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 38
The crisp chill of the morning was broken by the sound of Maggie's voice echoing across the prison yard. "Someone's at the gate!"
Glenn, already heading toward her, jogged to her side as they approached the towering steel gates Hope had crafted. Beyond the thick bars, a figure stood, clutching something in each hand. The woman was lean but muscular, her posture strong despite the clear signs of injury. Blood stained her clothes, and her dark skin glistened with sweat. She stared back at them with an expression that was equal parts exhaustion and determination.
"Who is she?" Glenn asked, his voice low as he slowed his steps.
"I don't know," Maggie replied, narrowing her eyes. "But she's got weapons. Look at what she's holding."
Glenn's gaze followed hers, his heart sinking as he recognized the crossbow and knife in the woman's hands. Merle's crossbow. Hope's knife. The unmistakable Mikaelson emblem was etched into the white oak handle, glinting in the sunlight.
The woman's voice cut through the morning air. "I need to speak to Daryl. Or Rick." Her tone was firm, but there was a slight tremble beneath it, as though she'd been through hell to get here.
Maggie and Glenn exchanged a panicked glance. "How do you know those names?" Maggie called back, gripping her rifle a little tighter.
The woman, Michonne, shifted on her feet, the weight of her injuries evident. "I don't know their last names," she admitted, "but I overheard enough to know they're important to you. I've got something they're gonna want back."
Glenn stepped forward cautiously. "You've got their weapons," he said, nodding toward her hands. "Where did you get them?"
Michonne raised the crossbow slightly, as if to show them she meant no harm. "I found them on the people I was tracking," she explained, her voice growing softer. "Look, I don't have time for twenty questions. I need to speak to Rick or Daryl—now."
Maggie's grip tightened on her rifle. "How do we know you're not one of them?" she asked sharply.
"Because I wouldn't be standing here if I was," Michonne retorted, her eyes narrowing. "I've been through enough to find this place. I'm not your enemy."
Glenn hesitated, torn between wanting answers and the immediate sense of danger her presence brought. "Maggie," he said quietly, "we need to find Rick or Daryl."
Maggie nodded reluctantly. "Stay here," she called out to Michonne. "And don't try anything."
Michonne didn't respond, her gaze steady as she leaned heavily against the gate. Glenn and Maggie rushed back toward the prison, their footsteps quick and urgent.
Inside, the news spread like wildfire. Panic rippled through the group as people scrambled to find Rick or Daryl. "Rick's out by the garden!" someone shouted. "Where's Daryl?"
