fifty-seven

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𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗙𝗜𝗙𝗧𝗬-𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡
( 𝘏𝘖𝘓𝘋 𝘚𝘞𝘈𝘠. )

MURPHY GRIPPED ONTO DARYL'S HAND like it was her lifeline

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MURPHY GRIPPED ONTO DARYL'S HAND like it was her lifeline... like it was her life source. Now that she had him back, it felt like the birds sang a little louder and the breeze felt a little fresher. How she managed to get through these past weeks was a miracle, as the energy she now had was overwhelming. As the group marched back into Hilltop's governing house, they had a newfound powerful air about them. They were confident— ready to take back their freedom and all that was stolen from them. They would avenge the lives that were lost.

To do that, however, they would unfortunately need to get through one man: Gregory.

"No! No way in hell. That was not the deal. You people swore you could take the Saviors out, and you failed. So any arrangement we had is now done. Null and void. We aren't trade partners, we aren't friends, and we never met. Hmm? We don't no each other," he lectured as he sat down at his ornate desk. "I owe you nothing. In fact, you owe me for taking in the refugees at great personal risk."

Murphy rolled her eyes. Daryl noticed her frustration and put a strong arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side while his other hand tucked into his back pocket. His upper back rested against the mahogany bookshelves behind them.

Jesus stepped forward. "Oh, you were very brave staying in here while Maggie, Sasha, and Murphy saved this place. Your courage was inspiring."

"Hey, don't you work for me? Aren't we friends?" Gregory asked condescendingly.

"Gregory, we already started this," Rick tried.

"You started it."

"We did! And we're gonna win."

"These are killers!"

"Is this how you wanna live? Under their thumb, killing your people?" Rick's voice became strained under the weight of his guilt.

"Sometimes we don't get to choose what our life looks like. Sometimes, Ricky, you have to count the blessings you have." Gregory's wide blue eyes, ignorant of the situation, pierced the Alexandrians' gazes.

"You always have a choice," Murphy voiced from the back of the room. "So how many people can you spare? How many people here can fight?"

Gregory narrowed his eyes and chuckled ruefully. "I don't even know how many people we have, darlin'."

A low rumbling growl sounded within Daryl's chest and he pushed himself off of the shelves behind him. Murphy set a hand on his torso without making eye contact— a silent gesture to keep him calm. His crystal eyes bored into Gregory, who shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

The leader of Hilltop cleared his throat under Daryl's look and waved them away. "Does it even matter? I mean... w-what are you gonna do? Start a platoon of sorghum farmers? 'Cause that's what we got. They grow things. They're not gonna want to fight."

𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧, daryl dixonWhere stories live. Discover now