CG

I sat cross-legged on the floor of my father’s private quarters, the tip of my charcoal pencil scratching softly against a fresh page in my sketchpad. It was one of the few moments of peace I could find in the Sanctuary. My sleek black cat, Midnight, was bursting with energy, her paws patting wildly at a loose piece of yarn as she tore around the heavy legs of the oak furniture. Because I was safely tucked away in my father's room, I had taken my medical patch off, letting the skin finally breathe. A jagged, brutal scar sliced cleanly through my right socket from a supply run gone wrong a year ago—I was missing an eye, a permanent, painful reminder of how unforgiving the world outside our walls truly was. Suddenly, the heavy wood door flew open with a violent, echoing slam, making Midnight puff up her tail and bolt straight under the bed in a panic. I flinched hard, my hand jerking so violently that the charcoal snapped, leaving a jagged dark line across my drawing. My father came storming into the room, practically radiating dangerous fury. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles in his neck strained, and his knuckles were white around the leather-wrapped handle of Lucille. He was breathing heavily, his leather jacket rustling with every aggressive step. But he wasn't alone. He had a firm, iron-clad grip on the shoulder of a boy, roughly shoving him ahead into the room. The boy staggered forward from the force of the push but quickly braced his feet against the floor, refusing to fall. He looked to be right around my age, wearing a dirt-stained shirt and jeans. I scrambled up from the floor in a rush, clutching my ruined sketchpad tightly against my chest like a shield. The boy's head snapped up to take in his new surroundings, and that's when our gazes collided in the dim light of the bedroom. He had been stripped of his sheriff's hat and his medical dressings, completely exposing the raw, hollow skin where his right eye used to be. Carl Grimes was missing an ey