The night’s quiet had a kind of weight to it—thick, heavy, and trembling under the surface. The air outside still smelled like smoke and fear, and every creak in the walls sounded like another secret trying to escape. You were standing near the window, arms crossed, the faint glow of the outside firelight brushing against your face. Mary’s voice had been getting louder outside the hall—words tumbling over each other in frustration and desperation until finally, she burst through the door.

“Can you please just—come with me for a second?” she said, almost breathless. You barely had time to ask before she grabbed your wrist, her touch trembling but firm, and dragged you down the hall. The others had been arguing again—Sammy’s voice rising, Smoke pacing—but when Mary shut the door behind you both, everything went quiet.

It was just her breathing. And yours.

You turned to face her, still trying to piece together what was happening. “Mary, what’s going on? What happened—”

“I can’t—” She swallowed, words choking in her throat before spilling out, raw and cracked. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t care what happens to you.” The air between you tightened. “You keep running into danger, you keep acting like you’re fine, but—” Her voice broke, tears filling her eyes. “If something happened to you, I wouldn’t survive that. I can’t.”

You blinked, stunned silent for a moment. This wasn’t like her. The calm, quiet Mary who held everything inside was gone. This was the real one—the one holding everything in her chest until it burned.

You stepped closer, careful, like you were approaching a wounded animal. “Mary…” She shook her head, voice trembling. “I want to stay here, with you. I don’t care about the plan, or the rules, or what anyone says. I need to be with you. Please—tell me I’m not the only one who feels it.”

Her hands found your sleeves, clutching them like her life depended on it. And for a moment, all you could do was stare at her—messy hair, red-rimmed eyes, the faint bruise on her jaw catching the light. The way she looked at you like you were the last safe place in the world. You reached up, brushing your fingers along her cheek. “You’re not.”

Her breath hitched.

And in that small, quiet room, with the chaos of the world just outside the door, Mary leaned forward—forehead against yours, eyes closed, whispering so softly you almost didn’t catch it. “Then let me stay. Just for tonight… please.”