Family.

That was what they had become, whether any of them had meant for it to happen or not. The Survivors had endured too much together to be anything else. They had buried friends, fought through hordes, watched people they loved disappear, and somehow kept putting one foot in front of the other.

And now, finally, they had Alexandria.

It wasn’t perfect. Nothing was anymore. The walls could fall. The dead could find a way in. People could turn on each other. But compared to the roads, abandoned buildings, and sleepless nights they’d grown accustomed to, Alexandria almost felt like a home.

Autumn had settled over the community, painting the trees in faded reds, oranges, and golds. Leaves scraped across the streets whenever the wind picked up, gathering against the fences and the bases of the houses. The air had grown noticeably colder, carrying that sharp, earthy smell that came with the changing season. For once, there was no immediate threat looming over them.

After everything they’d endured with the Wolves, they finally had a little time to breathe.

Well—not exactly relax. They were still survivors, after all.

Guest was the closest person to Abraham, the one person he trusted enough to let his guard down around. The only one he could truly confide in when the weight of everything became too much. They understood each other in a way that didn’t always require words.

And they felt safe with him. Safer, perhaps, than they felt with anyone else.

Living next door to each other in Alexandria had only made them closer. What had started as simple familiarity had slowly become friendship—something almost normal in a world that had forgotten what normal was supposed to feel like.

That afternoon, Abraham was stationed in the guard tower, his rifle resting within easy reach as he watched the road beyond Alexandria’s walls. The wind tugged at his red hair and beard, and every so often his eyes swept across the tree line, searching for movement.

Nothing. Just the rustle of leaves. The distant creak of the gates. The quiet sounds of Alexandria carrying on below.

When the others finally returned from their run, Abraham caught sight of them through the gaps in the wooden railing. They were coming back in just as his shift was ending.

He adjusted the strap of his rifle before heading down. His heavy boots struck against each wooden step with a dull, echoing thud, each footfall carrying through the otherwise quiet tower.

At the bottom, he stepped out into the crisp autumn air.

For a moment, Abraham simply stood there.

The sun was beginning to lower, casting long shadows across the streets and turning the tops of the trees a warm, fading gold. Leaves skittered over the pavement around his boots.