Melissa hadn't lit the lamps.
Moonlight slipped through the narrow window, pale and quiet, casting soft shadows across the small inn room.
She sat at the table, her fingers loosely wrapped around a cup of tea she hadn't touched. The liquid had long since gone cold.
A knock came—sharp, impatient, and heavy.
Before Melissa could even draw a breath to answer, the door swung open. Ember stood there, framed by the darkness of the hallway.
Her posture was rigid, her jaw tight, her internal fire completely restrained but unmistakably present in the way the air seemed to hum around her.
She closed the door behind her with more force than necessary, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the silence.
"You left," Ember said, her voice low.
Melissa didn't turn to face her. "I thought that was what you wanted."
That made Ember bristle, her shoulders tensing. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to, Ember. Some things are louder when they aren't spoken."
Silence settled between them—heavy, uncomfortable, and thick with the things they had shouted earlier. Ember took a step closer, her boots echoing on the wooden floor.
"I came to apologize," Ember said, the words sounding like they were being dragged over broken glass.
Melissa's fingers tightened slightly around the cold cup. She said nothing.
Ember's brow furrowed. "Say something. Anything."
Melissa finally looked at her. Her expression was calm—the terrifying, still calm of deep water—but her eyes were distant. "What would you like me to say, Ember?"
"That you understand!" Ember snapped. Then, catching the edge of her own temper, she forced her voice to drop. "That you know I was only worried. About the mission. About us."
Melissa set the cup down slowly on the table. "I do understand. I've always understood why you do what you do."
"Then why are you acting like this?"
"Because understanding doesn't erase hurt," Melissa said softly.
That stopped Ember cold. The fire in her eyes flickered, momentarily extinguished by the simple truth of the statement.
She stepped forward again—too close now, the radiant heat of her skin brushing against Melissa's cooler presence. "You always do this," Ember muttered, her frustration turning into something more fragile. "You retreat. You close off and pretend it doesn't matter, as if you can just bury your feelings like a stone."
Melissa stood up then, the movement sudden. She backed away, not even realizing she was doing it until the cold stone of the wall met her shoulder blades.
"I'm not pretending," Melissa whispered, her gaze locked onto Ember's. "I'm protecting myself. There is a difference."
Ember's hand came up—not to strike, not to threaten—but to brace against the wall right beside Melissa's head, physically stopping her retreat.
The space between them vanished.
It wasn't a violent movement. It wasn't cruel. It was just… sudden.
Melissa's breath caught in her throat. Ember froze the moment she realized exactly how close they were—close enough to feel the catch in Melissa's breathing, close enough to see the silver reflection of the moon in her pupils.
For a long heartbeat, neither moved.
"I don't know how to apologize without sounding weak," Ember said, her voice so quiet it was almost a confession. "And I don't know how to trust that people won't leave the second I let my guard down."
Melissa looked up at her then—really looked at the girl who had been her sun and her storm since they were fifteen.
"You don't have to be perfect with me, Ember," she whispered.
Ember's hand trembled against the wall. "Then don't look at me like I've failed you."
Melissa reached out. She didn't pull Ember closer, and she didn't push her away. She simply rested her fingers lightly against Ember's wrist, right over the pulse that was racing as fast as a bird's heart.
"I was hurt," Melissa said, her voice steadying. "Not disappointed. There's a difference in that, too."
That touch broke the spell.
Ember pulled her hand back immediately, stepping away as if burned—not by fire, but by the raw weight of the feeling. She looked at the floor, her breathing uneven.
"I shouldn't have cornered you," Ember said roughly, already moving toward the door.
"No," Melissa replied. "But you came. That matters more."
They stood there for a moment longer, the tension still humming between them—unresolved, unfinished, but no longer sharp enough to draw blood. When Ember reached the door, she paused with her hand on the handle.
"I don't doubt your judgment, Melissa," she said without looking back. "I doubt my ability to protect everyone if you're not there to balance me."
Melissa closed her eyes briefly, the stone wall at her back finally feeling warm. "You don't have to do it alone. You never did."
The door shut softly.
And for the first time since the market, the space between them—though still fragile—felt like it could finally be bridged.