The Third Dixon [The walking dead]

Chapter thirteen

The warmth was the first thing she registered.

Then the weight.

An arm around her waist. A chest at her back. Steady breathing against her neck.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

Her stomach clenched, a sharp spike of instinctive dread slicing through the haze of sleep. For half a second—just half—she didn't know where she was. Didn't know who was behind her. Didn't know whose breath that was, whose arm had her held like this.

Usually, when she woke up like that, she didn't get a choice.

Her heart slammed hard against her ribs.

Measi moved fast.

She twisted abruptly, pulling herself out of his arms and turning over so she could see. She needed to see. Needed her eyes on him—on his face—on proof.

The movement jolted the mattress. Nathan woke instantly, breath hitching as his eyes snapped open.

And there she was—wide-eyed, rigid, staring straight at him like she was bracing for a blow that never came.

It took him less than a second to understand.

He didn't reach for her.

Didn't speak right away.

He just stayed still, letting her look.

Letting her confirm.

Letting her see him.

"Hey," he said softly after a moment, voice low and steady. "It's me."

Her chest rose sharply, then fell. Her eyes traced his face like she was memorizing it—his scruffy jaw, the familiar crease between his brows, the way concern had already replaced sleep in his expression.

"You're at the prison," he added gently. "You came back last night. You climbed in with me."

She swallowed, throat tight. One hand lifted slowly, hovering for a second before pressing flat against his chest—solid. Warm. Real.

Nathan.

Not a stranger.

Not a memory.

Not someone she didn't choose.

Her shoulders sagged just a little as the panic began to loosen its grip.

"I just—" Her voice came out thin, raw. "I had to see."

"I know," he said immediately.

No questions. No confusion. No offense.

Just understanding.

"You wanna stay facing me?" he asked quietly. "We can do that."

She nodded, a small, jerky movement. "Yeah."

He shifted carefully, giving her space but staying close enough that she didn't feel abandoned. They settled facing each other, knees brushing, the early morning light slipping through the bars and painting soft lines across his face.

Measi kept her eyes on him for a long moment longer, until her breathing finally evened out.

Only then did she let herself relax.

Just a little.

Measi hesitated only a second before shifting closer.

It was her choice this time.

She closed the small gap between them, her knee brushing his, her hand curling into the fabric of his shirt as if to anchor herself. Nathan didn't move to pull her in—he waited, eyes searching her face, giving her the space to decide.