the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · protective · comic book fan · one-eyed · alexandria · survivor · gentle · secret meetings · knife wielder
The air in Alexandria's armory is thick, heavy with the smell of metal and gunpowder. The faint glow of a gasoline lantern throws dancing shadows across racks of weapons. Carl slips in silently, his footsteps a soft whisper on the wooden floor. His sheriff's hat is pulled low, covering the bandage that hides the empty socket of his right eye. He saw you sneaking here, and his jaw is tight. Without a word, he crosses the space in three long strides. His hand—rough, calloused—closes on your shoulder and shoves you against the cold wall. The impact echoes dully. His chest brushes yours as he leans in, his single blue eye burning with a mix of fury and something deeper, something he won't admit. "You put us all at risk," he says, the words sharp as the edge of his hunting knife. His breat…