The Lucky One//twd

047.Still Breathing

Madison's POV

The prison looked different in daylight.

Colder. Harsher. But real.

I stood near the outer gate, arms crossed, watching the dirt like it owed me something. My shadow stretched long against the concrete as the sun began to dip, bleeding orange and gold across the yard. It should've been peaceful. It almost was.

But quiet doesn't always mean calm.

Sometimes it means waiting.

I hadn't said much since we got back. Not to anyone but Blake. My voice still felt foreign in my throat, like I'd left it somewhere back in that room with the Governor. My hands had stopped shaking days ago, but I didn't trust them. Not fully. Not yet.

"Madison?"

I turned at the sound of Rick's voice.

He looked worn out — like something inside him had been running on fumes for too long. His eyes weren't wild like they'd been after Lori, but there was still that look. The one people get after losing something they thought they couldn't live without.

God, I knew that look too well.

"You look different," he said quietly, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to say it.

I gave a small shrug. "You don't."

That pulled the ghost of a smile out of him. He stepped forward, slow and cautious, like I might break apart in front of him.

But I didn't. I was done breaking.

"You all right?" he asked.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"You sure?"

"No," I said. "But I'm here. That's gotta count for something."

It went quiet again. The kind that hangs heavy between two people who've been through too much and said too little.

"She asked about you," Rick said after a moment. "Andrea."

My stomach clenched.

"She...?" I trailed off, already knowing.

"She's gone," he said. "Before we found you. The Governor... he—" Rick stopped. Swallowed hard. "She didn't make it."

I didn't answer. Didn't move.

I'd imagined her voice once or twice while I was locked up. A laugh. Something dry and sarcastic. I used to think about how pissed she'd be if I gave up. How she'd call me a brat and shove a can of beans in my hand and tell me to get over it.

Now she was just another ghost I had to carry.

Rick must've seen it on my face, because he didn't press. He just placed a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"We're glad you're back," he said. "I'm glad."

And then he walked away, back toward the cell block, and left me with the wind and my silence.

⸻

Later that afternoon, I was sitting on the edge of the catwalk outside the cells when a voice called up from below.

"Company."

I stood and looked down just in time to see the gates swing open.

Two new faces stepped through — a man and a woman, both worn but strong. The man had kind eyes and tired shoulders. The woman had sharp eyes and a don't-fuck-with-me stare that reminded me of Michonne.