Lucien blinked, pulling out the explanation he'd prepared in advance. "Back at Harrison Memorial Hospital, I followed one of the patients around for a bit. He taught me some techniques for observation and listening. I've been practicing on my own for a while."
"Harrison Memorial Hospital again?" Glenn muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "What kind of place is this hospital anyway? You make it sound like some kind of training facility. Is it secretly located in Hawaii or something?"
Lucien's mouth twitched. He barely kept his expression neutral.
Bloody hell. Are we turning me into Sherlock Holmes now? Thank God you didn't say Gotham City.
The others in camp clearly didn't get the reference. A few exchanged confused glances, but nobody pressed the issue.
Daryl, however, wasn't done. He looked at Lucien for a moment, then his gaze slid over to Rick standing nearby.
"You were stuck in a hospital bed just as long. What'd you learn?"
Rick paused, clearly thinking it over, then spread his hands with a helpless smile. "I guess... how to get really good sleep? Even during the apocalypse?"
There was a beat of silence. Then everyone cracked up.
The laughter started with Glenn's surprised bark, then spread through the group like a wave. Even Andrea smiled, which considering the night they'd all had was something of a miracle. T-Dog let out a deep chuckle. Dale's shoulders shook. Morales grinned wide.
The tension that had been building all night finally broke. For a few seconds, they were just people laughing at a stupid joke, not survivors clinging to life by their fingernails.
Lucien felt something loosen in his chest. Not much, but enough to notice.
When the laughter faded, people started moving again, turning their attention to the aftermath. The camp's perimeter needed reinforcing. Weapons and ammunition needed counting, along with food and water supplies.
Andrea took the opportunity to quietly pull Amy back toward their tent. A few minutes later, Amy reappeared wearing something that caught the morning light.
A necklace. A thin silver chain with a delicate mermaid pendant.
Amy's fingers kept drifting up to touch it, as if she could not quite believe it was real. Andrea stood beside her.
"I was going to give it to you yesterday on your birthday. But..."
"It doesn't matter." Amy grabbed Andrea's hand, squeezing tight. "As long as you're here, any day is the right day."
She touched the mermaid pendant again. "Besides, I bet nobody else has ever had a birthday party as exciting as mine!"
That's debatable, Lucien thought, overhearing the exchange as he walked past. The apocalypse just started. Plenty more exciting birthdays ahead.
Shane had stopped nearby, close enough to hear their conversation. Something shifted in his expression.
He remembered that Lucien had spent his eleventh birthday trapped in an office, with walkers pounding on the doors below. He had been so focused on getting back to Lori and Carl, and so consumed by guilt over leaving Rick, that he had barely registered what day it was.
Why hadn't he even said "happy birthday" to this child, who needed comfort too?
A moment later, Shane walked over to where Lucien was helping Morgan sort through a pile of tools. Without a word, he reached out and ruffled Lucien's hair.
Lucien looked up.
Shane met his eyes. His throat worked like he was trying to swallow something that wouldn't go down.
"Things'll get better. I promise. You'll get to have a real birthday someday."
Lucien had no idea where this was coming from, but he'd learned to read a room. He nodded firmly.
That seemed to satisfy Shane, who gave his shoulder a brief squeeze before walking away.
Well. That was odd.
The moment with the sisters and Shane's sudden emotional outburst seemed to shift something in the camp's atmosphere. The horror of the previous night still lingered. No one was forgetting the blood, the screaming, or how close they had all come to dying. But there was warmth too. It was a small reminder that they were still human and capable of caring about one another.
Then Duane came sprinting over.
"Lucien! Lucien, wait!"
He disappeared into his tent and emerged a moment later dragging something that made Lucien stop dead.
A massive iron pot. The kind you'd use for cooking stew over an open fire, except this one looked like it had been doing that job since before Lucien was born.
Duane shoved it toward him with the pride of someone presenting a Nobel Prize.
"This is for you!"
Lucien stared. "That's... a pot."
"Yeah!" Duane beamed. "We found it in that empty house by the road! Remember how you said you needed something to make potions? Well, now you've got one!"
Oh God.
Lucien took the pot. It was heavier than it looked. When he glanced inside, he found a shallow layer of water and a fish about the size of his palm, flicking its tail weakly.
Before he could respond, Duane slapped his forehead, as if he had almost forgotten the most important thing. He hurried back to the tent and returned with a large basket filled with supplies.
Wild vegetables. Mushrooms. Several bottles and jars that looked like they had been taken straight out of someone's spice cabinet.
"I don't really know if these work for potions," he said, scratching his head. "But Mom said they're useful, so I brought them."
He pointed at the fish. "Carl heard you needed ingredients yesterday, so he traded his favorite book to Andrea for that. He thought maybe you could use it for something."
Then the vegetables. "Morales' friends helped gather these. They wanted to pitch in when they heard a new kid was joining camp."
Finally, Duane lowered his voice and pulled a can of meat from beneath the vegetables, glancing around like he was smuggling contraband.
"And Sophia snuck this from Carol. She made me promise to hide it in here for you."
Lucien processed this slowly.
The pot. The random assortment of "ingredients." All of it had been gathered by the kids in the camp as a welcome gift. It was the surprise they had planned to present at last night's party, before the walkers interrupted.
He looked down at what was essentially a pile of junk, things the children believed were potion components, and felt something uncomfortable lodge in his throat.
They had tried. In the middle of the apocalypse, when food was scarce and every resource mattered, they had pooled together whatever they could find because they thought it would make him happy.
Because they were still kids. And the adults had let them. Nobody had stopped Carl from trading away his book. Nobody had told Morales' friends to keep the vegetables for dinner. Carol had given up a can of meat because her daughter asked.
These were good people.
"Thank you. Thank you."
Duane's grin could've lit up the whole camp. "You're welcome! Carl wanted to come give it to you himself, but Rick's got him helping with something."
The other kids started gathering around.
Lucien took a breath and forced himself to meet their eyes.
"I know you all went to a lot of trouble for this. I really appreciate it."
He looked down at the pot.
"Well, I suppose I'd better get started then. Can't let all this go to waste."
The kids cheered like he'd just announced Christmas was coming early.
Morgan chuckled. "You heard the boy. Give him some space to work his magic."
The group started dispersing, though several people threw backward glances like they were hoping to see something miraculous happen. Lucien caught Glenn giving him a thumbs-up, which was somehow both encouraging and deeply embarrassing.
He carried the pot and basket to the small tent that had been assigned to him, then ducked inside and zipped the entrance closed.
He set the pot down in the corner, careful not to slosh water onto the fish, and placed the basket beside it. Then he collapsed onto his sleeping bag and let out a long, shaky breath.
His hands trembled slightly. It was too much. Too many feelings, too many expectations, and too many people looking at him as if he were something special, when all he had done was use magic they did not know he possessed to save his own skin as much as theirs.
He rubbed his temples, trying to push back the headache building behind his eyes.
What bothered him most was not the lying. He had already made peace with that necessity. It was the fact that their kindness was working.
He lay back on his sleeping bag and stared up at the tent's ceiling, forcing himself to organize his thoughts. The past few days had blurred together, a pileup of events that left Lucien feeling as though he were drowning in other people's drama.
Breathing out slowly, he began to review the roller coaster of those days, and then turned his thoughts toward his plans for the next stage of his magical studies.