Chapter 27: Ascension

Daryl stirred awake, the faint sunlight filtering through the cracked and dusty windows of the abbey. He rolled his face deeper into the pillow, inhaling a deep breath as he instinctively reached out across the bed, searching for Isabelle. The coolness of the sheets made his brow furrow as he blinked and lifted his head, still heavy with sleep, and glanced toward her side. Empty.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face as the remnants of sleep clung to him. The quiet of the abbey hung heavy in the air, broken only by the faint rustle of wind seeping through cracks in the old stone walls. Isabelle's jacket was gone from where she had draped it over the back of a chair the night before, and her boots were missing from their place near the door.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Daryl stood and stretched, his joints popping in protest. He pulled on his boots and grabbed his jacket as he scanned the room one last time. He made his way through the abbey, his boots echoing against the worn stone floors. The morning light cast long shadows, illuminating the weathered arches and the remnants of what had once been a sanctuary. His hand brushed against the rough stone as he walked, his sharp eyes scanning every corner for any sign of her. As he passed the courtyard, a soft sound caught his ear—the faint crunch of footsteps in the overgrown garden beyond.

Stepping outside, Daryl's gaze immediately found her. Isabelle was crouched low amidst the brittle remains of the garden, her hands parting the frozen stalks and weeds that had overtaken the beds. The once vibrant space was a patchwork of decay, with withered plants and frosted soil stretching before her. She brushed dirt and frost away from a cluster of leaves, her breath visible in the cold morning air as she examined what was beneath. Occasionally, she pulled up a vegetable, small and stunted but still intact, setting it aside carefully.

Daryl lingered in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame as he watched her. She was so absorbed in her task she didn't notice his presence. Her movements were steady, her focus unwavering as she sought out anything that might have survived the neglect and cold. The faint light caught her blonde hair, making her look like a figure out of some old, weathered painting.

"Couldn't sleep?" Daryl finally asked, his voice low and rough with the remnants of morning.

Isabelle startled slightly, glancing over her shoulder. When she saw him, her expression softened, and she let out a small sigh. "No," she admitted, brushing her hands against her thighs again. "I thought I might as well check if there was anything worth saving out here. This garden fed us for years. Feels wrong to leave it completely empty without trying."

Daryl's gaze shifted to the frost-laden garden, taking in the frozen remnants and occasional flashes of green. "Find anything?"

"A few things," she said, holding up a small, frost-bitten turnip with a faint smile. "Not much, but it's something." Her tone carried both pride and the weight of her efforts as she added it to a modest pile nearby.

Daryl crouched a few feet away, his sharp eyes scanning the ground but making no move to join her. Instead, he rested his forearms on his knees, watching as she worked. "Ain't much growin' in this weather," he remarked, his voice softer now. "Hard to believe anything made it."

Isabelle didn't look up, her fingers brushing over a stalk of kale that had weathered the frost. "These plants are tougher than they look," she said quietly. "They've been through worse seasons, just like the rest of us."

He nodded slightly, his gaze lingering on her face. There was a calmness about her in this moment, a quiet resilience that seemed to radiate from her as she sifted through the cold earth.

She brushed away more frost, uncovering a pale onion and adding it to her pile.

For a long moment, they stayed like that, the silence between them comfortable and unspoken. The cold air bit at their skin, but neither seemed to notice as Isabelle continued her search and Daryl kept watch, his presence a steady, grounding force. Eventually, Isabelle straightened, wiping her hands on her pants once more.

Daryl pushed himself to his feet, brushing the dirt from his hands as Isabelle gathered the small pile of vegetables she'd managed to salvage. He lingered for a moment, watching her carefully wrap a frost-bitten onion in her scarf.

"Carol or Codron up yet? I want to go check that supply depot Fallou told us about before it gets too late." He chewed on his bottom lip as he offered a hand to help her carry the sad looking vegetables.

Isabelle hesitated, her hands pausing over the vegetables as she glanced up at him. The look on her face was a mix of guilt and apprehension, her lips pressing into a thin line before she finally spoke.

"They're already up," she admitted, her voice quiet. "They left just after sunrise."

Daryl's brows drew together in a sharp furrow, his hand hovering mid-air where he'd offered to help. "They what?"

"They thought it'd be better if they went," Isabelle continued quickly, her words tumbling out as if trying to soften the blow. "Carol said you'd argue about it, and Codron… well, he said he'd keep an eye out. They figured it was something they could handle."

Daryl's jaw tightened, and he let out a low huff as he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I didn't want to wake you," Isabelle said softly, her gaze dropping to the vegetables in her hands. "Carol said they could handle it and let you catch a break for once." She lifted her eyes to meet his, "Besides, there's plenty we can do here while we wait. The garden, the storage rooms—we haven't gone through everything yet. If they find something useful, great. If not, at least we've made progress here."

Daryl's sharp gaze lingered on her for a moment before he finally nodded, though the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. "If they ain't back by dark, I'm headin' out after 'em."

"They'll be back," Isabelle said firmly, offering him a faint smile.

Daryl huffed quietly, his arms falling to his sides as he glanced down at the vegetables she held. He reached out, taking the bundle from her hands.

They stepped into the abbey's modest kitchen, the space lit by the sunlight filtering through the high, narrow windows. Isabelle set the small pile of vegetables on the counter, rolling up her sleeves as she moved to a pot of water she'd drawn from the well earlier. The cold from the water stung her fingers as she began washing away the dirt and frost clinging to the vegetables.

Daryl lingered near the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if searching for something to do. With a faint huff, he moved to the shelves and cabinets, pulling open doors and rummaging through the sparse contents. He placed a few jars on the counter—dried herbs, a dusty jar of salt, and a smaller jar of something that might have been pepper. A folded cloth caught his attention, and he added it to the pile, along with a couple of pots that had been tucked into a corner. Finally, he found a sack with some flour, the fabric worn but intact.

She glanced over, pausing in her work to take stock of what he'd uncovered. "Not bad. Might even be able to make some bread if we're lucky." She said with a small smile.

Daryl leaned against the counter, watching her scrub a frost-bitten turnip. "What else needs doin'?"

Isabelle paused, glancing at him over her shoulder. Her blue eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she said, "Just stand there and brood. Give me something nice to look at while I work."

Daryl blinked, caught off guard by her words, though he quickly masked it with a faint huff.

She shrugged, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she turned back to her task.

The rumble of the truck's engine echoed faintly in the still morning air as Carol eased the vehicle to a stop near the depot's overgrown lot. The building loomed ahead, its weathered facade streaked with years of grime and decay. Vines crept up one side, curling around broken windows, and the faint smell of damp earth hung in the air.

Carol shifted the truck into park, cutting the engine. Silence rushed in to fill the void, broken only by the faint rustle of wind through the trees. She glanced toward Codron, who sat in the passenger seat with his rifle resting across his lap, his sharp gaze scanning their surroundings.

"Looks quiet," he said, though his tone carried a note of caution. He adjusted his grip on the rifle, his eyes narrowing as they swept over the building. A handful of walkers shuffled aimlessly near the building's entrance, their decayed forms swaying as they moved. One dragged a broken leg, its gait uneven and sluggish, while another scraped its bony fingers against the vines clinging to the wall.

"Just a few," Carol muttered, her hand instinctively moving to the knife at her side. "We can take them quietly."

Codron nodded, his grip tightening on his rifle. "I'll take the two on the left."

Carol didn't reply as she slipped out of the truck. The sound of her boots hitting the ground was muffled by the overgrown grass as she motioned for Codron to follow. Together, they moved like shadows, their steps soundless as they closed the distance to the walkers.

Codron raised his rifle, using the butt to strike one walker cleanly in the head. The crunch of bone was muffled, and the body crumpled to the ground with a wet thud. Carol darted toward the second, her knife flashing as she plunged it into the base of its skull. She steadied the body as it fell, lowering it silently to the ground.

The last few walkers were dispatched just as efficiently, their groans cut short by quick, precise blows. The area around the depot fell silent once more, save for the faint rustle of wind through the trees.

Carol wiped her blade on the nearest patch of grass, her eyes already scanning the building's entrance. "Let's move."

Codron nodded, stepping over the fallen walkers as they approached the door. It hung slightly ajar, the rusted hinges creaking faintly as Carol pushed it open with the barrel of her rifle. The interior was dim, the light filtering through broken windows barely enough to illuminate the space. Dust motes swirled in the air, disturbed by their entry.

"Smells like death in here," Codron muttered, his nose wrinkling as he adjusted his rifle.

Carol's eyes flicked to the floor, noting the uneven patches of dirt and debris scattered across the room. The shelves were mostly bare, their contents long scavenged, but a few crates and barrels remained stacked near the far wall.

"Stay sharp," she said quietly, moving deeper into the room. Her steps were slow and cautious, her senses on high alert as her eyes swept over the space.

As they moved further in, the faint sound of something shifting overhead made both of them freeze. Carol's eyes snapped upward, her breath catching as she spotted a taut wire stretched across the ceiling beams. Her heart sank as she traced it to a crude mechanism—a makeshift trap rigged to a series of sharpened metal spikes, poised to drop at the slightest disturbance.

"Booby trap," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Codron's gaze followed hers, his expression hardening.

Carol scanned the room, her sharp eyes locking onto the wire's anchor point near the far wall. It was tied to a rusted nail driven into the wood, barely holding the tension of the wire. She nodded her head towards it, and Codron's eyes followed.

Codron exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on his rifle. "You think it's the only one?"

"Doubt it," Carol said grimly.

They exchanged a glance, a weary understanding passing between them. Carol crouched low, her movements careful as she began inching toward the crates, her eyes locked on the wire. Codron stayed behind, his rifle raised and ready as he kept watch for any other surprises.

Codron followed, his expression grim as they pressed deeper into the depot.

As they moved deeper into the labyrinth, the air grew heavier, the faint metallic tang of rust and decay clinging to the back of their throats. Shadows pooled in the corners, making it difficult to discern where danger might be hiding. Carol's grip tightened on her knife as her sharp gaze flicked between the walls and the floor, searching for anything out of place.

"Whoever set that first trap didn't stop at one," she murmured, her voice low as she motioned Codron to stay close. "Stay light on your feet."

Codron nodded, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the room. "Looks like they wanted this place off-limits."

"Or they're still using it," Carol added. She crouched near a stack of crates, her fingers brushing over a faint line of dirt that seemed too precise to be natural. "Tripwire," she muttered, motioning to Codron.

"Damn," Codron whispered, stepping carefully around the wire. His rifle remained raised, his posture tense as he kept a sharp watch for movement. "We'll have to clear the whole place."

Carol nodded, rising to her feet and moving toward a door at the far end of the room. "Check what's in here. Could be storage."

She reached for the handle, but Codron held up a hand, his eyes narrowing. "Wait." He pointed to the faint glint of another wire, this one rigged to the doorframe. It led upward, disappearing into the darkness above.

"Clever," Carol muttered, crouching to examine it.

Before she could finish her inspection, a faint click echoed through the room. Both of them froze, their eyes widening as they realized the wire wasn't the only danger.

The floor beneath Codron creaked ominously, and he barely had time to curse before a section of the floorboards collapsed, sending both of them tumbling into the darkness below.

"...So this sonuva-bitch rolls off the roof, right? Right in front of the truck." The humor in Daryl's voice was rare, the way his eyes glinted as he recounted the memory to Isabelle. Her hands worked to cut up the vegetables as she listened to him. He sat perched on a nearby counter top, his legs dangling as he spoke animatedly with his hands. "And I jump out of the truck and run after him. Cause there's no way this asshole is getting out of it that easy. I was gonna beat the shit out of him."

Isabelle glanced up briefly, a soft smile on her face as she watched the humor light up Daryl's expression. "And we're running through this field like a bunch of idiots. And every time he dodges me, I was gettin' madder and madder. I'd go left and he'd go right…"

"And did you catch him?" she asked, returning her focus to the frostbitten turnip in her hands.

"Yeah… well, kinda. Rick had jumped out of the truck too. So Jesus runs and jumps in it, then as I'm tryin' to pull him out, he steals my gun."

Isabelle let out a laugh, the sound light and genuine. "Sounds like you had your hands full."

"Oh, it gets better," Daryl said, sitting forward slightly, his eyes glinting.

"So I knock the shit out of him and get my gun back. And I guess while I'm dragging him outta the truck, he hit the gear shift. So we didn't realize the truck was rolling until it was too late. The whole damn thing ended up at the bottom of a pond."

"Let me guess," Isabelle said, her tone teasing. "You were not happy."

"Hell no, I wasn't," he said, though the humor still lingered in his voice.

Isabelle bit her lip, trying and failing to suppress a grin. "And what about… Jesus?" she asked, emphasizing the name with a playful lilt.

Daryl huffed, his hands gesturing as he continued. "Oh, he was out cold. The truck door caught him on the way down, clocked him right in the head. I wanted to leave him there after all that. Or throw him in the pond."

"And did you?" Isabelle asked, her grin widening.

"Nah," Daryl said with a shrug. "Rick wouldn't let me. So we brought him back to Alexandria with us."

Isabelle's laughter softened as she set the knife down, her full attention now on Daryl as he recounted the story. She leaned slightly against the counter, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she soaked in the rare lightness in his expression.

"And you just… brought him back? After all that?" she asked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt.

"Didn't have much choice," Daryl said with a shrug, his grin lingering. "Rick figured since he never actually pulled a gun on me, he might not be a bad guy. And, well… he wasn't wrong."

Shaking her head, Isabelle let out a soft chuckle as she stepped away from the counter. She crossed the small kitchen to where he sat perched on the edge, his legs dangling casually. The humor still danced in his eyes, his rare smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, and she felt a tug in her chest at the sight of it.

Without hesitation, Isabelle moved to stand between his legs, her hands finding their place on his thighs. He stilled, but the grin on his face never wavered as he looked down at her, his gaze steady. The warmth of his presence enveloped her, grounding her in the moment as she looked up at him with a mixture of amusement and affection.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, her eyes locked on his as she tugged him down toward her. The movement was confident, her intention clear, and Daryl didn't resist. Their lips met, the kiss soft and unhurried, her hold on his shirt firm as she pulled him closer.

Her hands slid upward, cupping his face as her lips lingered on his for a brief moment before finally pulling back. Isabelle's eyes flicked over his face, her lips curving into a faint, satisfied smile.

Without a word, she turned back to the counter, picking up her knife and returning to the vegetables as if nothing had happened. Daryl blinked, his hands still braced on the edge of the countertop as he watched her.

Carol hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the air from her lungs as she rolled to her side, her knife clattering to the floor beside her. Codron landed nearby with a heavy thud, his rifle slipping from his grip as dust and debris rained down around them.

"Shit," Codron groaned, coughing as he pushed himself onto his hands and knees. "You okay?"

"Peachy," Carol muttered, wincing as she sat up and grabbed her knife. Her eyes darted around the dim space, her heart pounding as she tried to assess their situation.

They were in what appeared to be a cellar, the walls lined with rusted shelves and old crates. A faint light filtered through the cracks above, casting jagged shadows across the room. But it wasn't the surroundings that made Carol's stomach churn—it was the faint sound of movement in the shadows.

"Shhhh," she hissed, grabbing her rifle and rising to her feet. Codron followed suit, his breath still heavy as he retrieved his own weapon.

The sound grew louder, the unmistakable shuffle of walkers stirring in the darkness. Carol's sharp eyes darted toward the far end of the cellar, where the faint glint of decayed eyes and bared teeth began to emerge from the shadows.

The first walker lunged, its decrepit fingers reaching for her as Carol drove her knife into its skull. Another stumbled forward, and Codron's rifle cracked sharply, the shot reverberating through the confined space.

The noise sent the remaining walkers into a frenzy, their groans growing louder as they surged toward them.

Carol's movements were quick and precise, her knife flashing as she cut through the onslaught. Codron stayed close, his shots echoing as he worked to keep their path clear.

"We need to find a way out," Carol said, her voice strained as she drove her knife into another walker's temple. "This place could be rigged to collapse."

Codron nodded, his gaze darting around the cellar. His eyes landed on a ladder near the far wall, partially obscured by crates and debris. "There," he said, motioning toward it. "Might lead back up."

Carol followed his line of sight, her jaw tightening. "Cover me," she ordered, pushing forward through the chaos.

Codron fired off another shot, the crack of his rifle cutting through the groans as Carol reached the ladder. She yanked at the debris, clearing a path to the rungs as more walkers closed in.

"Hurry!" Codron barked, his rifle running low on ammo as he fought to hold them off.

Carol shoved the last crate aside and grabbed the ladder. She tested it quickly, the metal groaning under her weight but holding firm.

"Go!" Codron urged, backing toward her as his last bullet found its mark.

Carol climbed quickly, her movements steady despite the chaos below. The ladder creaked in protest, its rungs slick with mold and grime. Codron followed close behind, his breath heavy as he ascended.

"Keep moving," Carol urged as she reached for the next rung.

Codron grunted in response, his boots scraping against the metal as he climbed. But then he stopped abruptly, the ladder trembling slightly as his weight shifted.

"Carol," he said, his voice tight with disbelief.

She froze, her grip tightening on the rungs. "What?" she snapped, glancing down at him.

Codron wasn't looking at her. His wide eyes were fixed below, his face a mixture of shock and alarm. "It's… it's climbing."

Carol adjusted slightly to follow his gaze, her stomach twisting as her eyes locked on the walker below. The creature—its face barely intact, skin hanging loose from its jaw—had clumsily grabbed hold of the ladder. Its mangled hands clutched the rungs as it awkwardly hauled itself upward, its movements jerky and unnatural.

The groans it let out were guttural and raw, its cloudy eyes locked on Codron with single-minded intent.

"Damn it," Carol muttered under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She'd seen this before—once.

"Since when do they do that?" Codron barked, panic creeping into his voice.

"They don't," Carol said sharply.

Codron hesitated for a split second before bracing himself on the ladder and swinging one booted foot downward. The sole of his boot connected with the walker's head in a brutal kick, the impact sending the creature's decayed form flailing backward. Its hands slipped from the ladder, its body plummeting into the mass of walkers below with a sickening thud.

Breathing heavily, Codron looked up at Carol, his expression a mixture of confusion and fury. "GO!"

She climbed the ladder with renewed urgency, the moans of the walkers below rising into a chaotic chorus as the fallen one's descent stirred the mass into a frenzy.

Codron followed close behind, glancing downward only once. "Putain, c'est quoi ce bordel!" he hissed, his voice tight with disbelief as he saw another walker clawing at the base of the ladder, its rotten fingers scraping against the rungs in a futile attempt to follow.

"Move, Codron!" Carol snapped, her voice sharp as she reached the top. She shoved the trapdoor open with a grunt, the weak sunlight spilling into the confined space and illuminating the dust swirling around them. Pulling herself through, she turned and extended a hand toward him.

Codron grabbed it without hesitation, using her leverage to haul himself up just as another walker's bony hand grasped the lowest rung. The trapdoor slammed shut with a heavy thud, and Carol immediately dragged a nearby crate over it, wedging it into place as Codron collapsed against the wall, his chest heaving.

"Ça… c'était quoi, ça?" Codron muttered, his voice shaking as he tried to catch his breath. "They don't climb. They don't think. That's not supposed to happen."

"They didn't used to," Carol said grimly, standing and scanning the room. "But I've seen it before. Walkers scaling walls, breaking glass, picking up things to use as weapons." She shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line. "We thought it was a fluke—or some kind of mutation..."

Codron stared at her, his expression a mix of disbelief and anger.

"I don't know," Carol admitted, shrugging her shoulders, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning in her chest. Codron wiped a hand over his face, his jaw tightening as his gaze flicked towards the trap door.

Carol turned, her eyes sweeping over the room, "We need to get out of here."

Codron pushed off the wall, his breaths still heavy, as he checked his rifle. The magazine was empty, and he let out a frustrated curse under his breath, slinging it over his shoulder. "Get out of here where, exactly? This place is rigged to hell."

Carol's eyes darted around the room, taking in the scattered crates, debris, and faint outlines of tripwires hidden in the dust-filled air. Carol took the lead as they moved toward a narrow corridor across the room.

The air grew heavier the deeper they moved. Carol's pulse quickened as they reached an intersection, two narrow hallways branching in opposite directions.

She glanced at Codron, her voice low. "Left or right?"

He hesitated, his gaze darting between the two paths. "Right," he said finally.

Carol nodded, leading the way down the right-hand corridor. The faint sound of their footsteps echoed around them, a haunting rhythm that kept their nerves taut.

As they rounded a corner, the faint outline of an exit came into view—a heavy metal door partially obscured by debris. Relief flickered in Carol's chest, but she didn't let her guard down.

Codron stepped forward, his hand gripping the edge of the door as he peered through the narrow gap. The faint glow of daylight spilled through the crack, confirming their escape route.

"Clear," he said, his voice tinged with relief. He pushed the door open carefully, the rusted hinges groaning in protest.

Carol followed, her knife in hand as they stepped into the open air. The cold hit them like a slap, the sharp scent of damp earth and overgrown grass filling their lungs. She glanced around, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of movement.

Codron leaned against the doorframe, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. "I don't care what's in there," he said, his voice low and bitter. "Ain't worth it."

Carol nodded, her gaze lingering on the depot behind them. She tightened her grip on her knife, her lips pressing into a thin line.

With one last glance at the depot, they turned and began the trek back to the truck, their steps heavier with the weight of having to go back empty handed.

The soft crackle of the fire filled the night air, its glow casting dancing shadows across the abbey courtyard. The group sat in a loose circle, the warmth of the flames a welcome reprieve from the biting chill that had settled over the old stone walls. Daryl leaned back against a weathered bench, his legs stretched out before him, while Isabelle sat cross-legged on the ground beside him, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug. She could feel the gentle motion of his fingers tracing back and forth across her shoulder blades, and she leaned a little closer into his warmth.

Carol and Codron sat on the opposite side of the fire. Carol was sharpening her knife, her movements rhythmic, as Codron poked absently at the embers with a stick.

"I haven't seen them do that since that time back home. Aaron and Jerry said they ran into some the night before that, but I just thought it was a fluke… or exhaustion. Thought maybe they'd imagined it." Carol said, her voice was low, uncertain. She looked up from her knife for a moment, her gaze lost somewhere in the fire.

"And they were climbing the ladder after you?" Isabelle asked softly, her voice cutting through the tension. Her blue eyes flicked to Carol, concern etched into her features.

Daryl straightened slightly, his posture tense. "The ladder? You sure?"

"Dead sure," Codron muttered, his tone laced with unease. He jabbed the stick into the dirt, his jaw tightening. "It wasn't natural. Bastard looked like it had a purpose."

Isabelle's hand tightened around her mug, her gaze flicking to Daryl as if seeking reassurance. Daryl's expression remained stoic, but his jaw clenched as he processed the information.

"You said you've seen it before," Isabelle prompted, her voice quiet as she addressed Carol.

Carol nodded, her fingers pausing on the blade of her knife. "Back before we took over the Commonwealth. Walkers doing things they weren't supposed to. Climbing walls, using tools... it didn't make sense then, and it doesn't make sense now."

Daryl let out a low huff, his hand raking through his hair. "Nothing about them makes sense."

"They're not smart," Codron said quickly, his voice tight. "They're just... changing. Evolving, maybe."

A heavy silence fell over the group, the fire crackling softly as they each grappled with the implications.

Isabelle finally broke the quiet, "And the depot?"

"That place was a death trap," Carol said simply. "Rigged with enough traps to take down anyone stupid enough to step inside."

Codron snorted, his grip tightening on the stick in his hand. "Almost did. Floor gave out under us. Thought we were done for."

Carol nodded, her gaze hardening. "Whoever set those traps wanted to keep people out—or kill them if they got in. Either way, we couldn't risk staying. There wasn't enough left in there to justify it."

Daryl nodded, chewing his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Well, I say we head out tomorrow, there's no reason to stick around here longer than we have to. Go ahead and put some more miles behind us. We still have a long way to go."

The group murmured their agreement, their exhaustion evident in the subtle nods and lack of argument. The fire crackled between them, its warmth a fleeting comfort in the cold night air.

Isabelle stood, brushing off her hands and stretching slightly. "I'm going to draw some water," she said. "I'd like to take a bath before we leave. If we're moving on, might as well make use of what we have here while we can."

Daryl glanced up at her, his sharp eyes flicking to the darkened abbey behind them and then back to her. Isabelle caught his gaze and added, "Could you bring in one of the burning logs? Light a fire in the fireplace?"

He shifted slightly, his boot nudging at the dirt before he nodded. "Yeah, I'll bring it in."

"Thank you," Isabelle said with a faint smile, her hand brushing lightly over his shoulder as she turned to head toward the well.

The fire crackled softly as one by one, they rose to their feet. Carol stretched, her knife tucked securely into her belt, and reached for a sturdy branch resting near the fire. The embers glowed faintly as she pulled it free, its tip smoldering in the cool night air. She glanced briefly at Codron, who was already reaching for his own stick.

"Easier this way," Carol muttered, her voice low as she hefted the branch.

Codron grunted in agreement, grabbing his stick and slinging his rifle over his shoulder. The faint firelight reflected off his face, deepening the lines of weariness etched there. "Better than fumbling around in the dark," he said, his tone dry but lightened by a hint of humor.

Daryl stood last and reached for a sturdy piece of wood, its embers casting a soft orange glow against the shadows on his face.

Without a word, they each made their way into the abbey, the faint light of their makeshift torches bobbing in the darkness as they split off to their respective quarters.

The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth echoed through the room, its warmth chasing away the chill that clung to the old stone walls. Isabelle leaned back in the tub, her blonde hair damp and clinging to her neck as she soaked in the steaming water. The faint scent of herbs from the soap she'd used lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the firewood.

The door creaked softly as Daryl stepped inside, his boots scuffing against the floor as he carried another armful of firewood. He crossed the room without a word, depositing the load near the fireplace before shrugging off his jacket and tossing it onto the chair by the bed. His eyes flicked toward Isabelle, lingering for a moment before he sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he watched her.

"You keepin' warm enough?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly as he gestured toward the tub with a slight tilt of his chin.

Isabelle opened her eyes, her lips curving into a soft smile as she nodded. "More than enough. The fire's doing its job." Her gaze flicked to the hearth briefly before settling back on him. "Thank you."

Daryl grunted softly in acknowledgment, his eyes remaining on her. The flickering light from the fire played across his face, softening the edges of his usual expression. "Figured you deserved a bit of peace," he said after a moment.

Isabelle's smile deepened, and she leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, letting her fingers trail absently through the warm water. A hint of nostalgia flickered in her eyes as she glanced back at Daryl, her voice soft as she spoke.

"Feels like forever ago… when I walked in and found you sitting in this same tub," she said, her lips curving into a faint, wistful smile. "We were strangers then."

Daryl tilted his head slightly, his brow furrowing as he thought back to that day. A small huff of amusement escaped him, and he shook his head. He glanced down at his forearm, where faint scars marred the skin—ripples and divots that had long since healed. The memory of the singeing pain flashed briefly in his mind, accompanied by the sharp smell of burning flesh and the rushed murmur of voices as Isabelle and the other nuns had worked to cauterize the wound.

"All of it feels like a dream now," Isabelle said, her voice trailing off, carrying a hint of sadness. "Just flickers of memory. So much has changed." Her gaze drifted downward, the water rippling softly as she traced circles with her fingers.

Daryl watched her in silence for a moment, before he stood and walked over, bracing himself on the tub as he took a seat on the floor beside it. He rested his arm on the side, but dipped his fingers down in the water absentmindedly. Isabelle watched as his fingertips danced on the surface, the slow swirling ripples lapping at her collarbones. She studied his face, the way his eyes seemed fixed on memories that were far away from the present.

Her hand lifted from the water, droplets trailing down her arm as she reached out and gently entwined her fingers with his. The simple gesture brought his attention fully back to her, the weight of his thoughts lifting slightly. Daryl's lips twitched, not quite a smile but close. His fingers trailed along hers, his touch soft, the length of his fingers sliding along the length of hers.

It was small gestures like that that seemed to stir the most within her—actions so small but carrying a quiet significance. The way his fingers lingered, the deliberate simplicity of the touch. It was still new, unexplored territory for him, this kind of intimacy—something he was finally allowing himself to show and accept.

Isabelle's heart swelled, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the fire or the bathwater. Her gaze lifted to his face, studying the subtle shift in his expression.

Her lips curved faintly as she shifted her grip, tugging lightly on his fingers.

"Come on," she murmured softly, breaking the silence at last. Her hand didn't release his, holding steady as she waited for his response. His body stilled, his eyes locking on hers.

"What?" he asked.

Isabelle's smile deepened, soft but unwavering as she tugged on his fingers again, her voice a quiet invitation. "Get in."

Daryl's brow furrowed slightly, his hesitation clear as his gaze flicked to the water and then back to her.

He shifted slightly, his body taut with the self-consciousness that crept over him like a second skin. But Isabelle didn't waver. After a beat, he sighed, the sound more resigned than reluctant, and moved to stand. Isabelle's eyes stayed on him as he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one fluid motion. Her gaze lingered on the lines of his chest and shoulders.

When he reached for his belt, undoing the buckle with careful movements, he paused and glanced at her. His eyes met hers, his expression a mix of uncertainty and subtle frustration, as if silently asking, Do you have to watch me?

Isabelle's lips twitched, and a quiet laugh escaped her. She shook her head, dropping her gaze to the rippling water. "Fine," she said lightly, a teasing lilt in her voice as she turned her head slightly to give him the privacy he seemed to need.

Once the rest of his clothes were discarded, Daryl stepped into the tub carefully. The water sloshed slightly as he slid down, settling in front of her. Isabelle shifted, her hands gentle as she guided him, coaxing him to rest his back against her chest.

"There," she murmured softly, her cheek brushing against the side of his head. Her arms draped loosely over his shoulders, her hands dipping lightly into the water at his sides.

Daryl let out a quiet breath, his body still slightly rigid. But as the warmth of the water and Isabelle's steady presence surrounded him, he slowly began to relax. Her knees rose on either side of him, just peeking above the surface, and his fingers found their way to one, tracing aimless patterns on her skin.

Isabelle's cheek brushed against his ear as she shifted slightly to reach for the sponge. Dipping it into the warm water, she let it soak before gently trailing it across his chest. The motion was unhurried, her touch soft, as if every stroke carried with it a silent message of care and acceptance. As though she were erasing the weight he carried piece by piece.

The sound of the water, soft and rippling with their movements, mingled with the faint crackle of the fire. It was a fragile peace, one born of trust and mutual understanding. Isabelle didn't break the silence, content to let the moment stretch and settle, her care conveyed through her actions.

Daryl shifted slightly, tilting his head just enough that his temple brushed against hers, a subtle acknowledgment of the closeness they shared. For a man so often guarded, this quiet vulnerability felt profound, and Isabelle felt her heart ache in the best way.