Two nights had passed since Carol's first day in The Compound.

Her head had started feeling better after the first night, and after the second she actually found herself in quite good health. She was okay, physically. Mentally…

Lucille was the one going stir-crazy in the small apartment that the two were sharing. They had everything that they needed: food, a shower, and even books. Lucille's daily activities involved waking, cooking, reading, and washing up every night before bed. It was repetitive, and Carol could see that the lack of Negan's presence was getting to her.

"He should have come down by now," Lucille told Carol wistfully. "I thought he might forgive me. Maybe he won't."

Carol didn't have a response. The younger woman was clearly devastated that the devil wasn't interested in her anymore. What could she say to make it better?

On the third night before bed, Lucille took a shower, and Carol dragged a chair from the kitchen into the bedroom. She climbed up on it, and managed to look out of the small window that hung over the room. There were a few lights on outside the building, and she could see the treeline. There was a Walker stumbling in and out of the forest. She gauged the size of the window – Lucille might be able to fit through it, but there was no way that she could.

Carol had grown fond of Lucille in those couple of days. The girl was brainwashed, clearly, but she was truly kind, and surprisingly bright. She didn't say much about her life before the Turn, but she did tell Carol a little bit about where she came from.

She was a debutant. Her stepfather – one of many, Carol had determined – ran a paper company. They were obscenely rich, but Lucille never fully acclimated to the lifestyle.

"I liked working," she told Carol. "It made me feel like I earned something."

Carol tried to find what she did for a living, but all Lucille told her was that she "worked for Dwight." It was how they met. How they fell in love.

"He wasn't such a bad guy, before all of this happened. He was real smart, too, and he liked all the same books that I did."

"When did he change?" Carol asked. She hated Dwight almost as much as Daryl did.

"Pretty much right when it started. He kept me safe for a while, and did a lot of bad things to make sure I was okay. Then he turned on me. In little ways, at first, then big ones. Then we met Negan. It was Dwight's idea to join up."

"And then you left him for Negan?"

Lucille shrugged. "Negan was a gentleman. He reminded me of my stepdad." She chuckled. "I guess that seems a little off-kilter."

Carol couldn't manage a fake laugh. She was too tired, and too terrified.

Every day in that place, while quiet, was another day in danger. The two women were locked up, and even if Lucille didn't want to admit it, she was a prisoner. Maybe she didn't even realize it, but Carol did, and she spent every moment outside of Lucille's watch planning her escape.

The trick would be getting Lucille to leave with her. Then again, if she didn't want to go, Carol wouldn't force her. She didn't need some brainwashed kid holding her back.

The only problem was that the brainwashed kid was Daryl's. Carol had a responsibility to him.

Lucille didn't mention him much. Only in passing, if she was telling a story about her childhood, or wondering aloud whether or not he and Dwight had gotten into another "scuffle."

Carol heard the shower being turned off, and a few moments later Lucille appeared wrapped in towels. "What are you doing up there?" she asked Carol, who was still standing on the chair from the kitchen.

"Just looking outside."

"Not much to see."

Carol sighed and descended back down to the floor, dragging the chair back into the kitchen. When she returned to the room, Lucille was already tucked into the bed, her towels hung loosely from the bunk above her.

They weren't escaping tonight.

Carol changed into some old fashioned pajamas that Lucille had lent her, crawling into her own bed cautiously. She didn't like sleeping in The Compound. Every morning the fridge seemed to be restocked, but Carol never heard anyone coming in to restock it.

She planned to stay awake that night, and to listen for when they entered. When she felt up to it, she thought she might attack the culprit, and exit while the door was unlocked. But that was a plan for another night, when Lucille was ready to leave with her.

Hours passed, and Lucille snored. Carol, now in decent health, was able to stay awake for the entire night. It was in the earliest minutes of daylight that she heard the hallway door creaking open, and then shutting. The fridge opened. There was some clanking and rattling as whomever had entered adjusted its contents, and then the fridge door closed. Carol expected the visitor to leave back from where they had come, but instead she heard footsteps approaching the door to where they were both supposed to be sleeping.

It opened, and Carol didn't dare move. She was lucky to be laying on her side, where she could see Lucille's red hair clearly, and the door in her peripheral vision. She closed her eyes when the visitor entered the room, peeking every few moments through her eyelashes as carefully as she could to see who had come in.

She heard him before she saw him. He sighed loudly, sitting down calmly on Lucille's bed. Carol peeked, and she could see how he had to hunch in order to keep from hitting his head on the base of the top bunk. He rubbed his eyes, and then placed the same hand on Lucille's back, rubbing it gently. Lucille turned over to him.

"You came," she whispered, sounding equal parts excited and nervous.

Carol could hear Negan sigh again. She couldn't tell whether it was out of disappointment or relief.

Lucille whispered again: "I wasn't sure you'd ever come back. I thought maybe you hated me too much. Hell, you should hate me."

"I could never," Negan murmured back to her, and Carol could practically hear Lucille glowing.

"I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you… to explain absolutely everything to you. That man, the one you were gonna kill… that man is my father."

"I understand," Negan told her, and Carol had no idea how that was possible. He sounded so reasonable.

"I don't know why I turned on you!" Lucille was whimpering suddenly, and she didn't sit up when she began sobbing. Negan kept rubbing her back. "I'm so sorry – your hands!" she remembered. She tried to sit up, but Negan pressed her back down softly.

He took one of her hands in his. "They're fine, see." It was too dark, and Carol knew she couldn't properly see them, but she stared at his hands anyway. She kissed them.

"I don't know what got into me."

"Like you said, he was your father. I shouldn't have pushed you."

Carol nearly gasped.

Negan continued: "But you still disobeyed me." He didn't seem very angry, and Lucille didn't seem very scared:

"I know."

"You know what I have to do, don't you, my sweetheart?"

"Yes. It has to be fair. I get it."

"Good girl."

Carol shut her eyes tight as Negan started to adjust his position on the bed, and she could only hear what happened next. The drawing of a knife. The sawing of something hard. Lucille's low, peaceful sobs. The sound of something sticky being unraveled. A chaste kiss.

Negan left without a single word after that, and Carol spent the rest of sunrise watching Lucille curled up in the bed next to her, still crying over whatever had happened.

It wasn't until Lucille got out of bed that Carol did so as well. They both sat up, and Lucille looked absolutely overwhelmed with what Carol could only read as joy.

"He'll come see us today," Lucille told her exuberantly. "I just know he will."

Then Lucille's left foot came out from under the covers, and she groaned when she tried to step on it. There was a bandage, and a lot of blood. She giggled at her own misfortune.

Negan had removed one of her toes.