Unlikely - Daryl Dixion

Rags

I stared up at the massive chandelier that hung in the entryway. It was the kind of thing that smacked you in the face the moment you walked in, a glaring symbol of the wealth my father loved to show off. I used to hate this place. I used to hate him for flaunting it all like this.

The hypocrisy wasn't lost on me. I loved luxury—designer bags, first-class flights—but I'd spent so many years criticizing my parents for flying private jets and living large. Maybe that's why I resented them so much. I was just like them. I'd focused so hard on their mistakes, never seeing how hard they'd worked to get here.

But now... now they were gone.

No, I caught myself, shaking my head. They're not gone, Carmen. Don't go down that road.

I was lost in my thoughts when Merle's voice cut through the fog.

"You live here?" His tone was more surprise than judgment, but he couldn't help adding, "Damn, princess, didn't peg ya for a mansion type." He smirked, looking around. "Could probably fit half the walkers in Georgia in this place. Ain't too shabby."

His words pulled me back to the present. I glanced at him, unsure whether to laugh or snap at him, but all I could manage was a shaky smile.

Sarah, standing beside me, shot him a sharp look. "Can you read the room at all, Merle? Maybe save the jokes for later."

Merle just shrugged, unfazed. "Hey, just sayin'. Big ol' house like this? Bound to be somethin' useful—or dangerous—lurkin' around."

Daryl, clearly done with the chatter, cut in, his voice low but commanding. "Y'all keep it down and keep movin'. We ain't got time for this."

We checked most of the rooms—six bedrooms, four bathrooms—and nothing. No one was here. The eerie silence hung in the air, thicker with each empty room we cleared. Every creak in the floorboards made my heart race, but all we found was more emptiness.

Merle leaned against a doorframe, his arms crossed. "Well, princess, looks like your family ain't home."

Sarah shot him a look, but I could see the worry creeping into her face too. Daryl, flashlight in hand, scanned the hallway. "We ain't done yet," he muttered. "Could be more rooms, or maybe a basement."

We headed down to the basement, the air cooler and the walls closing in as we descended. My heart pounded as we approached the wine cellar—a place my dad used to show off during parties, like it was some kind of treasure trove. I pushed open the door, stepping inside with Daryl and Sarah close behind. The dim light revealed rows of bottles, untouched and undisturbed. No one here.

"No... they're not here," I whispered, the weight of it crashing down on me. My chest tightened, and I could feel the tears begin to stream down my face. I'd held it together for so long, but now, standing in the middle of this cold, empty basement, I couldn't anymore.

Daryl's voice was low, steady. "Carmen, we'll keep lookin'."

But even his calm couldn't stop the ache that ripped through me.

"Look where?" I said to Daryl, my voice barely a whisper as I walked past him and everyone else, not even pausing as I headed up the stairs. Sarah called my name from behind, her voice full of concern, but I didn't stop. I couldn't. My legs moved on their own, leading me straight to my room—the place I had left behind, thinking I'd be back soon, never expecting this.

As I reached the door, my heart clenched. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob for a moment before I pushed it open. The room looked exactly how I'd left it—neatly made bed, clothes still in the closet, pictures on the walls. It was like time had frozen here, everything waiting for me to return.