WITH YOU | TWD

[23] WHAT IS LOYALTY?

song: california dreamin'

Charlie's feet carried her down the corridor, the hum of voices pulling her toward the main hall where Negan liked everyone gathered. The Sanctuary always smelled the same—metal, smoke, sweat.

Her mind wasn't on the crowd ahead. It was occupied by one thought that has been haunting her for days. Escape. For it to work, it had to be more than a plan. It had to be perfect. Perfect plan made almost in silence with numerous cigarettes smoked. She never thought she'd start smoking too.

Now, walking among the Saviors, it felt impossible. Every soldier with a rifle was another locked gate. She realized that it was more than a prison for her, walls had eyes and doors had ears. Beside, she didn't know the place. Charlie's fingers brushed the bead between them.

Dwight fed another log into the furnace, the flames licking greedily at the wood. Every pair of eyes kept drifting toward where Negan stood with Lucille resting easily in his hand, his grin wide and lazy—as if this were entertainment, not an execution waiting to happen.

Charlie remained standing.

All around her, bodies folded to the floor, knees hitting concrete in unison. Submission. Gratitude. Loyalty. But she stayed upright, spine stiff, jaw clenched. Her stomach twisted violently, dread coiling tight inside her chest. The air felt heavy, charged—like the moment before lightning split the sky.

"You..." Negan's voice rang out, sharp and deliberate.

Charlie looked at Negan without emotion as his finger pointed directly at her.

"...are gonna want to pay close attention to this."

The room seemed to tilt.

Negan moved fast. One second he was smiling, the next his hand came down hard across the doctor's face. The crack of impact echoed louder than the fire. The man stumbled, barely catching himself before collapsing to his knees.

"I haven't done anything!" the doctor cried, voice thin and shaking.

Negan reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it up between two fingers like a prize. "Found this little souvenir."

Color drained from the doctor's face. "It's not my idea!"

"No... no," Negan said softly, shaking his head. Almost gentle. "Of course not your idea. I know." His eyes sharpened. "Whose?"

Charlie's pulse roared in her ears as Negan turned toward the furnace. He reached for the heavy iron resting near the flames. The metal glowed faintly, heat radiating from it.

The doctor sobbed. "It was not me!"

"I know, my guy," he said, voice low. "You know I hate to do this. Just tell me the truth. Whose idea was it?"

The man broke.

"Please—sorry. I'm sorry. I did this. I did. Please..." His words tangled over each other, panic choking him. Then—"Clay! It was Clay! Clay. Please..."

Negan released him and stepped back, dropping the iron with a dull clang. His smile returned, slow and satisfied.

"That's all you had to say."

He shoved the doctor forward. The man screamed as he fell, the sound swallowed by the roar of the flames. The smell of burning flesh filled the room. One of the wives turned abruptly and walked away, heels clicking fast, shoulders rigid.

"Will!" Negan called.

Charlie's head snapped toward her brother.

"Tell me...What's loyalty?"