Unbreakable threads

Chapter Seventy Three: Trapped in terminus.

Rick stood, wiping his hands on his pants as he looked at her. "Good call," he said simply, his voice steady.

Alyssa nodded, her gaze still fixed on the gates of Terminus. "If they make us give up our weapons," she said quietly, "we'll still have something. We're not going in blind."

The group exchanged glances, their unease mirrored in one another's eyes. They knew Alyssa's instincts, sharp as they were, came from a place of mistrust and rage. But right now, that edge might be the thing that kept them alive.

Michonne's gaze shifted to Alyssa as she crouched by the freshly buried weapons. For a moment, Michonne was struck by the sight of her—barely 18, her youthful face hardened by the scars of survival, her every move calculated, her every thought steeped in ruthless strategy. This wasn't how kids were supposed to be. She thought of Carl, younger than Alyssa, and how he still managed to retain fragments of his innocence despite everything. He wasn't like this. He hadn't turned into... whatever Alyssa was becoming.

Alyssa wasn't just surviving—she was thriving in a way that unnerved Michonne. Strategic, ruthless, and dangerously close to the edge. There was no hesitation in her, no second-guessing. She was fire and steel, a perfect reflection of her father, and it scared Michonne in a way she couldn't quite explain.

Her unease grew as she looked at Rick, standing a few feet away, staring toward the gates of Terminus with a determined expression. He had the same fire in him, the same edge that had nearly destroyed him. And now, he was feeding it in Alyssa. Encouraging it. He hadn't even looked twice at Michonne when she'd tried to convey her concern with a glance. He was focused, single-minded, as if the rest of the world didn't exist.

Michonne stepped closer to Rick, lowering her voice to keep the others from hearing. "Rick," she said quietly, her tone laced with concern. "She's a kid."

Rick glanced at her. "She's not a kid anymore," he said simply, his voice low and steady.

"She's 18," Michonne pressed, her tone sharper now. "She shouldn't have to think this way. She shouldn't be this... ruthless. This strategic. Carl's younger than her, and he's not—"

"She's different," Rick interrupted, his gaze cutting to Michonne. There was no anger in his voice, but there was a firmness that told her he wasn't interested in debating. "She's got fire.. And that's what's kept her alive. What's kept us alive."

Michonne stared at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That fire," she said slowly, "it almost destroyed you. It could destroy her, too."

Rick ignored Michonne's words, his jaw tightening as he stared down into the yard of Terminus. His mind was already made up, the suspicion and unease curling in his gut not enough to hold him back. "Come on," he said, his voice low and firm, as he motioned toward the gates. "Now's as good a time as any."

Alyssa stepped forward, falling into step beside him, her hand hovering near her holster. She didn't say anything, but her presence beside Rick was enough—she was ready for whatever lay ahead. Behind them, Daryl, Michonne, and Carl hesitated, hanging back slightly, their weapons still drawn. Daryl exchanged a wary look with Michonne, but neither said a word. This was happening, whether they were ready or not.

Rick and Alyssa reached the first gate, their movements deliberate as Rick pushed it open. The metal creaked slightly, but the yard beyond remained silent. The two of them stepped inside, their postures tense and alert, while the others followed a few paces behind.

The yard was eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that put Alyssa's nerves on edge. As they moved deeper inside, a man emerged from a nearby tower. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a disarming smile that didn't reach his eyes. His voice was friendly, but there was an undercurrent of calculation in his tone.