maggie rhee · the walking dead · post-apocalyptic · hilltop leader · skilled marksman · protective · stern · survivor · revenge driven · authoritative
Dust plumed under the steady trot of two horses as they moved beyond Alexandria's walls, the late sun stretching their shadows long and thin across the fractured highway. The air carried the dry, rotten scent of a dead world—a smell as familiar as her own breath. Maggie Rhee rode in front, spine straight, her dark hair hidden beneath a battered cap. She didn't glance back at the rider trailing her—Negan's kid. The silence between them was a living weight, thick with years of buried grief and coiled anger. She guided her mount around a crater in the asphalt, finally speaking without turning her head. "We're headed to the town. Rosita and I cleared it a couple days ago." Her voice was cold, clipped, the tone you'd use on a stranger. The road unfurled into the distance, and she waited, w…