Bloodlines.

Chapter Eighten: Negan Tortures Alyssa

For three days, Alyssa had endured the hell of the sanctuary's cells. The relentless repetition of Easy Street grated on her ears, and the sickening stench of the dog food sandwiches Dwight shoved through the door made her stomach churn. Her body ached from the lack of sleep. But Alyssa Grimes was nothing if not stubborn. She wasn't going to give Negan the satisfaction of seeing her break.

Negan, however, was growing increasingly frustrated. Standing in his office, Lucille resting on his shoulder, he paced back and forth. Alyssa's defiance had gone beyond amusing to outright infuriating. No matter how much pressure he applied, she remained strong. In his twisted way, he respected her more than anyone else who had passed through his doors. But Negan didn't want to feel respect—he wanted results.

By the fourth morning, Negan decided to raise the stakes. "Dwight!" he bellowed, his voice echoing down the hallway. Dwight appeared moments later, looking weary and on edge.

"Yes?" Dwight muttered, his gaze flickering toward the floor.

Negan leaned back against his desk, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Three days, Dwight. Three days of dog food, Easy Street, and my sparkling personality. And she's still in there, not giving a single inch. So, we're gonna shake things up."

Dwight hesitated, sensing where this was going. "What do you need me to do?" he asked cautiously.

Negan's grin widened. "Take the pictures. The ones from the lineup—the Polaroids of Glenn and Abraham's smashed-up faces. Slip them under her door. Let's see if that fire of hers can burn through this."

Dwight flinched, visibly uncomfortable. He remembered Alyssa from before, remembered how she and Daryl had tried to help him and Sherry in the woods. He felt a flicker of guilt as he nodded. "Got it," he mumbled, turning to leave.

"Hey, Dwight," Negan called, his voice low and almost conversational. Dwight stopped in his tracks and turned back. "Make sure she sees them. I want her to feel it. I want her to see exactly what defiance costs."

Dwight nodded again, swallowing hard before walking down the hallway to retrieve the Polaroids. As he approached Alyssa's cell, the haunting sound of Easy Street still echoed through the corridor. Alyssa sat on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her head resting on them. She didn't look up when Dwight stopped outside her door.

Wordlessly, Dwight crouched down and slid the pictures under the door. The glossy images scattered across the cell floor, their contents unmistakable. The vivid red of blood, the twisted remains of Glenn and Abraham—each photo was more horrifying than the last. Dwight lingered for a moment, watching as Alyssa slowly turned her head toward the photos.

Her hand reached out, trembling slightly as she picked up the first image. For a moment, there was silence—no words, no sounds beyond the distant loop of the cursed song. Dwight stood frozen, unsure of what would happen next.

Alyssa's breathing quickened, her grip on the Polaroid tightening. Her knuckles turned white as the realization washed over her, the images forcing her to relive that night in brutal clarity. Her body trembled, but her gaze hardened. Dwight expected her to cry, to scream, to finally break.

But instead, Alyssa's voice cut through the air, low and venomous. "You tell negan" she growled, her voice shaking with fury, "that this? This doesn't scare me. It just makes me want to kill him more."

Dwight swallowed hard and stepped back from the cell door, unsure if Negan would consider this a success—or a challenge. As he walked away, he felt a pang of guilt. Alyssa wasn't broken. If anything, she seemed even more determined. And that was a problem Dwight wasn't sure Negan had accounted for.