Hardly settled with a beer in his hand, Glenn's eyes snapped up to meet Daryl's uneasy ones. Merle had already been a wild card in their group, but he had been in their group. When they left him on that rooftop, he'd gone back to search for him. Although he wasn't completely surprised to have heard he was still alive, Glenn had been shocked that he'd died in the end anyway. Maybe they all would. The odds weren't exactly in their favor.
His grip on the bottle grew unconsciously tenser. He hadn't even opened it yet, maybe he needed to before he responded to that landmine. Glenn had been expecting something bad, but not like this. It was better than it came from Daryl, but it must have been hard on him, too. His effort to care about that would be sharply limited by what all that entailed.
From what little Glenn knew, Woodbury meant the Governor, and the Governor meant bad news.
Sucking in the air between his teeth sharply, Glenn remained silent for long enough to unseal it and drink a fair share of it. That's all he seemed to do lately, sleep, game, work, and drink. His liver wasn't going to be happy with him by the end of the year. And it had been on such a good run since the CDC.
"Alright," he said, sniffing as he prepared himself for the worst he figured that had yet to come. He wasn't going to say he cared less that Merle was dead. Not yet. "What the hell happened, Daryl?"