Michonne's mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile but could not be bothered.
She still said nothing, only stared coldly at Calista, looking from her dust-streaked face to the holster at her waist, then over the tears in her combat uniform.
That look seemed to be weighing whether she was worth trusting.
Carver was irritated by the way she looked at them and gave a derisive snort.
Calista paid it no mind. She knew Michonne's character. Besides, Michonne's hands were still tied behind her back, and she could not even stand up.
Taking advantage of that brief gap, where the hostility seemed to have eased a little, Calista turned her attention to Carver beside her.
The wound on his arm was still bleeding, and most of his sleeve had already been stained red.
"Don't move. Let me take a look," Calista said, stepping forward.
Carver instinctively tried to pull his hand back, muttering, "It's just a scratch. I'm fine..."
"Carver, stop trying to tough it out." Calista cut him off, reaching out to undo his blood-soaked sleeve and carefully inspect the wound.
The cut was not deep, but it was long. It needed to be cleaned and stitched.
She frowned. Michonne had not held back much.
Should she be grateful Michonne had gone easy on her?
After all, it had been an ambush from behind. If Michonne had stayed silent and brought the knife down, Calista would have been dead.
Carver felt Calista's fingers touch his skin, and his body stiffened at once.
He forced his face to stay stern, deliberately avoiding her focused expression and fixing his stare on Michonne across from him instead, as if that could hide the awkwardness inside him and that trace of inexplicable panic.
Calista did not notice anything strange about him. Or rather, she had no attention to spare for it.
With a clean rip, she tore another, wider strip of cloth from the hem of her inner shirt and used it to press down on Carver's wound and bandage it.
After tearing off two strips, Calista's shirt had been shortened to her ribs. Luckily, she still had a tactical vest over it.
"When we get back, have Ethan put a few stitches in it. It'll be trouble if it gets infected," she said while bandaging him.
Carver gave a muffled "Mm."
As Calista wrapped the wound, the ends of her hair occasionally brushed across his arm, bringing a faint tickling sensation. It made him even more uneasy, and the tips of his ears warmed slightly.
Carver could only turn that strange restlessness into an even fiercer glare at Michonne.
After dealing with Carver's wound, Calista turned back to Michonne.
"Our people are in the house next door," Calista continued, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's hard enough to stay alive these days. We don't want to fight you. If you're staying here too, we'll leave right now, and we can each go our own way."
Michonne let out the faintest sound from her throat, like she had just heard a joke.
Her gaze moved between Calista and Carver. At last, she spoke. "You're not raiders?"
"If we were raiders, you'd already be dead," Carver said with contempt.
Michonne's gaze drifted toward the blackness outside, her eyes briefly empty. "There's a group of raiders nearby. I thought you were them."
She did not say more, but Calista understood. Michonne was explaining why she had attacked her earlier.
Carver said resentfully, "Do we look like raiders to you?"
Michonne was silent for a moment. "You do. She doesn't. If you'd been the one to come down first, I probably would've stabbed you first. Then you wouldn't have caught me."
Carver felt his wound hurt even more.
Calista pointed at the katana near the wall. "Your weapon. We can give it back. Let's make this clear. We're really not here to take your place. If you want to leave, we won't stop you."
It was a gamble. A bet that this woman still had some reason in her.
Michonne's gaze followed her words to the blade in the corner, and her fingers moved slightly.
But she quickly looked back at Calista, her eyes clearly saying, Why should I trust you?
Even if they were not raiders, there were almost no good people left in this world who would hand a dangerous weapon back to a stranger.
Of course, Calista was not that kind of person either. She was just saying what sounded good.
Besides, Calista did not want to let Michonne go. She wanted to see whether she could win her over and add another fighter to the team.
The three of them remained locked in a standoff, with endless darkness both inside and outside the house.
"Listen," Calista said again, her voice much calmer now. "We were only scouting. We saw something strange about this house and worried there might be a threat, so we came in to check."
She pointed upstairs. "I didn't know that was your... 'early warning system.' This is a misunderstanding. We're not trying to invade your territory."
"Your 'partners' are outside," Calista said, choosing her words carefully to avoid provoking her. "But this place isn't completely safe. The place we're staying is the larger house next door. It's sturdier, and there are more of us."
Calista paused and watched Michonne's reaction. "Do you... want to come with us? At least let us deal with the wound on your face?"
She pointed at the small cut on Michonne's brow, giving her a way to step down.
Michonne remained silent.
A full minute passed. Just as Carver was about to assume she would refuse and tense up again, Michonne finally moved.
She did not nod. She did not speak either.
But her poised, ready-to-attack posture relaxed slightly.
Very slowly, with a stubbornness that refused to look like compromise, Michonne shifted to the corner and struggled to stand with her back against the wall.
She moved half a step to the side, clearing the path to the door.
Although her eyes were still cold, that tiny movement was already a kind of silent consent. A signal for a temporary truce.
Michonne had agreed to go with them, at least to the "safe zone" currently under their control.
Calista silently let out a breath of relief.
She knew it would take time before Michonne truly lowered her guard.
"Let's go." Calista signaled to Carver, then went to the corner, picked up Michonne's katana, and walked toward the door first with steady steps.
Carver took a deep breath, endured the pain in his arm, and followed behind Calista while maintaining his guard.
When he passed Michonne, his gaze was still full of warning.
Michonne silently followed them, keeping a distance of several steps.
Calista, Carver, and Michonne, who trailed a few steps behind them like a shadow, returned to the house where the team was staying.
Calista held Michonne's katana in her hand. The blade was cold, and the wooden scabbard carried the worn patina of years of handling.
Calista did not return the katana to Michonne. She only untied Michonne's hands along the way.
The others had not run into any trouble. After dealing with a few scattered walkers, they had all returned to the resting point.
When the door of the house was pushed open, the relatively relaxed atmosphere in the living room froze instantly.