Chapter Text
The morning air was cold enough to sting.
Most people hated training before sunrise.
She preferred it.
The Sanctuary was quieter before the rest of the world woke up. No shouting. No arguing. No pointless conversations she had no interest in being a part of.
Just the scrape of boots against dirt and the sharp crack of wood striking wood.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of the practice sword resting against her shoulder.
Across from her stood Gavin.
A Savior nearly twice her age. Even if he wasn't the biggest man in the Sanctuary, he was still considerably larger than her, broader through the shoulders and carrying enough muscle to make most people think twice before picking a fight with him.
She wasn't most people.
He already looked exhausted.
"You're smiling," she observed.
Gavin groaned.
"That's because you're enjoying this."
A corner of her mouth twitched.
"Maybe."
"You're sick."
A few nearby Saviors laughed.
She ignored them.
The crowd had started gathering ten minutes ago, drawn in by the possibility of seeing Gavin finally win one.
He never did.
Gavin shifted his stance.
Her eyes immediately caught the movement.
Left side.
Predictable.
The moment he lunged, she moved.
The wooden blade cracked against his wrist.
His weapon slipped from his grip.
Before it even hit the ground, she stepped forward.
One strike to his ribs.
A second to his chest.
The force of it drove him back a step.
Then the tip of her sword stopped beneath his chin.
Silence settled over the training yard.
Gavin stared at her.
She stared right back.
"Dead."
The crowd burst into laughter.
"Oh, that's rough."
"Again, Gavin."
"You should just retire."
Someone actually started clapping.
Gavin rolled his eyes and bent down to retrieve his weapon.
"This is why nobody likes you."
"People like me."
"No," he corrected. "People are scared of you."
For a moment, she considered that.
Maybe he had a point.
Without bothering to answer, she turned away.
The match was over.
She crossed the yard toward a nearby weapons rack, lowering the practice sword as she walked.
Rows of weapons hung from the wooden frame.
Knives.
Axes.
Guns.
A few rusting blades that nobody had touched in months.
Most of them were neglected.
Only one wasn't.
Her hand wrapped around the familiar grip.
The sword slid free with a soft metallic whisper.
The weight settled naturally into her palm.
Comfortable.
Familiar.
Reliable.
She'd been carrying the sword since she was thirteen.
Long enough that it felt like an extension of her arm rather than a weapon, it was beautiful in a way other weapons werent.
Silver engravings curled across the hilt, worn smooth in places by years of use. Small red stones sat embedded in the metal, dulled by age but still catching the light when it hit them just right.
Guns were useful, sure.
She carried one like everyone else.
But guns were loud.
Messy.
They attracted more attention from both people nearby and walkers.
A blade was quieter.
Cleaner.
More dependable.
And unlike her gun, the sword had once belonged to her mother.
Now it belonged to her.
She secured the sword across her back before turning away.
"Your dad's looking for you."
The voice came from somewhere behind the crowd.
The amusement she'd been feeling vanished instantly.
Not because she was afraid.
At least, that's what she told herself.
But if Negan was looking for her this early in the morning, it meant something was wrong.
Or he wanted something.
Neither option was usually good.
Gavin noticed the shift immediately.
"See?"
She glanced over her shoulder.
"See what?"
"That."
"What?"
He pointed at her.
"You look terrified."
Before he could react, she smacked him in the stomach with the flat side of the practice sword.
Gavin doubled over with a curse.
The crowd erupted into laughter all over again.
This time she left before anyone could say anything else.
The laughter faded behind her with every step.
The further she walked, the quieter everything became.
Dirt gave way to cracked concrete.
The cold morning air settled heavier against her skin.
Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the low hum of people beginning their day.
But all she could focus on was the familiar knot tightening in her stomach.
Negan didn't call for people unless he wanted something.
She knocked once before pushing the door open.
Negan barely looked up.
He was sitting behind a desk, boots propped on top of it, flipping through a notebook she doubted he'd actually read.
The room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.
"Morning, sunshine."
She shut the door behind her.
"You know it's not even sunrise yet."
"See? That's the kind of positive attitude I like."
She rolled her eyes.
Negan grinned.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
That wasn't unusual.
Negan had a habit of making people wait.
Most found it intimidating.
She found it annoying.
Finally, he tossed the notebook aside.
"How's Gavin?"
"Alive."
"Barely?"
"Barely."
"Good."
A laugh escaped him.
Then the amusement faded.
Not completely.
Just enough.
And immediately she knew this wasn't a social visit.
Negan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
"You heard anything about Alexandria?"
There it was.
She shook her head.
"Only what everyone else has heard."
"Hm."
His fingers drummed against the wood.
"They're interesting."
She remained silent.
Negan liked hearing himself talk.
Interrupting usually made conversations longer.
"Small community. Strong walls. Good leadership."
"Sounds boring."
"No," Negan said. "Boring people don't wipe out one of my outposts."
The room went quiet.
She hadn't forgotten.
Nobody had.
The Savior deaths were still being talked about every day.
Negan's smile returned, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Rick Grimes."
She'd heard the name before.
Everyone had.
"What's special about him?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
He stood, moving around the desk.
Slowly.
Thoughtfully.
The way he did whenever something was bothering him.
"He shows up out of nowhere."
He held up a finger.
"Takes out my people."
Another finger.
"Still breathing."
A third.
"And somehow thinks that's gonna work out for him."
She crossed her arms.
"So kill him."
Negan barked out a laugh.
"Oh, sweetheart."
He stopped in front of her.
"That's why I'm in charge."
His hand briefly squeezed her shoulder.
Not hard.
Just enough to make his point.
"Dead people don't tell me anything."
She fought the urge to roll her eyes.
"Then what do you want?"
Negan's expression sharpened.
"There it is."
He stepped away.
"I want information."
That made more sense.
"On Rick?"
"On all of them."
He pointed toward the window.
"How many fighters."
Another point.
"What they eat."
Another.
"How they live."
Another.
"Who matters."
That last one made her pause.
Negan noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
"You can learn a lot about a person by seeing who they protect."
He turned back toward the desk.
"Rick's got a son."
She shrugged.
"So?"
Negan smiled.
Not the joking smile.
The thinking smile.
"The kid carries a gun."
Silence.
"He goes outside the walls."
Silence.
"People listen to him."
That was unusual.
Even she knew that.
Most communities kept kids protected.
Hidden away.
Safe.
Negan watched her carefully.
"I want to know why."
She looked at him for a moment.
Then nodded.
A simple scouting mission.
Nothing complicated.
Nothing she hadn't done before.
"How close can I get?"
Negan considered the question.
Then pointed at her.
"Close enough to learn something."
His voice hardened slightly.
"But not close enough to get caught."
The warning sat between them.
She nodded once.
"I won't."
Negan's eyes held hers for a second longer.
Like he was deciding whether he believed that.
Then he smiled again.
"There she is."
The tension disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
"Now get outta here."
She turned toward the door.
"Oh—and kid?"
She stopped.
"Yeah?"
Negan leaned back in his chair.
"If Rick Grimes' kid shoots you..."
A grin spread across his face.
"...I'm gonna be really disappointed."
She nodded once.
"Not planning on it."
Negan smirked.
"Good answer."
Without another word, she turned and headed for the door.
"Kid."
Her hand paused on the handle.
She glanced back.
Negan was still leaning in his chair, one boot propped against the desk.
For a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else.
Something that wasn't about Alexandria.
Something that wasn't about Rick Grimes.
Instead, he simply jerked his chin toward the door.
"Be careful."
The words were casual.
Almost careless.
But she knew him well enough to hear what he actually meant.
Come back.
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Always am."
Negan snorted.
"That's a lie and we both know it."
She rolled her eyes and stepped out into the hallway before he could keep talking.
The door clicked shut behind her.
The hallway was quieter than the training yard.
Quieter than Negan's office.
The only sounds were distant footsteps and the faint hum of voices drifting through the concrete corridors.
She walked without rushing.
There was no point.
The assignment wasn't changing.
By this time tomorrow, she'd be somewhere outside Alexandria.
Watching.
Listening.
Learning.
A few Saviors passed her in the hallway.
Some nodded.
Others stepped aside without thinking.
She barely noticed.
Her mind was already elsewhere.
Rick Grimes.
Alexandria.
The kid.
What was so special about him?
Negan had mentioned him three times during their conversation.
That alone was enough to make her curious.
By the time she reached her room, the questions hadn't gone away.
She pushed the door open.
The room was small.
A bed.
A dresser.
A backpack sitting in the corner.
Nothing more.
Nothing she didn't need.
Her sword rested against the wall beside the bed.
Morning light slipped through the narrow window, catching the silver engravings along the hilt.
For a moment she simply stared at it.
Then she crossed the room and picked it up.
The familiar weight settled against her palm.
Steady.
Reliable.
She fastened it across her back before kneeling beside the backpack.
A canteen.
A flashlight.
A spare magazine.
Dried food.
Knife.
Everything went in without much thought.
Years of scouting had turned preparation into muscle memory.
When she finished, she stood and slung the bag over her shoulder.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Maybe it was because she knew she wouldn't be back for a while.
Maybe it was because Alexandria already occupied too much space in her thoughts.
She shook the feeling away.
Curiosity got people killed.
That's what Negan always said.
Yet as she stepped out of the room and headed toward the Sanctuary gates, she couldn't help wondering about the boy she'd been sent to watch.
Rick Grimes' son.
The one carrying a gun.
The one Negan found so interesting.
Soon enough, she'd find out why.