softly over the forest floor as she made her way back through the trees, shadows thinning as the clearing came into view. As she stepped out of the woods, sunlight catching in her hair, her eyes lifted, and found Rick.

He was already watching her.

Their gazes met, steady and unreadable, before hers drifted downward, to a scattered pile of water bottles at the edge of the path, and just in front of them, a folded scrap of paper fluttering faintly in the breeze.