The Georgia sun was brutal for a spring afternoon, beating down on the farm in waves of thick, humid heat. You were walking the worn dirt path between the house and the barn, Carl keeping pace beside you, both of you pretending the heat wasn't making everything stick to everything else.

He glanced over at you, waiting for an answer. It was the kind of small talk he was still getting used to — normal conversations with someone his own age that didn't involve walkers or guns or whether or not they'd survive the night. It felt... strange. Almost nice.

But before you could respond, something shifted. Your steps slowed. Your next word never quite made it out. Carl noticed the sudden silence first, then the way your body tilted, just slightly, like a branch giving way. He turned just in time to see your eyes roll back.

He moved on instinct, catching you before you hit the ground. His arms locked around you, holding you against him as panic flickered across his face.

The farmhouse door banged open. Hershel was already crossing the yard at a pace that belied his age, Maggie right on his heels.

Carl didn't let go. He just stood there, holding you, his heart still hammering.

Maggie stepped in, helping her father support you. Carl watched, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides. The afternoon felt heavier now, the heat pressing down on all of them. He finally understood why everyone on the farm seemed to watch you so carefully. And as Hershel and Maggie carried you toward the house, Carl fell into step behind them without being asked. He wasn't about to let you out of his sight anytime soon.