Glenn's POV

Fortifying the prison had become a ritual. Every morning, I'd wake up, stretch out the aches in my body, and get to work securing our last refuge against the Governor's inevitable return. We were always preparing for a fight, always on edge. There was no room for mistakes.

Maggie was out there with me, her presence less cold than it had been before. We had started talking again, mostly about practical things—how to shore up the weak points in the gate, where to place extra ammunition—but it was a start. I could feel the tension between us starting to thaw, but it was a slow process. Every word exchanged felt like stepping over a minefield, one wrong step and everything could blow up again. Still, I was grateful for even this small step forward.

But Majesty... Majesty had gone back to ignoring me. Not that I could blame her. After everything, I knew she had every right to be upset. And yet, it still hurt to see her pull away just as we'd started to reconnect. She'd thrown herself into helping with the prison's defenses, but there was an unmistakable distance between us now, like she was building her own walls just as high as the ones around the prison.

I couldn't spend too much time dwelling on it, though. The Governor was still out there, a constant shadow over everything we did. Every minute we weren't preparing for him was a minute wasted. He was ruthless, calculated, and he wouldn't stop until he had everything we had. The thought of him storming through those gates with his army, taking down everyone I cared about—it made me sick to my stomach.

If I ever got the chance, I knew I'd take him out myself. No hesitation. It was the only way to end this nightmare once and for all. But that didn't make the waiting any easier. With every day that passed, the pressure mounted. It was like holding my breath, waiting for the explosion that would change everything.

Maggie had handed me a blowtorch earlier, and I was using it to weld a metal brace over one of the weaker sections of the gate. As the sparks flew, I thought about how much had changed since we first arrived here. We weren't just trying to survive anymore; we were digging in, getting ready for a war. It was a war I had to win. For everyone.

But as I worked, I couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what I did, no matter how many guns we had or how high we built the walls, something was still going to break. Whether it was the gate, our defenses, or the relationships holding us together—I just hoped it wasn't me.

I was so focused on welding the brace that I almost didn't hear Daryl approaching until he was right next to me. The loud clank of his boots on the concrete pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Hey, you seen Merle around?" Daryl asked, his voice gruff as 's face was set in that same hardened expression he always had, but there was something in his eyes that gave away his concern. It was subtle, but it was there.

I sighed, ignoring Daryl's initial question, and focused on my work. There was no way he actually thought I was keeping tabs on Merle. If Merle disappeared right now, I wouldn't notice, nor would I care. Daryl, though, was persistent. He put his crossbow down and moved to help me steady the gate I was trying to get back in place. I accepted his help, but I only hoped he wouldn't continue pressing me about Merle.

Of course, I was wrong.

"He say he was sorry yet?" Daryl asked, his tone probing.

I clicked a padlock into place, still not wanting to further the discussion. But Daryl wasn't ready to let it go. "'Cause he is."

I grabbed my blowtorch and other equipment, picking it up and walking away, silently praying Daryl would take the hint. But he followed after me.

"He's gonna make it right," Daryl insisted. "I'm gonna make him. There's got to be a way. Just needs to be a little forgiveness is all."

Finally, I reached my breaking point with Daryl's audacity. I dropped the tools in my hands and turned to face him, casting a serious look on my face and into my tone. "He tied me to a chair, beat me, and threw a walker in the room. Maybe I could call it even. But he—he took Maggie to a man who terrorized her, humiliated her."

I laughed bitterly, the anger boiling over. "And you know what makes it worse? Even if I could call it even, he kidnapped us and did all that knowing Majesty was there—knowing the situation he would put all of us in. He was going to kill us with her not even knowing."

I took a step closer, my voice trembling with frustration. "He was going to rob both of us of knowing we were alive, and he robbed me of the chance to be there for Maggie without Majesty trying to rip my head off. So I'm sorry if forgiving Merle is at the bottom of my checklist—because I care more about those girls than I do myself."

Daryl went silent, his usual stoic demeanor faltering for just a moment. I could see the conflict in his eyes, but I was too angry to care. Without another word, I picked up my tools and walked away, leaving Daryl to grapple with his own thoughts.

After storming off from Daryl, I busied myself with putting away the tools I had been using. My mind was still spinning from the anger that conversation had stirred up, but as I moved through the cell block, something caught my attention. I heard Hershel's familiar voice, calm and steady, reading aloud. The words were soft but clear, echoing slightly off the concrete walls.

I paused, glancing over toward one of the common areas where Hershel, Maggie, and Beth were gathered. Hershel held an open Bible in his hands, his voice carrying the weight of scripture as he read to his daughters. It was a peaceful scene, a stark contrast to the chaos and tension that seemed to permeate everything else in the prison.

For a moment, I wondered if it would be inappropriate to join them. Things between Maggie and me were still unresolved, and part of me felt like an intruder. But another part of me—a part that longed for the comfort of the family I had once been so close to—wanted to sit with them, to remind myself that despite everything, I still cared about them. I still considered them family.

Before I could overthink it, I made the decision. I quietly walked over and took a seat next to them, close enough to listen but still giving them space. Hershel didn't pause in his reading, but I noticed a small, approving nod in my direction. Beth offered me a gentle smile, and Maggie… well, she kept her eyes on her father, her expression unreadable.

Hershel's voice filled the quiet cell block as he began reading, his tone steady and calm:

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience."

The words hung in the air, almost mocking in their optimism. How was I supposed to find joy in this mess? In the constant tension between Maggie and Majesty, in the gnawing guilt that I carried every day? But the idea that these trials could somehow produce patience, that they could shape me into something stronger, stuck with me. Was all of this pain and confusion just a way to make me more resilient? It was hard to swallow, but I couldn't deny that the thought brought a sliver of hope.

"But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing."

Patience. That's what I needed, wasn't it? But how could I be patient when everything around me felt like it was falling apart? When every decision seemed to drive me further away from peace? Still, the verse spoke of a completeness that seemed so far out of reach, but something I desperately wanted.

"If any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all liberally and without reproach, and it will be given to him."

Wisdom. That's what I lacked. I'd been running on instinct, on fear, trying to juggle everything without really knowing what the right move was. But this verse made it sound so simple—ask for wisdom, and it would be given. I realized I'd been trying to carry this weight on my own, forgetting that there was a source of guidance I hadn't tapped into in a long time.

Hershel paused, glancing up as if to let the words sink in. I could feel him watching me, like he knew how much I was struggling. Then he continued, his voice carrying a bit more weight:

"But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind."

My breath caught in my throat. That was me—a wave, tossed around by every emotion, every conflict. One moment, I was trying to make things right with Maggie, the next I was being pulled back to Majesty. I'd let doubt control me, and it was tearing me apart. The verse was calling me out, telling me that I couldn't keep living like this, constantly second-guessing every move I made. If I was going to find any sort of peace, I needed to commit, to stop letting doubt dictate my actions.

"For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways."

Unstable. That word hit harder than the rest. It described exactly what I'd become—unable to choose a path, unable to decide who or what mattered most to me. I was letting everyone down by trying to keep one foot in two worlds, and it was making me unstable, just like the scripture warned.

"Let the lowly brother glory in his exaltation, but the rich in his humiliation, because as a flower of the field he will pass away."

As Hershel read on, I thought about what it meant to be humbled, to let go of pride. Maybe that's what I needed—to stop clinging to the idea that I could control everything, that I could make everything right on my own. I needed to accept that I couldn't fix this by myself, and that trying to do so was only making things worse.

"For no sooner has the sun risen with a burning heat than it withers the grass; its flower falls, and its beautiful appearance perishes. So the rich man also will fade away in his pursuits."

The image of the withering flower struck me. All this time, I'd been chasing after something—trying to hold onto what I had with Maggie, trying to reclaim what I'd lost with Majesty. But maybe, just maybe, I was missing the point. Maybe the pursuit itself was the problem, and I needed to let go of trying to control the outcome, to let the situation unfold as it was meant to. I wasn't sure what that meant yet, but it was clear that I couldn't keep going like this. I had to make a choice, and I had to do it with faith, without doubting myself.

Hershel's voice was steady as he finished reading, holding the hands of his daughters with a tenderness that made the scripture hit even harder. "I love you both," he said, his voice warm and full of conviction. "I would do whatever I could to keep you safe."

I watched them, feeling a pang of something close to envy but also relief. Maggie had her family to lean on, and Majesty had Kris and Amy. It was clear they all had someone who would always be there for them, even when I was stumbling through my own mess. I knew I hadn't been the support they deserved, and that thought gnawed at me as I sat there, quiet and pensive.

Rick suddenly appeared, his face lined with the burden he'd been carrying. Hershel noticed him too, immediately getting up to approach him. "Rick! What you're about to do—" Hershel started, but Rick cut him off.

"I won't. I can't," Rick replied, his voice strained.

I wasn't entirely sure what they were talking about, but the weight of their conversation added to the tension already hanging in the air. My curiosity sparked, but it was quickly drowned out by the lingering thoughts from the Bible passage. The words about being double-minded, unstable, and lacking clarity echoed in my head, aligning with the confusion I felt every time I thought about Maggie and Majesty.

As Rick walked away, Hershel made his way back to his cell block. I hesitated for a moment, then followed him. I needed to talk to someone, and Hershel had always been that calming presence who could see things clearly when I couldn't. He noticed me hovering at the entrance and gave me a look that said he was expecting me.

I sat across from Hershel, feeling the words I needed to say tangled up inside me. I looked down at my hands, trying to force them out, but everything just felt... stuck. The pressure of the situation, the weight of the verses we'd just heard, and the two women I couldn't stop thinking about—it was all too much.

"I, uh… I'm struggling," I finally managed to say, my voice sounding small even to my own ears. Hershel didn't say anything, just watched me with that calm, steady gaze of his, letting the silence encourage me to continue.

"I know I haven't been… fair," I continued, fumbling over my words. "To Maggie… to Majesty… or to myself, really. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I feel like no matter what choice I make, I'm going to hurt someone. And maybe… maybe I already have."

My mind drifted to what Hershel had read earlier, "That scripture you read from James, about facing trials and asking for wisdom. What did it really mean?"

Hershel looked at me thoughtfully, his eyes gentle as he leaned back. "James was talking about how we should consider it joy when we face trials because they test our faith and produce patience. And that patience, when it's complete, makes us whole—lacking nothing. It's about trusting that these struggles can shape us, make us stronger."

I nodded slowly, the words resonating but still heavy. "But it also talked about asking for wisdom, right? And doing it without doubting… What if I don't know what the right choice is? What if I'm doubting everything?"

Hershel's expression softened further. "That part is important, Glenn. James is reminding us that when we ask for wisdom, we need to do it with faith. Not just faith in God, but faith in ourselves and in the path we're trying to walk. If we're always second-guessing, always doubting, it's like being tossed around by the wind—unstable in everything we do."

His words hit home, striking at the heart of what I'd been feeling. "So… the trials, the choices I'm facing now, they're supposed to make me stronger?"

"In a way, yes," Hershel said. "But only if you allow them to. If you keep doubting yourself, keep wavering between choices, then you'll never find the peace you're looking for. You have to trust that the struggle has a purpose and that you're capable of finding your way through it."

"But what if I'm not sure what the right path is?" I asked, the uncertainty gnawing at me. "I feel pulled in so many directions, and I don't want to hurt anyone, but I already have. And I know I'll have to choose eventually."

Hershel nodded, understanding in his gaze. "That's where faith comes in, Glenn. Faith that whatever choice you make, you're doing it with the best intentions, with a sincere heart. The scripture talks about letting patience have its perfect work. Sometimes, that means giving yourself the grace to take things one step at a time, to not rush to a decision out of fear or guilt."

I nodded slowly, trying to absorb what Hershel was saying, but it felt like an impossible task. "How can I take things one step at a time when—look at us, look at what the Governor did to us. There's no time for patience, no time to figure things out."

Hershel met my gaze, his expression as steady as ever. "He's one man, Glenn. There'll be others like him. We've faced threats before, and we'll face them again. The world has changed, but that doesn't mean we can't find a way to move forward, to live by the values we believe in."

"But what if I don't know what I believe in anymore? What if all of this has made me someone I don't recognize?" My voice cracked under the weight of my own uncertainty.

"That's exactly why you need to give yourself time," Hershel replied calmly. "This world will push you to become something you're not if you let it. But you still have a choice in who you want to be. It's not easy, but it's possible. One step at a time, even when everything feels like it's falling apart."

With trembling hands, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the watch Hershel had given me when we first arrived at the prison. The weight of it felt heavier than ever, like the guilt and failure I couldn't shake. I looked down at it, my vision blurring with unshed tears.

"I failed," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I failed you, and I failed Maggie. And this situation is only proving that to me more and more. I don't deserve this."

I held the watch out to him, intending to give it back. My hand shook, and I could feel the tears threatening to spill over. Hershel looked at me with those steady eyes of his, filled with understanding and something I couldn't quite place.

He didn't take the watch. Instead, he placed his hand gently on my arm, grounding me with that simple gesture. "Glenn, you didn't fail anyone," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight that only comes with experience. "Not me, not Maggie, and not yourself."

I wanted to argue, to tell him how wrong he was, how everything I did seemed to make things worse, but the words stuck in my throat. Hershel continued, his grip firm but comforting.

"This world makes it easy to think we're failing, that every mistake is the end of us. But you're here, Glenn. You're still fighting, still trying to do right by the people you love. That's not failure. That's strength. The kind of strength that doesn't come from never making mistakes, but from not letting those mistakes define you."

I swallowed hard, the tears finally spilling over. "But what if…what if I can't fix it? What if I've messed up too much?"

Hershel shook his head, his expression softening. "You're not supposed to fix everything, Glenn. You're supposed to learn, to grow, and to keep moving forward. This watch," he said, gently closing my hand around it, "isn't a measure of your success or failure. It's a reminder of the time you've been given, the choices you still have to make. And I trust you to make the right ones."

I took everything Hershel said to heart, slipping the watch back into my pocket with a deep sigh. As I left his cell, the weight of his words and the importance of my next steps settled heavily on my shoulders. Maggie was all I could think about. I knew I had to be the man I promised her I'd be, no matter how uncertain I felt about the right words to say. It was time to talk to her.

I paused for a moment, gathering myself as I wiped at the tears that had slipped out during my conversation with Hershel. I glanced at the dingy mirror hanging in the corner of the cell, my reflection staring back at me with a mix of determination and exhaustion. I needed to ground myself, to remember why I was doing this, why I needed to face Maggie and deal with everything that had been festering between us. It was now or never.

With a final deep breath, I left the cell and made my way outside, scanning the area for Maggie. But before I could even take a few steps, Rick's voice rang out, calling the entire group together. I hesitated, looking around as the others began to gather, forming a loose circle around Rick.I joined the circle, standing alongside the others as Rick stepped forward, his expression grim and resolute. Whatever he had to say, I knew it wasn't going to be easy. We all stood there, waiting for the news that would undoubtedly change everything once again.

Rick's voice cut through the tension as he spoke to the group, his words heavy with the weight of what he was admitting.

"When I met with the Governor," he began, his tone somber, "he offered me a deal. He said-he said he would leave us alone if I gave him Michonne."

The silence that followed was deafening. I glanced around at the others, seeing the same disbelief mirrored on their faces. Rick looked down, almost ashamed as he continued, "And I was gonna do that... to keep us safe."

Hearing those words left a pit in my stomach. The idea that Rick had even considered such a thing—it went against everything we had fought for, everything we had become. But I could see the struggle in his eyes, the conflict tearing at him. This wasn't the Rick I had known, and it wasn't just about Michonne; it was about all of us, the impossible choices we were being forced to make.

I didn't know how to process it, but as I watched him stand there, vulnerable in front of us all, I knew that this was only the beginning of what he had to say. Rick's voice faltered as he continued, the gravity of his words pulling us all deeper into the uncertainty of our situation.

"I changed my mind," he admitted, his gaze shifting between us. "But now Merle took Michonne to fulfill the deal... and Daryl went to stop him."

The shock of his confession rippled through the group. I clenched my fists, trying to process the implications. Merle—of course he'd do something like this. But Daryl? He was out there, risking his life to clean up the mess his brother had made. My anger toward Merle flared up again, but there was no time for that.

Rick's voice dropped, heavy with regret. "And I don't know if it's too late."

The fear in his eyes was unmistakable. It wasn't just about losing Daryl or Michonne; it was about the fracture in our group, the choices that could tear us apart from the inside 's voice wavered as he continued, a mixture of regret and determination etched on his face.

"I changed my mind," he confessed, his eyes scanning the group. "But now Merle took Michonne to fulfill the deal... and Daryl went to stop him, and I don't know if it's too late."

The gravity of the situation hung in the air, everyone realizing just how close we were to losing more of our own. Rick took a deep breath, his gaze softening as he tried to make amends.

"I was wrong not to tell you," he admitted, his voice thick with guilt. "And I'm sorry."

He paused, struggling with the weight of his next words. "What I said last year, that first night after the farm... it can't be like that. It can't."

The memory of that night after the farm, when Rick declared his rule, flashed through my mind. Things had changed so much since then, and even he knew it.

"What we do, what we're willing to do, who we are, it's not my call. It can't be." His voice softened, a plea for unity and trust.

It was clear Rick was letting go of the control he had tried so hard to maintain, acknowledging that this fight was about more than just him or his decisions. It was about all of us, together, deciding what we were willing to stand for.

"I couldn't sacrifice one of us for the greater good," he continued, his voice breaking slightly. "Because we are the greater good. We're the reason we're still here, not me."

He looked around at all of us, his eyes filled with a kind of desperate sincerity. There was a crack in his armor, a vulnerability that made his next words even more poignant.

"This is life and death," he said, his gaze intense as he spoke to each of us. "How you live... how you die—it isn't up to me. I'm not your Governor."

Rick's words echoed in the silence as we all stood there, weighing the gravity of the situation. "We choose to go. We choose to stay. We stick together. We vote."

It was a shift, a reminder that no matter how desperate things had become, we were still a group, still a family. The choice was ours.

Rick's voice softened, almost pleading, "We can stay and we can fight, or we can go."

There was no immediate response, just the tension of people realizing the weight of what he was saying. He was putting our lives back into our own hands. It wasn't just about survival; it was about how we wanted to live and what we were willing to risk for it.

And so we voted.

That vote left us making our next moves. We had to pack, we had to make a real plan if we were going to continue making this place our home and fighting for ourselves. The decision was clear: we would defend this prison, our home, but we would make it look deserted, like we'd given up and left. It was a dangerous bluff, but it was the only option that gave us a fighting chance.

I found myself back in my cell, gathering up what little I had. Everything had to be packed and stored, leaving nothing behind that would show we intended to stay. Whether Daryl, Merle, or Michonne would return was uncertain, but I had to keep moving. I grabbed my things, folding clothes and stashing supplies in my bag. The silence in the prison was heavy, broken only by the sound of others packing and the occasional distant walker groan.

As I reached into my pile of clothes, something crinkled—a small, balled-up piece of paper fell from the pocket of my jeans. I paused, my heart skipping a beat as I picked it up and unraveled it. The note. The one I'd found hidden in Maggie's things. I still hadn't had the nerve to open it, too afraid of what it might say. But now, with everything happening, it felt like the right time. Or maybe the wrong one. I wasn't sure anymore.

My fingers trembled as I unfolded the note, the crinkled paper unfamiliar in my hands. At first, I was confused,my eyes skimming over the first few words. The handwriting—there was something about it that felt familiar. I paused, the recognition slowly dawning on me. Majesty. This was her heart pounded as I stared at the paper, disbelief washing over me. The note had been hidden away, its contents unknown to me until this very moment. Why was it in Maggie's things? Why hadn't I seen it before? I read the first line, the realization settling in.

"Glenn, if you're reading this, then somehow, by some miracle, I made it back to you…"

The words blurred as I tried to make sense of it all. Majesty had written this note when she was lost, when she thought she might never see me again. My confusion deepened as I read on, the words pulling me into her world of fear, hope, and longing. The weight of what I was reading hit me like a ton of bricks. How had I not known?

As I read the words, my chest tightened, each sentence pulling me deeper into the memories I had tried so hard to bury. The note was filled with the kind of raw emotion that Majesty rarely expressed openly, a window into her soul that I hadn't seen in so long. Her handwriting, familiar yet shaky, almost as if she was struggling to keep it together while she wrote it, made the reality of what she had gone through all the more tangible.

"You were there during my darkest times, pulling me back from edges you probably didn't even know were there."

The lump in my throat grew as I realized how close I had come to losing her, how much she had been fighting just to survive, and how I had been kept in the dark about all of it. Each word, each phrase was a punch to the gut, reminding me of the history we shared—the love that, despite everything, had never truly faded.

"You were my hero, in ways that heroes seldom understand they are."

The note slipped from my fingers, falling to the ground as the anger and confusion bubbled to the surface. How could Maggie have hidden this from me? How could she have kept something so crucial, so life-altering, away from me? This letter could have changed everything—Majesty's feelings, my own decisions, our entire path. Instead, it had been tucked away, buried in the chaos of everything else that had happened.

I couldn't stand it any longer. I needed answers. I needed to know why Maggie had hidden this from me, and I needed to confront Majesty—because everything that had been between us, everything that had gone unsaid, was now brought into sharp focus by this letter.

I stormed out of my cell, the letter crumpled in my hand, a mix of anger and confusion fueling my every step. I didn't know what to think, but I knew I needed answers—needed to hear it from Majesty herself. She was the only one who could make sense of this mess.

When I found Majesty in her cell, she was busy packing, the usual determined look on her face as she went through her things. But when she saw me standing there, letter in hand, her expression shifted to confusion, then concern.

"Glenn?" she said, pausing in her work. "What's going on?"

I didn't know how to start. My mind was racing with a thousand thoughts, but none of them made sense. I just held up the letter, my voice thick with disbelief. "Did you write this?"

She frowned, her confusion deepening as she took a step closer. "I left you a letter the other night, but why are you so upset? I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you space to figure things out."

My heart pounded as her words hit me, but I shook my head, trying to keep my voice steady. "No, not that letter. When did you write this?"

Majesty's eyes finally focused on the letter in my hand. She reached for it, her breath catching as she recognized it. Her face softened, a flicker of emotion passing through her eyes before she took the letter from me, holding it as if it were something fragile.

"This… this was when I was lost," she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. "I didn't know if I'd make it back. I wrote it in case someone found me. I wanted you to know… everything."

The weight of her words settled heavily between us. But as she read the letter again, her expression hardened, the sadness quickly replaced by anger. She looked up at me, eyes blazing with disbelief.

"How could you—how could you still be with Maggie if you had this? Did you even care that I was out there, thinking of you, fighting to get back to you? How could you just move on?"

"Majesty, I didn't know!" I said, the frustration boiling over. "I just found it! It was hidden in Maggie's things. She never showed it to me. I had no idea—no idea you wrote this, no idea what you were going through."

Her eyes widened in shock, her grip tightening on the letter. "She hid it from you?" Her voice cracked, the pain in her eyes undeniable. "So you're telling me that all this time… all this time, everything that happened between us, could've been avoided?"

"I guess so," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks. "I thought you were gone, Majesty. I thought… I didn't know what to think. But if I'd seen this, if I'd known…"

The air between us was thick with tension and regret, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid, everything that had been lost, pressing down on us both.

Majesty looked down at the letter one last time before letting out a shaky breath. "I can't believe this. I can't believe she kept this from you… from us."

"And now, here we are," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Stuck in this mess, all because of what we didn't know."

Majesty's gaze shifted from the letter back to me, her expression hardening once more. "I guess you don't know her as well as you think," she said coldly, her voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The words stung, but before I could respond, she took a deep breath and seemed to shake off the weight of it all. "But it doesn't matter now," she added, her tone flat, almost dismissive. "It's done. Whatever this was… it's in the past. We've got bigger things to worry about."

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in her demeanor. Just moments ago, the pain and anger in her eyes had been so raw, so real. But now, it was like she'd flipped a switch, shutting down everything we'd just uncovered.

I wanted to say something, anything, to reach out to her, but the words stuck in my throat. Instead, I just nodded, feeling a deep sense of unease settle in my chest. I knew she was right in one way—there were bigger things to worry about. But this… this couldn't be brushed off so easily.

I stormed out of Majesty's cell, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and frustration. My mind was spinning as I tried to piece together what had just happened. The letter, hidden away by Maggie… how could she do that? What gave her the right to decide what I should know, what I should feel?

Each step I took toward Maggie's cell felt heavier than the last, my anger growing with every second. I couldn't believe she'd kept something like that from me. My fists clenched at my sides as I pictured her face, that calm, composed expression she always had when she thought she was doing the right thing. But this… this wasn't right. It was deceitful. It was cruel.

She had made choices for both of us, played God with our lives. And for what? To keep me from knowing the truth? To make sure I didn't look back at what I had with Majesty?

I felt the blood rush to my head, my vision narrowing as I got closer to Maggie's cell. She had no idea what was coming. No idea that I had finally uncovered the truth she'd buried. She thought she could control this, control me. But she was wrong. So wrong.

I was done playing along, done letting everyone else decide what I should feel, who I should care about. It was time for Maggie to face what she'd done. Time for her to understand that she crossed a line, and there was no coming back from it.

I tightened my jaw, my chest heaving with every breath as I prepared myself for the confrontation ahead. There was no more room for patience, no more space for understanding. I was going to get the answers I deserved, and I wasn't leaving until I did.

Maggie was sitting on her bunk, packing her things, her expression distant and weary. Without a word, I stormed in and slammed the crumpled letter down on the table next to her. The sound echoed in the small space, making her jump.

"What is this?" I demanded, my voice tight with barely controlled rage.

Maggie looked at the letter, recognition flashing in her eyes. She sighed, shaking her head as if dismissing the whole thing. "Not now, Glenn."

"Why? You wanna hide more from me?" I snapped, my anger boiling over.

She stood up abruptly, clearly annoyed but trying to keep her composure. Her eyes darted to the cell door, nervous that someone might overhear us. "Not here," she hissed, reaching out to grab my arm.

I pulled away, unwilling to let her brush this off like it was nothing. "Don't you dare try to dodge this," I said, stepping back as she tried to grab the letter.

Her frustration flared, and she forcefully grabbed my wrist, dragging me out of the cell and down the hall toward the tombs. I let her pull me along, my mind racing with everything I wanted to say, everything I needed to know. The second we were out of earshot from the others, she spun around to face me, her eyes blazing with a mix of guilt and defiance.

"Okay, Glenn," she said sharply, crossing her arms. "What do you want me to say?"

I held up the letter between us, the paper trembling slightly in my hand. "You hid this from me, Maggie. Why? How could you keep something like this from me?"

Maggie's expression tightened as she tried to find the right words, her eyes locked on the letter. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice low and pained. "Glenn, when I found that letter… I knew it would break you. A letter didn't mean she was alive. It was just words on a piece of paper, a farewell, a goodbye. It would've only hurt you more, made you cling to hope that might not have existed. I couldn't let you go out there and get yourself killed chasing a ghost."

I felt the sting of her words, my anger flaring up again. "So you decided for me? You thought hiding it was the right thing to do?"

"I didn't know what else to do!" she said, her voice rising in frustration. "You were already dealing with so much. We all were. If you'd found that letter back then, it would've destroyed you. I thought… maybe if you didn't know, you could find a way to move on, to survive."

"Move on?" I repeated, my voice trembling with anger. "You thought I could just move on from her?"

Maggie shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. "No, Glenn. I knew you couldn't just move on. But you did move on... with me. And I thought maybe if you didn't see that letter, you wouldn't have to live with the guilt of not finding her. I was trying to protect you, to protect us."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. "You think I moved on? You think this—" I gestured between us, the anger flaring up inside me again—"is moving on? I never had a chance to even try! You took that from me!"

Maggie's eyes widened at my outburst, but I didn't care. The anger I'd been holding back was boiling over. "You didn't trust me enough to let me decide for myself. You made that choice for me. You thought you knew what was best, but all you did was lie and manipulate the situation to suit your own fears."

"I wasn't trying to manipulate you," she said, her voice trembling. "I was scared. I was scared of losing you. You mean everything to me, Glenn. I didn't want to risk you throwing yourself into something that could've gotten you killed."

"But you did risk it! You risked everything by hiding that letter. You risked our relationship. You risked our trust. And now, you've risked everything with Majesty too. What do you think that's going to do to us?"

Maggie's face crumpled, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I don't know, Glenn. I don't know what it's going to do. But I didn't know what else to do back then. I was just trying to protect you, to protect us."

"Protect us?" I repeated, my voice cold and sharp. "You protected yourself, Maggie. You did what you thought was best for you, not for me. Not for anyone else."

Maggie's shoulders shook as she cried, but I couldn't bring myself to comfort her. The anger and hurt were too raw, too fresh. All I could do was stare at the letter in my hand, the words blurring as my vision clouded with unshed tears.

"I don't know how to fix this," I said finally, my voice hoarse. "But I know one thing—you don't get to decide what's best for me anymore. Not now, not ever again."

Maggie nodded, her sobs quieting as she wiped at her face. "I'm sorry, Glenn. I'm so sorry."

But her apology did little to ease the pain. All I could think about was the time that had been lost, the choices that had been taken from me, and the trust that had been shattered.