In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
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Once Negan left, Simon slipped in like a shadow, filling the doorway before Tessa even had time to process being alone.
"Come on," he said, already reaching for her arm.
She recoiled instantly, swatting his hand away. "I can walk without you grabbing me, asshole."
Simon paused—then laughed, low and amused. "Yeah... now I see why Negan likes you. You've got bite."
Before she could respond, his hand snapped around her arm anyway. His grip was firm, deliberate, like he wanted her to feel exactly how little choice she had. He tugged her forward, steering her out of the room.
Tessa stumbled once but caught herself, refusing to give him the satisfaction. She rolled her eyes, jaw tight, even as her pulse raced. Fear curled in her stomach—but underneath it, something hot and stubborn burned.
They moved quickly through the Sanctuary. Down a long hallway that smelled like metal and disinfectant. Past closed doors. Past people who didn't look at her long enough to see her as human. Then up a stairwell, each step heavier than the last, until Simon shoved her into a small room and followed just long enough to make his point.
"Alright. Here we are," he said casually. "Clean up. I'll bring you some clothes after. And don't take too long—Negan's waiting."
Tessa crossed her arms and leaned against the doorway, glaring at him like she could burn a hole straight through his skull. "And what the hell could he possibly want with me?"
Simon's smirk didn't reach his eyes. "Here's some advice, cupcake. Don't mouth off. Don't argue. Just listen. Smile. Agree." He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Do that, maybe you walk out fine. Don't—and it'll go real bad for you."
He tapped the doorframe with his knuckles—once, twice—then stepped out.
The lock clicked shut.
The sound echoed louder than it should've.
Tessa stood there for a long moment, chest rising and falling as she forced herself to breathe. Then she turned slowly, taking in the room like she was cataloging a cage.
Dim. Stark. Bare.
A bed pressed against one wall. A nightstand with nothing on it. A tiny kitchen shoved into the corner, cold and impersonal. No warmth. No softness. No sign that anyone lived here—only that people endured here.
On the far side, a closed bathroom door waited.
She stepped inside—and the mirror betrayed her immediately.
Her reflection looked wrecked. Tangled hair clinging to her face. Dark circles bruised beneath her eyes. Dried blood streaked across her cheek, down her arms, crusted into the fabric of her shirt. She barely recognized the woman staring back.
Her jaw tightened as she shoved her hair back from her forehead.
"Jesus," she whispered.
Her hands trembled as she gripped the sink, grounding herself. Don't fall apart. Not yet.
"Shower," she muttered. "I need a damn shower."
She stripped quickly, peeling the ruined clothes from her skin like they didn't belong to her anymore, and tossed them into a heap on the floor. Then she stepped under the spray.
The water came hot—too hot. It scalded her cuts, every droplet biting into raw skin. She hissed sharply, knuckles whitening as she braced herself against the tile.
She scrubbed harder. Again. And again.
Blood, dirt, sweat—all of it spiraled down the drain like fading ghosts she couldn't quite outrun. Her skin burned, but she didn't stop. Pain was better than thinking.
Eventually, her strength gave out.
She slid down until she was sitting in the tub, knees pulled in, the water pounding relentlessly against her back. The sound filled her head, drowning out everything else—like being dragged underwater.
That's when the thoughts came.
Glenn. Abraham. Daryl. Rick.
Her family.
Her chest tightened painfully. Her breaths turned shallow, fast, desperate, like her lungs couldn't pull in enough air. Her pulse hammered in her ears—loud, frantic—like a ticking clock she couldn't stop.
Get it together. You can't break now.
Then—
Three sharp knocks.
Tessa's eyes flew open. She sucked in a sharp gasp, the sound tearing through the steam.
"Time's up, sweetheart," Simon drawled from the other side of the door.
The water kept running.
And for a split second longer, she stayed exactly where she was—gathering the shattered pieces of herself—before she had to face him again.
