Evening came, casting a soft orange glow over the broken walls and bloodstained streets of Alexandria. The air was quiet now—just the low murmur of people picking up the pieces of their shattered safety. The survivors—what was left of —gathered in the open center of the community.
The place felt heavier than ever before. Grief hung in the air like smoke, but for the first time since the attack began, it was calm enough to speak. The wounds weren't healed—far from it—but the worst had passed. Now came the discussion.
I sat near the center, flanked by Daryl on my right and Merle on my left. Daryl was quiet, arms crossed, his eyes sweeping the crowd like a hawk. Merle, ever the loudmouth, was unusually still—maybe even respectful. Maybe.
Across the gathering, I saw Michonne in conversation with Scott and Tobin, their voices low and serious. Michonne's hand rested on her sword hilt, a subtle reminder that peace had a price now. Not far off, Glenn stood with Aiden and Tobin, the three of them deep in discussion. Probably talking about defenses or the possibility of another wave. Glenn had a way of getting people to listen, even when things felt hopeless.
Graves stood beside Jessie, who was speaking to him quietly. Her face was pale, but there was a fire in her eyes—something had shifted in her. Maybe it was survival. Maybe it was vengeance. Either way, she wasn't the same woman who used to decorate her porch and smile politely at town meetings.
At the head of the crowd stood Deanna Monroe.
Her face was composed, but I could see it in her eyes—something inside her had changed. A part of her had died with Reg. The woman who once led with idealism and hope was gone, replaced with someone colder… someone harder. Maybe that's what we needed now.
She took a deep breath and addressed the people.
"We've suffered," she began, her voice strained but steady. "We've lost family, friends… loved ones. But we're still here. And that means something. It means we fight. It means we survive. And it means we rebuild."
The people around us listened, heads bowed. Some wept silently. Others clenched their jaws, holding back tears with sheer will.
I watched her carefully. She was holding it together—for now. But I knew grief. I knew how it changed a person. And Deanna Monroe had been changed forever.
I didn't speak yet. I waited. Watched. Let her words carry weight. But soon, it would be my turn to stand—and to propose what came next.
Deanna stepped forward again, her voice firm despite the weight of the day."I've made my decision," she said. "I will accept Rick's proposal on an alliance."
She turned toward me, her gaze steady. I simply nodded. We hadn't known each other long—barely a few days—but she already trusted me. Not because I asked for it, but because in this world, actions spoke louder than years of friendship.
Deanna continued, "I no longer know what to do. But Rick does. And I will follow his lead."
Then she looked out over the crowd. One by one, the others turned their eyes to me. Their faces were worn, some bruised, others bandaged, but behind all of it, they were looking for direction—for strength.
I rose from my seat slowly. Daryl and Merle shifted beside me but stayed silent. I stepped forward and spoke, voice loud and clear.
"What you all experienced today… it was a trial. You were lucky—until now. This place gave you peace, safety, a false sense of security. But out there?" I pointed toward the wall. "The world doesn't care how peaceful you are. It doesn't care about your fences or good intentions. It only takes."
I scanned the crowd, letting the silence settle in.
"But you're not alone anymore. I'm here. We're here. We didn't come to take over—we came to help. And the first thing we need to do is get rid of the trash still lurking outside these walls. The ones who attacked us today. The Wolves."
I let those words hang heavy in the air.
"They will come back. And next time, they won't leave survivors. That's the truth. I know some of you don't like violence. Hell, I don't either. But if it's the only way to stop monsters like them—then I'll gladly raise my weapon. Again and again."
I stepped forward, raising my voice. "Now I ask you—who's with me?"
My words echoed through the courtyard.
Merle slapped his hand on my back and barked out a laugh."That's one hell of a speech, Ricky boy!"
Around us, the mood shifted. The fear in their eyes didn't vanish—but something else rose up to meet it.
Determination.
Heads began to nod. Shoulders straightened. Even Deanna, eyes glistening, stood a little taller. Aiden placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. Jessie stepped forward with her boys close behind her. Glenn, Michonne, Aaron, Eric—my people—they were already with me. Now Alexandria was starting to follow.
Just as I was about to speak again—to lay out the plan, to strike while the iron was hot—
"Wait!"
The shout cut through the crowd like a blade.
I turned sharply, raising an eyebrow at the voice. Nicholas. He stood near the edge of the gathering, pale, visibly shaking, eyes darting between the people around him. Every pair of eyes shifted toward him.
"What is it?" I asked, my voice low but commanding.
Nicholas swallowed hard, then stammered, "I… I… there's a traitor among us."
The reaction was immediate. Gasps. Whispers. Shock spread across the faces of the survivors like wildfire. Even Merle straightened up beside me, his smirk fading into something colder.
I narrowed my eyes, tension crawling up my spine.
A traitor.
The thought had crossed my mind more than once.
I stepped forward slowly. "Nicholas," I said, voice controlled but heavy with warning, "you better explain yourself. Now."
Nicholas looked down at his feet, then back up, voice trembling. "I don't know who… not exactly. But I saw someone last night… slipping out through the east gate. I didn't think much of it at first. Thought maybe it was one of the lookouts."
He paused, and the crowd leaned in, every word sharp as a knife.
"But then… then I saw them again during the attack. They weren't helping. They were just watching. Watching everything burn."
My heart thudded hard. Someone on the inside had let the Wolves in. Someone who knew the layout, the guard shifts, the weak spots.
I clenched my jaw. "Do you have a name?"
Nicholas hesitated. His mouth opened, then closed again. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. His eyes flicked toward the crowd—once, twice—then settled on someone in particular.
Deanna.
And then Aiden.
Something twisted in my gut.
I stepped closer, narrowing my eyes. "Nicholas," I said, voice low, "if you know something, now's the time. No more games."
His breathing grew shallow. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said it.
"It was… Spencer."
Silence.
No one moved. No one breathed.
And just like that, the fragile unity we'd built over the last hour cracked wide open.
Whispers erupted immediately.
"Spencer?"
"No way—Deanna's son?"
"I knew he ran off!"
Faces turned toward Deanna, then Aiden, who stood frozen in place, mouth parted in shock.
Deanna's face went pale. For a moment, she looked like she'd been shot. Her composure—so carefully held—crumbled as she stared at Nicholas. Her lips trembled, but she didn't speak. Her eyes searched the crowd desperately, as if looking for a version of her son that wasn't a traitor.
Aiden stepped forward. "That's a lie," he snapped, fists clenched. "You don't know what you're saying! Spencer wouldn't do that!"
Nicholas stepped back, defensive. "I saw him! He was near the gate—slipping out. And when the attack happened, he wasn't anywhere near the front lines. Not even helping civilians. He just vanished. I didn't want to say anything without being sure but—come on, we all noticed he was missing."
I raised a hand, calming the rising noise. "Enough!"
The crowd fell quiet again.
I looked at Deanna. Her eyes locked onto mine—wide, lost, full of disbelief. I could see the war inside her. Mother… or leader?
"Do you know where Spencer is?" I asked gently.
She shook her head slowly, her voice barely audible. "No. I haven't seen him since this morning."
Merle leaned over and muttered, "I knew it, that boy smelled like rotten fruit."
Daryl returned from the shadows, having overheard everything. "Want me to go find him?"
I nodded. "Bring him in. Alive."
He turned and slipped back into the darkness.
I stepped forward again. "No one lays a hand on Spencer until we know the truth. But if he did this… if he betrayed us…" I let the rest hang in the air, unfinished but understood.
People shifted uneasily. Trust, once sparked, now flickered.
Deanna turned away, shielding her face. Aiden looked torn between rage and grief. I knew this wasn't over.
If Spencer was guilty… we'd have to make a choice.
And if he wasn't…
Then someone else in this community still had blood on their hands.