IN WHICH - The last thing that Hope Mikaelson expected when she came out of Malivore was to still be alive, the second last thing she expected was to be disowned by most of her living family, and the final last thing she expected was some ancient be...
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THIRD PERSON POV
CHAPTER 30
They navigated through winding corridors lined with open cells, the overhead lights humming steadily thanks to Hope's magic and the recently revived generator. A few signs of life—loose cans, makeshift barricades—led them straight to the cafeteria door, marked by bold letters: "Kitchen/Cafeteria." Rick signaled for everyone to slow, placing a hand on the door to listen. Low voices echoed inside, followed by the distinct scrape of chairs being moved defensively.
"Probably the prisoners," Hope murmured, recalling her earlier magical scan. Her heart thudded lightly—she knew how fragile these encounters could be.
Daryl raised his crossbow, nodding at Rick. "Open up slow. We don't know if they're armed."
Rick eased the door open. Harsh overhead fluorescents revealed a wide dining hall, rows of overturned tables forming rudimentary barricades. Three men in prison uniforms—one tall and wiry, the other stocky, and a third standing back with arms crossed—stared at the newcomers, tension rippling in the air. Behind them, two more prisoners lingered near the kitchen door, eyes darting nervously.
"Who the hell are you?" snapped the tall man, eyes narrowing at the sight of Rick's revolver and Daryl's crossbow.
Rick raised his voice, calm but firm. "Easy. We're not looking for trouble. We cleared the walkers out, and we're just—"
"Cleared them out?" The stocky prisoner sounded skeptical. "That's not possible. We've been trapped here for months, man." He paused, scanning the group's faces.
Daryl took a step forward, crossbow aimed low but ready. "Look, we didn't come here to fight. This place is big enough for all of us."
A wiry inmate, wearing a half-ripped orange jumpsuit, sneered. "Bullshit." He thrust a makeshift blade into the open, pointing it at them. "Y'all want to take what's ours!"
The tension thickened. Hope stepped in slightly behind Rick, a flicker of faint purple light dancing around her hand. She didn't want to use more magic than necessary, but everything in her braced for violence.
"We're not after your stuff," Rick repeated. "We're just securing the prison for our group."
Tension snapped when the wiry inmate lunged, blade arcing toward Rick's chest with shocking speed. Rick jerked back, the blade grazing his shirt. Daryl fired a bolt, missing by inches as the inmate ducked behind a table.
"Stop!" Hope shouted, her voice echoing in the large room.
Her cry did nothing to quell the chaos. The tall prisoner—Tomas, Rick would learn later—charged Daryl with a sharpened shank. Daryl sidestepped, slamming the butt of his crossbow into Tomas's face. The blow stunned him, but two more prisoners rushed in from the kitchen door, brandishing shivs made from broken cutlery.
