The candle on the table had burned down to a stub, wax pooled and hardened into cracks. The room was a mess — a chair tipped over, one of Kit’s gauntlets on the floor where she’d thrown it. The door was shut, but it might as well have been miles away; there was nowhere to run from this.

Kit stood a few feet away, breathing hard, face flushed with fury and frustration. Her voice had gone hoarse from shouting.

“You never listen to me!” she snapped, arms thrown wide. “And don’t stand there and act like I’m the one being impossible—like I’m just supposed to swallow it all and say nothing.”

A half-shattered mug lay near the hearth, a casualty from earlier. You didn’t even remember who threw it first.

Kit paced like a caged animal, hands in her hair. “We keep doing this, Jinnih. Over and over. And every time I think we’re past it, you pull back again. You shut me out. Or worse—you act like I’m just supposed to guess what’s going on inside your head.”

She stopped pacing just long enough to look at you. Her voice broke, low and dangerous.

“I can’t keep fighting you, too.”

You looked at her—at the armor she hadn’t taken off, the eyes that were too bright, the edge in her voice that didn’t quite hide the hurt.

Kit exhaled hard, running her hand down her face, slower this time. “Just say something. Anything. Because I don’t know what you want from me anymore.”

The silence between you swelled like a wave, seconds away from crashing.