Looking out the window, I watched the trees pass by and occasionally saw a few walkers. It had been a long time since I had enjoyed the calm and peace of a car ride. The two men in the front were talking about me and what they were going to do. Both wanted to ensure the safety of the group they lived with. Bringing along a stranger who hadn't said a word since the beginning of the trip wasn't exactly a great idea.

"What were you doing the day before the apocalypse?" asked the man in the passenger seat. Unlike the other, he posed a question that wasn't crucial but more personal.

A bit confused, I turned my gaze away from the window and let my mind wander back to that day—the last happy memory I had with my family. I began to answer his question, and the man driving turned his head toward me. He had asked me questions before—about how I'd survived or ended up here—but I hadn't answered. Seeing me respond to the other man must have surprised him.

"The day before the apocalypse, I was driving my car, listening to the latest songs on the radio, singing the few choruses I knew, and feeling joyful at the thought of a good meal with my family. A few minutes later, I arrived home. I rushed to take off my jacket and shoes, and I saw my little sister's face in the distance, a big smile lighting it up. She was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen—her beauty was unparalleled. I loved her so much. I miss her every day, every hour, every minute."

I lowered my head, staring at my fingers to avoid meeting the gazes of the men in the car. The driver, whose hair was gray, glanced at me in the rearview mirror, raising an eyebrow.

"That doesn't tell me how you ended up here or how you survived alone," he said coldly. His tone revealed his irritation at my earlier silence, but I didn't want to push him further.

"Sorry, I got lost in my memories. They're all dead. Even her. I'm sorry if you were expecting a happy ending or something, but that's not the case. Like you, I've lost everything because of this apocalypse."

I glanced at the rearview mirror, noticing him already watching me. I heard him take a deep breath, while the man next to him turned toward me with a sympathetic expression.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said before looking back at the road. In another situation, I might have thanked him, but at that moment, I was focused on making a good impression so I wouldn't be sent back to wander the forest alone and unarmed. I had no ammunition left, and the driver had confiscated my knife, probably fearing I might use it against them.

"Listen," the driver said. "You're going to answer my questions carefully now. If your answers are satisfactory, we'll consider keeping you with our group. If not, we'll send you back where you came from."

He stopped the car, his words carrying the weight of a threat or a warning: "If I were you, I'd choose my words carefully." I nodded and motioned for him to continue.

He exchanged a glance with the younger, dark-haired man, then turned back to me. His expression made it clear he didn't trust me, but I tried to ignore it. Running a hand through his hair, he began his questions.

"How many walkers have you killed?"
"A lot. Like everyone else. I haven't kept count, but it's a fair number."

"Who are you?"
"Light. That's my name. I had an ordinary job before, like anyone else, and I learned to survive on my own."

Lie, I whispered to myself. I wasn't about to give them my real identity or my full story—only the bare minimum, and even that wasn't true. At the sound of my name, I noticed the driver narrow his eyes slightly. I hoped he wouldn't question me further.

"My name's Rick, and this is Glenn," he said, gesturing to the younger man. I looked at them both, a bit surprised they didn't seem suspicious.

"I have one last question. How many people have you killed? And don't lie to me." His tone turned cold and authoritative. I took a breath before answering, a bit hesitantly.

"One."

Silence filled the car. He didn't believe me; I could tell. But he left room for doubt.

"Who was it?"
"A friend I made on the road. She was bitten and asked me to end her suffering. So I did."

Rick nodded and turned his attention back to the road, restarting the car. He must have been somewhat convinced by my response. I mentally congratulated myself, relieved at the thought of finally finding people to stay with—people I might be able to count on. The idea of a decent meal also filled me with hope.

"Forgive me for asking, but how did someone like you survive without a group? That's not a criticism, just surprising these days," Glenn asked.

Hearing his words, I lifted my head, unsure how to respond, so I improvised. "My father was a hunter. I already had some basic shooting skills. As for the rest, I learned on the go with the person who used to travel with me. I was even injured at one point. While looking for a safe place in the forest, another group confronted us and started shooting. Luckily, the man firing wasn't very skilled."

I smiled faintly, remembering how narrowly I'd escaped. Glenn seemed intrigued by the story and turned toward me. "Do you have medical knowledge? How did you treat yourself?"

From their expressions, it became clear they were hoping I might have medical skills, which could make me more valuable. But I didn't. "No, not at all. The woman who was with me and I fled, searching desperately for help. Eventually, we found a farm. It was inhabited by—"

Glenn's eyes widened at my words, and I froze, worried I'd said something wrong. Rick interrupted me before I could finish.

"Who lived on the farm? I want names, descriptions—everything you remember," Rick demanded, his tone sharp. Glenn now seemed more reassured, though I couldn't read his exact thoughts.

"The man who treated me was named Hershel. He was older, I'd say elderly. He lived with his family. I remember one of his daughters, Maggie, who gave me some clothes. After that, I don't recall much. I left as soon as I could to continue my journey."

Glenn broke into a wide smile and grabbed Rick's shoulder. "She's one of ours, Rick. We can't deny it. We have to bring her back with us."

Rick seemed reassured as well but kept his eyes on the road. "Hershel and Maggie are part of our group. Why didn't you stay with them at the farm if you were looking for safety?" he asked in his usual stern tone.

"Because the farm wasn't ours. We didn't want to impose on their family. We thought we'd find a place to survive on our own, but it didn't work out that way."

I said the last sentence with sadness. I wished my friend had survived. Her death was my fault, and no one could convince me otherwise.

The car stopped in front of a gated prison. Someone inside opened the gate for us, and Rick drove in, parking near what seemed to be the surveillance corridor overlooking the courtyard. Before getting out, Rick turned to me.

"I have to warn you—the others will be cautious, and that's normal. For now, I won't return your weapons. You'll have to earn my trust first."

He opened his door and stepped out. Glenn opened mine, giving me a timid smile. I got out and walked alongside them toward the woman who had opened the gate.

To my surprise, I recognized Maggie's face. She was a beautiful woman with blue eyes and brown hair. She smiled brightly at Glenn before turning to me with a puzzled expression, trying to figure out who I was and why I was there.

When she saw the black mask and chain I still wore, her face lit up. "Light, is that really you? Your hair—what happened to you?" she asked, stepping closer and gently placing a hand on my shoulder.

"She helped us out when we ran into trouble with some walkers while looking for supplies for Judith. In the car, she said she knew you and Hershel, so we brought her back," Rick explained.

Maggie nodded and smiled softly at Rick before her eyes drifted to my knees, scraped and visible through the holes in my jeans from a fall. "Follow me. I'll disinfect your wounds, and then you can meet the others."

I nodded and followed the group. Along the way, the three of them discussed the supplies Rick and Glenn had brought back for Judith.

When we reached the entrance, an older woman with gray hair carrying water frowned at me but didn't stop to talk. Rick's warning echoed in my mind—it would take time to earn this group's trust.

As Glenn kissed Maggie on the cheek and headed off to patrol the area, Maggie led the way into the prison. She turned to check if I was following, but Rick stopped me with his arm before I could enter.

"Wait here a few minutes. I'll let the others know first," he instructed before heading inside with Maggie.

I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets and leaned against the wall, waiting for him to call me in. As time passed, I began to wonder what was taking so long. I moved closer to the door, pressing my ear against it to catch any sound.

I could make out Rick and Hershel's voices, along with several others. I couldn't tell how many people were inside, but there were more than I'd expected.

"Who are you exactly?" a woman's voice startled me. I turned around, realizing she had caught me eavesdropping like a child.

"And who are you?" I shot back, still a bit shaken.

It was the gray-haired woman from earlier. She didn't seem very friendly, and my response hadn't pleased her.