Unbreakable threads

Chapter One hundred and Seven: Actions have Consequences.

Alyssa didn't say anything, but her silence spoke volumes. She knew the truth of it as well as Rick did. This wasn't the plan, not by any means. But the fire inside her had made it impossible to back down.

Rick's tone shifted, firm and resolute. "Now let us sleep this off," he said, as if ordering the end of the conversation.

Carol, Michonne, Glenn, and Abraham quietly filed out of the room, leaving the two of them in the stillness.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Rick turned to Alyssa, the weight of everything finally catching up to them both. Their bandages, covering their bruises and wounds, mirrored each other in the dim light of the room. It was almost too much to look at, the visible reminders of their rage and the consequences that had come with it.

Alyssa, ever defiant, smirked through the swelling on her lip. "You look like shit, old man," she said, her tone as sharp and biting as always, despite the pain she was in.

Rick couldn't help but chuckle, the sound rough but genuine. It was the first sign of any relief since the chaos began. "Yeah, well, at least I've got company," he said, his voice carrying a tired but affectionate humor.

Alyssa leaned back against the mattress they were sharing, the weight of everything pressing down on her. She let out a tired sigh, her eyes staring up at the ceiling as she tried to make sense of it all.

"Why is it we can come together when we're going insane?" she asked, her voice low. "But on normal days, we're at each other's throats?"

"Maybe it's easier when we're falling apart... less to lose when everything's already broken," he said quietly.

"Guess I am my father's daughter, huh?" she murmured, her voice carrying a quiet self-awareness that wasn't lost on him.

"Yeah, I guess you are," he replied quietly, his voice a little rougher than he intended.

He had never been the father he wanted to be, and now, as he looked at his daughter, he realized just how deeply his mistakes had shaped her.

For a brief moment, he thought about saying more, trying to explain, to bridge the gap between them. But he didn't know how. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, mirroring her quiet reflection.

Alyssa's hands trembled beneath the bandages, the rawness of her emotions showing through despite the external calm. Her face was swollen and bruised, a clear reflection of the violence she'd just endured and dealt out in return. The blood, the cuts, the marks—they all told the story of who she had become.

Rick watched her from the corner of his eye, his thoughts drifting back to when he first met her. She wasn't like this then. She wasn't hardened by the world they were forced to survive in. She had been a young girl, desperate and uncertain, barely an echo of the fierce person sitting beside him now.

He remembered the way she had looked at him outside that hospital in Atlanta, her words sharp and raw, telling him she was his daughter.. the girl he had met had been different—lost, confused, unsure of where she belonged in this broken world.

Now, looking at her, Rick realized how much had changed. Alyssa wasn't the scared child anymore. She was a survivor, a force of nature, someone who could tear into grown men with the kind of ruthless efficiency that had been born of necessity, born of survival. She was 19 now, but she carried herself with the weight of someone much older.

He didn't know how to fix it, didn't know how to make it right, but he knew one thing: Alyssa wasn't the scared girl he had met 3  years ago. She had become something far more complicated, far more capable. And in this world, that was both a blessing and a curse.