"Well! Look who it is!" crooned the saccharine baritone voice of a man nine year-old Gracie had never thought she'd ever be approaching.

The girl trembled as she looked up at the towering figure, who had been given the labor-intensive task of repairing a damaged portion of the Alexandrian barricade wall in the unrelenting Virginia heat. She had been standing behind him nervously for quite some time, uncertain of how best to address him: Negan? Mr. Negan? Her uncertainty then led to outright fear, particularly of the repercussions of speaking with Alexandria's sole prisoner, an action Aaron would have expressly forbade. This is why she was completely unprepared when Negan turned, spotted her, and greeted her with a toothy smile.

"You gonna stand there and gawk, or do you got something to say?" he asked. Again, Gracie fumbled for words and merely stood there, wide-eyed. Negan sighed, then surveyed the area around them. "This a trap?" he asked.

"N…no?" stammered Gracie in response.

He turned back to the fence, continuing to tar up gaps between the metallic panelling. "Because your dad would beat me senseless with that spiky stub of his if he saw us talking, so you best be getting along."

Mustering up her courage, Gracie walked a few paces closer to the fence to face him. "I know," she said. "That's why I waited till he left for patrol."

Again, Negan grinned. "You got a bit of spice to ya! I dig it." Placing his brush back in the can, he put his full attention on her as he crossed his arms and leaned against the fence. "What can I do ya for?"

She took a deep breath. "You've been telling people I'm a Savior."

"Because you are." He delivered these words without hesitation, and that made Gracie's blood go cold. "Kid, if you're here to rain down some pint-sized threats upon me," he huffed, "Don't bother. Your dad already got to me."

Gracie started wringing her hands nervously, wording her next question carefully. "Did you know… um… did you know my mom?"

He squinted, eyeing her with a hawklike intensity. "I did. Your dad too."

Gracie perked up at this. So the meaning behind her question hadn't gone unnoticed! She breathed a shaky sigh of relief, to which Negan scoffed, "Try to look a little more stoked that it's not me."

"No!" Gracie quickly corrected, "I'm… it's just… what were they like?"

"Well, your mom was a cute little thing, but she was stupid. Got herself killed when a dead one managed to squeeze itself through the Sanctuary gates. She thought she could take it down on her own, but she got bit in the process. Your dad was a good soldier. Stubborn bastard. Loved the hell outta you, especially after your mom died. Can't say I was exactly sorry to hear he'd been taken out, given how much of a smug, argumentative asshole he was toward the end there."

Gracie was unsurprised to hear that her parents were dead, but couldn't believe the condemnation of her father from someone he used to loyally serve. "He was? Like how?"

He hesitated before replying. "You ever heard of the word 'bigot?' They're an annoyingly religious, hateful bunch who don't like people who don't think how they think."

"And my dad was one of those?"

"Oh yeah," chuckled Negan. "He would have hated who you're being raised by."

"Why?"

"Well… your pops batting for the same team sometimes rubs folks the wrong way."

She furrowed her brow at this. "…same team…?"

"Jesus, kid, you need me to spell it out?" In response to Gracie's perpetually bewildered expression, he exclaimed, "He's gay, isn't he?"

But still, Gracie was perplexed. "…and that's… bad?"

To this, Negan snorted, and he appeared somewhat impressed. "Wow," he scoffed. "You know what, don't worry about it. It's for the best. Just be grateful you live in this new world free from the stupid shit that once held us old folks up."

Still not fully understanding, Gracie's frustration overcame her curiosity. This isn't what she wanted out of this interaction at all. Wordlessly, she turned to leave, knowing that her window to speak with Negan unencumbered by Aaron was rapidly passing. As she did so, Negan called out, "Why are you really here, huh? What, you want me to tell you they were monsters like me? Would that make you feel better?" Her heart fell, and she turned back to him once more. This was precisely what she was looking for.

"No," Negan continued. "It's more than that, ain't it? You're looking for ways you're like them. You're looking for warning signs, aren't you?" He crouched down, resting his hands on his knees. "Listen kid, the storybooks are lying to ya. There's no such thing as pure good and pure bad. Never really was, but definitely not anymore. Your parents weren't all one thing. You might not think so, but I'm not all bad either. Even good ol' Saint Aaron has done some horrible shit in his time. The only thing that matters is Gracie. What's Gracie like? Pardon my French, but fuck the rest, kid."

Gracie gulped. What was Gracie like? The freedom to choose her identity free of familial bonds was soothing, but coming from the mouth of a man so vilified by the community left a bitter taste in her mouth. Before she could even consider a response however, Aaron's sharp voice cut through the air. "GRACIE!" Before she knew what was happening, a swift flash of motion filled her vision, and one shove from Aaron had Negan on his back on the ground. Gracie instinctively backed away as she watched Aaron next grab him by the collar and shove him up against the fence, his one good hand shaking with intensity as he gripped his shirt tightly at the neck. "What did I just say to you?" Aaron growled.

Negan only laughed between heavy gasps for air. "Not to throw your kid under the bus here, but she approached me."

Gracie felt her heart drop into her stomach, expecting Aaron to turn his anger on her. Instead, he maintained focus on Negan. "You could have walked away."

"She had questions, I thought I'd oblige."

"What 'questions?'" Aaron sneered.

"The kid wants to know where she came from. She deserves to know."

Aaron aggressively released his grip from Negan's shirt, and with a final glare at him, he turned his gaze toward his sheepish daughter. "You came from here, Gracie. That's all that matters. Now let's go."

Dread filled Gracie's stomach as she trudged alongside her father back toward home, anticipating the scolding that would follow. But the call after her made the dread inside balloon. "Hey Gracie!" called Negan, a smirk painted across his face as though he had been entirely unfazed by the interaction.

Aaron snapped, "You really don't know when to quit, do you? I said enough!"

Before she quite knew what she was doing, Gracie grabbed his forearm, saying plaintively, "Daddy, wait!" Aaron raised his eyebrows, but from Gracie's concerned expression, it was clear to him that this was important to her. He nodded slowly and told Negan, "Make it quick, and you had better watch what you say or I swear to god…"

Negan put his hands up defensively, then turned his shark-eyed gaze to Gracie. "Kid, if it's still weighing on you, …I don't see your folks when I look at you. They wouldn't even recognize you if they were here standing next to me." He pointed to Aaron as he continued, "I see this guy right here. Blood ain't always thicker than water. We get more out of the people we learn from. Your dad here tries to do what's right by his people. And most importantly, he's good to you. You're gonna be alright cause you got him."

"Oh save it," said Aaron, rolling his eyes. "Don't patronize me."

"Take the compliment, Aaron, it's the only one you'll get outta me."

"But," Gracie interjected, desperate to get out the most crucial question weighing her down. "Why were you telling people about where I came from, then?"

Aaron looked to Negan expectantly, equally curious to his response. Carefully, Negan replied, "I did the math. Your name, your age… the fact that Aaron doesn't have a pussy, despite being one."

"You son of a—" snarled Aaron as he raised his prosthetic weapon.

Again, Negan raised his hands apologetically. "Point is! You're what remains of my people. And I take care of my people."

"You don't have people anymore," said Aaron simply.

"She's a Savior as much as she is an Alexandrian, Aaron. Accept it." Negan's eyes met Gracie's one final time as he said softly, "And kid - Remember what I said, okay? Fuck the rest."

"Alright," Aaron said, taking Gracie by the shoulders and turning her back toward home, "That's more than enough. Let's go."

"Mom? ...Mom?"

Groggily, Gracie groaned, her head throbbing in pain. One eye opened, then the other, and gradually the world came back into focus and she remembered what had last happened before being rendered unconscious. Eric! she thought in a panic, but as she stirred to look for her son, she could feel the restraints around her wrists and the cold, hard bark of a tree against her back.

"Eric?" she hissed in a frantic whisper.

"Mom!"

"Eric, where are you?"

"I'm over here! Right on the other side of your tree."

The darkness of the forest was thick, but illumination from the moon and a nearby bonfire allowed her eyes to focus on the ground around her. Gracie wriggled and was able to position her feet close to her hips and scoot herself around the tree so she could face Eric, who was identically tied up about a yard away from her.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

"No, you?"

"I'm fine," she said, still scanning their surroundings. Their trees were up on a ridge overlooking the familiar image of the Ferals' campsite below. Gracie even wondered if she and Eric had ever climbed one of these very trees to observe them. About a dozen or so haggard people in similarly tattered clothing (or lack thereof) to that of the teenager at the river were gathered around a fire, crouched and ravenously eating, like starved animals. Not a word was uttered amongst them.

"What have they been doing?" she asked.

"Nothing," replied Eric. "They tied us up, took our packs, and left us here. They haven't really done anything else besides that."

Sure enough, Gracie could see her and Eric's emptied packs and a bevy of containers and tins strewn haphazardly about. "…see they found our offering. And our rations."

"Yeah. Guess they were hungry."

Gracie breathed evenly through her nose. This was clearly not ideal, but her father had similarly gotten himself into one or two scrapes like this in the past. In fact, he had nearly met his end at the hands of Judith's father while trying to recruit their group over the suspicion of poisoned applesauce. Looking over the group, she found the teenager, eight women, and six men, one of whom was particularly large and domineered who sat at the base of the hill nearby her and Eric's trees with a rusted machete balanced across his lap. A guard. Because of their distance from the rest of the group, it took Gracie longer to see the final two members of this group, who were sitting at the mouth of a makeshift lean-to shack beneath the low-hanging branches of a pine tree.

"I see you found the food we brought you," called Gracie to the group below. All at once, seventeen heads swiveled to look at her. The guard stood, taking his machete in hand, but Gracie saw the woman raise a hand, as though beckoning him to stand down. Nervously, Gracie continued, "It's all yours — eat up. There's plenty more at our community. That's all from our farms. Livestock, fruit, vegetables — all of it. We're here to invite you to come back with us and join us. Our community's name is Alexandria." At this, most of the Ferals lost interest and returned to scarfing down the food from the packs. Even the guard had returned to his meditative squat on the ground. But Gracie was unfettered, continuing the speech that had been so carefully crafted by her father decades before. "We've been active since the world fell, but now we're thriving. From what we've observed, I believe you would be a valuable asset to our community. We're strong. You could make us even stronger. Can I please speak to whoever's in charge?"

"…I don't think they understand," Eric said.

"Them, probably not." Her gaze, however, was fixated on the only two people who hadn't looked away during her speech: the older man and woman. "But they might…" She called out once more, "Does anyone speak my language?" Eyeing the older woman, she cocked her head and asked, "How about you? Can you understand me?" But the woman instantly looked away, redirecting her attention to the morsel of bread in her hand.

"What do you think they're gonna do with us?" Eric asked nervously.

"Not sure. I think maybe they're seeing if we brought more people with us. If they're gonna come looking for us."

"How do you know that?"

"I mean, I can't say for sure, but that's my best guess."

"What happens when they run out of food?"

Gracie snorted, looking upon the empty containers of food scattered about. "Looks to me like they have. Why?"

Looking to her son, she saw that he was wide-eyed and distraught. "…what if they cannibal us?"

"Huh?" asked Gracie.

"Cannibals? People who eat people?"

"I know what a cannibal is— why on Earth would you think that?"

"I dunno," said Eric with a shrug. "If they get really hungry, they could cannibal us. We're bigger than they are…."

Gracie laughed as she said, "Hang on a sec, first of all, no one's "canniballing" anyone. Where is this coming from?"

The boy sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "Well, R.J. and Hershel said—"

"Ah," she said, suddenly understanding. "There you have it."

"They said!" insisted Eric. "They said when we were on clearing patrol last, they were telling me how their parents all got separated and met up at this place they thought was gonna be safe, but it ended up just being a bunch of cannibals. …you think maybe these people could—"

"No, I don't," she assured him. "You wanna know what I do think? R.J. and Hershel were pulling your leg."

"But they said!"

"They say a lot of things, sweetheart."

"But it makes sense! They said that's why their people didn't trust Grandpa when he found them!"

"And were either R.J. or Hershel around for that?" Eric sheepishly looked down at his feet. "Exactly," Gracie said. "It was before either of them were born. They were messing with you."

In truth, Gracie knew this story was real from the stories Michonne, Carol, Rosita and the others from Judith's group of survivors would tell about their journey to Alexandria. She herself had been told about Terminus at the tender age of 10. As a result, had a week solid of nightmares, which meant a week Aaron went without sleep, and after a stern conversation with each member of that group he had saved a decade prior, suddenly the grown-ups from that group didn't tell her anything anymore. Gracie had to get all her intel from Judith second-hand. Aaron's overprotectiveness of Gracie growing up had always been questioned by various members of the community, which when vocalized aloud would be swiftly cut down by a stern "She's my daughter, I'll raise her how I see fit" response from Aaron. However, Gracie nearly succumbed to walker hoards several times in her young life, and resulted in Gracie vowing to teach her own son at a very young age how to defend himself and take down a walker. Even still, knowing how shaken up she herself was by some of the brutal truths of the world, she decided in this moment that there were certain truths he didn't need to know yet as an eleven-year-old, especially given the present peril they now found themselves in.

Eric's voice cut through her thoughts. "I'm pretty hungry."

"Me too."

"…you think they ate all the food in our packs?"

"Looks like it," she said. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her. Smiling, she said, "Hey. Scoot closer to me." Her son obeyed, facing her. "Now stretch out your leg! Closer now, toward me!"

"What?" asked the boy. "Why?"

"I want a quick snack. Hold still!" She craned her neck down towards his leg playfully, growling "Om-nom-nom-nom-nom!" Eric, forgetting his fear, squealed and wriggled away from her until the two shared a laugh. It was then that Gracie felt the heat of the Ferals' gazes fall squarely upon them. Looking up, she once again saw that they had their attention, though this time they had finished their feast. All were standing and gathering nearer to them. Eric and Gracie quickly grew somber, and Gracie spoke again to them. "I want to be clear - We are no threat to you. We come alone. … Is there anyone here able to communicate with me?"

One woman in the front of the group turned sharply and started gesticulating rapidly with her hands to a man standing near the fire. After she had finished, the man began gesticulating a reply.

"Whoa… see that?" Gracie whispered to Eric. "See what they're doing?"

"They're… signing!" he exclaimed. From behind his thick glasses, he squinted, trying to translate. "… I don't know what they're saying."

"No, it's not the type of signing that Angel teaches. It's something they've created." At this, Gracie began squirming, rotating her wrists against the tight restraints.

"What are you doing?" Eric asked.

"If I can get free, I can try signing with them. See if I can't get through to them that way." Gracie then dropped her gaze to the ground, and with steadfast focus, tried feeling her way around the rope with her fingertips, looking for any weak spots. Eventually, the Ferals backed off and returned to various resting spots around the fire, though the one still stood guard, squatting at the base of the hill nearby. After several minutes of struggling, at long last, Gracie could feel a give in the rope. Wedging her left pinky inside the loop of the knot, she pulled hard with her right hand until she felt the tie coming undone. At long last her arms sprang forward, and she gingerly rotated them forward to stretch as she carefully crawled toward Eric's hands to untie them. So focused was she on the task at hand, she hadn't seen the guard spot her. All she heard was Eric shout "Mom!" and promptly felt the white sting of a slap across her cheek that sent her to the ground. She immediately rolled onto her back to face her assailant, but upon seeing the looming man towering over her, she felt her breath catch in her throat and was rendered motionless. Her position relative to this stranger threatened to jettison her back into horrible memories, and it took everything in her power to fight succumbing to them entirely.

Suddenly, flailing limbs accompanying a small battlecry erupted around the Feral, as Gracie saw her son latch himself onto the back of the man. He must have managed to free his other hand and fearlessly leapt into action to protect his mother. Eric's blows about the man's head and neck caused him to lurch forward and tumble past where Gracie laid, sending both himself and Eric rolling down the hill. "Eric!" Gracie cried, racing after them, and rolling down into the campsite herself. By the time she was able to get her bearings, a female Feral was already on her and had grabbed her braid firmly, yanking Gracie to her knees. Desperately, she looked for Eric, and found him being pried off the back of the guard by two other Ferals and tossed at Gracie's side, similarly forced to kneel.

Gracie was prepared to beg for their lives as she watched the group surround them, brandishing various clubs, spears, and knives. But everyone at once stood to attention upon hearing the unmistakeable snarls and throaty screeches of a nearby walker attracted by the commotion. The Ferals all turned away from Gracie and Eric toward the sound of the approaching threat, and the guard stepped forward, his machete raised. He took only a single step forward before being stopped by the outstretched arm of the older woman. With a grunt, she turned her arm and pointed squarely at Eric. The two Ferals holding Eric down raised him to his feet and a spear was thrust into his hands.

"Mom?" he asked, his voice elevated in panic.

"Hey! Hey wait!" Gracie pleaded with the woman. But it was too late. Eric was being marched toward the approaching walker, a long-deteriorated bag of bones that looked as though it probably died not long after The Fall. This would be an easy kill, but Gracie still wanted her son to have nothing to do with this.

"Mom!" Eric cried, getting pushed further from her.

Heart in her chest, Gracie put on a brave face. "It's okay, sweetie. They just want to test you and see if you can take out a walker. Just like you've done a hundred times. You can do this!"

With a final shove into the clearing, Eric was left on his own to take out the walker. Gracie could see his knees shaking as he gripped the spear. "Go on, Eric!" she cried. "It's weak— it's no threat to you."

And it wasn't. Eric nervously approached the stumbling sack of rotted flesh and deftly stopped it's gnarled shrieks with a quick jab to the forehead. It collapsed, and Eric dislodged the spear, an uneasy smile of relief spreading across his face.

"Good job, baby!" Gracie yelled, braid still held taught by the Feral keeping her captive. "Good job!"

Eric stood up, facing the onlooking Ferals, the spear that was longer than he was tall quivering in his unsteady hands. That's when Gracie saw it. Her face fell as from out of the shadows, three more walkers, all of which looked like fresher kills, emerged.

"Okay," Gracie cried, voice trembling. "Eric, behind you, there's three more! You can do it! Remember how we taught you."

As Eric spun around, Gracie shouted to the older woman. She appeared to hold the authority of a matriarch, a position of respect amongst this otherwise ungovernable tribe. "Hey!" she called. The woman gave the slightest look in her direction in acknowledgement. Gracie desperately signed as she said, "Hey, he needs help. Send some of your people."

Gracie looked back to Eric, who was gingerly circling the trio of walkers.

"We don't know how many more there are!" Gracie pleaded. "He can't take them alone, he's only eleven years old!"

The Matriarch showed no acknowledgement of Gracie's words, and merely continued watching.

Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears as she glanced rapidly back and forth between the Matriarch and her son. Eric had taken out the smallest walker of the three, but was unprepared for the second, which fumbled into him and sent the two of them tumbling to the ground, its jaws inches from Eric's face.

Gracie began screaming, "Please help him! PLEASE! He's my son!" But the Matriarch only continued watching. "He's a little boy! No younger than your girl. The one we saw freeze to death. PLEASE!"

At the mention of the girl, the Matriarch shot a wide-eyed glance at Gracie. She gasped, "You can understand me. You know what I'm saying so help! Help him!"

The Matriarch looked back to Eric, who was still holding back the second walker's snapping jaws as the third was rapidly advancing on him. Her jaw was set and her eyes narrowed, when suddenly she cried out with a sharp shriek. Immediately, two arrows plunged through an eye socket of each of the two remaining walkers. The one on top of Eric fell motionless, pinning Eric beneath its dead weight. Two Ferals approached and cleared the bodies, freeing him. He simply lied there, catching his breath. Gracie looked to her left and right, spotting the archers who had arrows trained on each of the walkers. Had the Matriarch had them ready to fire in case Eric wasn't able to finish the job?

As if in response to her unasked question, the Matriarch slowly turned and looked down at Gracie. Her words were hoarse and over pronounced, as though she hadn't used her voice in decades. "…so you are alone," she croaked.