"Get him out? Shit." Daryl pulls a hand-rolled cigarette from the inside of his jacket, lights it with an ancient match. It's story-time now, apparently. Hell, if it'll calm the girl down, he can talk about Merle. "Time I got there, he'd taken over the station, shootin' people on the roof. High as a fuckin' kite off the evidence locker."

He turns to her, conspiratorial, the way Jude used to like. "If you're my niece, you ain't his. Wouldn't wish that on anybody."