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FOUR DAYS HAD PASSED.
The room was dark. And Adeline found herself to be cold. The air was motionless and silent, curtains drawn shut to obscure the rising sun. This had been her reality since their arrival in Alexandria: confined to a bed in order to get better. The events of the last month, a blur of a chaos and grief, was something she still didn't know how to take in, and she struggled to register everything that had happened. The death of Tyresse, and how in his absence she only now realized how much she'd grown to care for him. How deeply she missed him, and Beth. Hershel.
Now, she was locked in a place with unfamiliar faces. She had her family, but it felt like at any second she could lose them, too. Adeline clung to hopes that seemed to recede with each passing day, elusive and taunting. But five hours had gone by since she was given the go-ahead to leave the infirmary, where she spent three solid days of being poked and prodded by Pete Anderson, the community's doctor.
Today would finally be the day she had her interview with Deanna Monroe, who was the appointed leader. Everyone else passed with flying colors the day they arrived, but Adeline ended up being a special case with a heavy loss of infirmary supplies. She pushed the thought aside, forcing herself out of bed, fighting against the dizziness and nausea that assailed her with the sudden movement.
She shrugged off the thick comforter with a grunt of effort, grateful for the soft mattress that had eased the aches of the road. Standing to her feet, she reached for the lamps pull string by the bed, and a dim light flooded into the room. Shadows were cast against the beige painted walls, which stood decorated by numerous paintings.
The floorboards groaned under her weight, and Adeline glanced down at the digital clock that, to her disbelief, worked. The time read 9:32, which gave her a good fifteen minutes to get ready before she was to be at the interview, which was nothing but an ailen concept to her. But if she remembered correctly, Glenn would be waiting outside to show her the way so she wouldn't get lost.
Dressing was a battle, particularly the stubborn buttons of her jeans, but nevertheless, she prevailed. She slipped a black jacket over her shoulders, and abandoned the idea of zipping it up after two failed attempts. Feet incased in socks were quickly stuffed into pre-tied Converse, and a glance was thrown over her shoulder in search of her weapons.
Only to realize they were nowhere to be seen. They were locked away, in the armory along with all the others. They wouldn't even let her keep her throwing knives, which nearly bummed her out as much as her machete. It left her feeling exposed, stripped of a part of her identity. Then she remembered she wouldn't even be of help in her state, so Adeline attempted to calm her nerves as she left the quiet bedroom.
The house lay in a hush, mirroring the stillness of the hallway she stepped into. Upon entering the kitchen, Adeline's gaze fell upon Abraham Ford, who had fallen victim to sleeps warm embrace on the counter. She spotted the steaming cup of coffee resting dangerously close to his arms, and decided she wouldn't wake him. Instead, she gently repositioned the mug and offered a silent, reassuring squeeze to his shoulder.
