Unbreakable threads

Chapter One hundred and Sixteen: Your Stuff Belongs to Negan.

As the truck rumbled down the road, the tension inside was noticeably lighter now that they were all reunited. Daryl kept his eyes on the road, his hands steady on the wheel. Alyssa, sitting in the passenger seat, quietly rested her hand on the edge of her seat, her palm open and facing upward.

Daryl glanced down briefly, his gaze softening. He shifted in his seat slightly, hesitating for a moment before putting his free hand on top of hers. Without a word, he intertwined their fingers, locking them together. His grip was firm but comforting, and Alyssa responded with a gentle squeeze, a small, fleeting smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

In the back of the truck, Abraham and Sasha exchanged a look. Sasha raised an eyebrow, a small, amused smile playing on her face. Abraham, ever the observer, nudged her lightly with his elbow, gesturing subtly toward Alyssa.

"Would ya look at that?" Abraham whispered, his voice low but tinged with humor. "The kid's got a soft side after all."

Sasha chuckled quietly, shaking her head. "You mean they both do," she replied, her tone teasing but warm.

Abraham nodded, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Hell, I'll drink to that if we ever get some whiskey."

Up front, Daryl's focus remained on the road, but his thumb unconsciously brushed against Alyssa's hand. It wasn't much, but it was enough for both of them—a quiet reassurance in the midst of all the chaos. Alyssa didn't say anything, but her grip on his hand stayed firm, her usual fiery demeanor softened for a rare moment of vulnerability.

Alyssa turned her head, her gaze settling on Daryl as she spoke, her voice quieter than usual. "Do you think everyone's okay back home? Do you think... Dad—Rick—made it back?"

Daryl gave her hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes staying fixed on the road ahead. "He's tough. Just like you," he said, his voice steady and sure. "Y'all are the same. If it was you out there, what would you do?"

Alyssa didn't hesitate. "Fight to get back," she said firmly, her grip on his hand tightening slightly. "No matter what."

"By any means necessary, right?" Daryl said, glancing at her briefly before returning his focus to the road.

"Yeah. By ANY means," Alyssa repeated, her voice resolute.

Daryl nodded, his tone calm but reassuring. "Then that's what Rick did. Okay? He'll be back there with Carl and Judith right now. Safe."

Alyssa stared at him for a moment, her tension easing slightly at his words. She knew he was right—Rick wasn't the type to go down without a fight, and neither was she. If anyone could survive, it was her dad.

Abraham and Sasha sat quietly in the back, watching the exchange without interrupting. Sasha's lips curled into a faint smile as she glanced at Abraham, who simply raised his eyebrows and nodded slightly, acknowledging the quiet moment unfolding in front of them.

As Daryl rounded the next corner, his eyes widened, and his instincts kicked in. He slammed on the brakes, the truck screeching to a halt. Without even thinking, he released Alyssa's hand and stretched his arm out in front of her chest, protecting her from the sudden stop. It was a reflex, automatic, and entirely Daryl.

Alyssa looked at him, startled, but her attention quickly shifted to the road ahead. Men on motorcycles filled the street, engines rumbling ominously. The man at the front of the group waved his hand, his smile wide and unsettling.

"Come on out. Join us in the road," he shouted, his voice carrying an air of authority that made Alyssa bristle.

Before she could react, Abraham leaned forward from the back of the truck and grabbed her shoulder, his grip firm. "Not now, kid," he said in a low voice. "Don't get out there all guns blazing. There's too many of 'em, and we'll lose. Contain it."