She caught his attention before anyone else. It had been that way since Day One. Those pine tree eyes, always wild in one way or another, they would snag him. Trap him. And he couldn't get away from her. He never could. He never could.

Leah was standing in the aisle of the church when Daryl came through the doors. Like she'd known he'd been coming. It took her a second. Not even that long. Less than a second, and she knew something awful had happened.

They met in the center of the church, somehow, like magnets coming together. Other people appeared from all around. A few said his name, Daryl, Daryl. Michonne whispered back, someone gasped, questions, hurried, scared questions. Only one mattered.

"Where's Sydney?" said Leah, pine tree eyes, beautiful eyes, horrified . . . Daryl didn't know what to say. "Where's Sydney?" she asked again, harsher, sounding – like her daughter would.

"We're gonna get her back," was what he finally came up with.

Her hands rose in the air between them, grasped at nothing. "Back?" She dug into her hair, squeezed. "Back from where? Back from where, Daryl, where –"

"She's alive," he needed to say.

Leah closed her eyes, dropped them to the floor. She couldn't catch her breath. "Where – where is she?"

"The people that took Beth. They took her. And Carol. This – this guy Noah, he can get us there, he can get us to her."

"Not again . . . Not again, not again . . . Not again, no, no, no . . ."

When she tried to walk past him, head to the doors and the night, Daryl hooked onto her arm and spun her around. Because he couldn't let her go there.

"No . . ." she mumbled, pressing her hand against his chest, pulling her head back, looking at nothing. "N-no . . . no!"

"Leah –" He held her forearms. He put his head between them. She would look at him eventually. That would help, it would help. "We're gonna get her back. We're gonna get her back."

She didn't answer. She was crying.

"You gonna tell her or should I?"

A new voice. Managing to break in. Break things. Owen, eyes black, thumb hooked underneath a backpack strap.

"Tell me what?" Leah breathed.

Owen blinked at Daryl. If Daryl hadn't been holding Leah's arms, he would've finally thrown a punch at the kid. Hard as he could.

Instead he turned away. He leaned closer to Leah. She finally looked at him, but now he could barely look at her. The brokenness went too deep. "The tips of her fingers," he muttered. "Just the tips . . . They were bit off –"

He was ready for her to move, so when she did, he gripped tighter, and when she wouldn't stop moving, he had no choice, he trapped her against him. Got her turned around, pulled her into him, pinned her arms with his as she cried.

"No! No! No no . . ."

"I cut 'em off," he said against her hair. "Just two fingers, I cut 'em off, fast, fast enough –"

"No . . . oh, no, my baby . . ."

"Daryl?" It was a scream. Carl's. Daryl couldn't deal with him right now. Not him and Leah both. And somebody knew that, because by the time he got Leah in a pew, the room had gone quiet. He didn't turn around to see why or how.

He didn't know now if he was holding Leah to trap her or comfort her. But he rocked as she sobbed. "She's gonna be fine," he said. His eyes were on fire, his voice was a hiss. But he rocked her. "We're gonna get her back. She's tough. She's our girl . . . We're gonna get her back."