I stormed into my room, dragging Ellie behind me, my chest heaving. “You think you can just stroll in here and play teacher with Lev?” I snapped, spinning to face her.

Ellie crossed her arms, defiant. “He wanted to learn. You’re the one making it an issue.”

My fists clenched. “I’m making it an issue because you think everything is some game! You don’t get what it takes to survive, Ellie. You haven’t grown up!”

She tilted her head, eyes cold. “And what exactly do you mean by that? That I should also find and torture the people who killed my family like you did with Joel?”

The words hit me like a punch. Rage surged, but so did the ache beneath it. I shoved her against the wall. She shoved back. Harder. And suddenly we were grappling, fists brushing each other, bodies twisting in the tight space.

“I am not them, Ellie!” I shouted, pushing her into the dresser. “I don’t want you to be them either!”

“I don’t need your lessons!” she yelled back, twisting, trying to break free. “I don’t need you! Don’t tell me how to live my life!”

Our foreheads bumped as we wrestled, breaths hot and ragged. My hands grabbed her shoulders, hers pressed against my chest. Every shove and grapple carried something unspoken: frustration, fear, grief, longing.

“I—God, I hate that I care so much!” I muttered between gritted teeth, gripping her arms tighter.

Ellie’s hands trembled on my wrists. “You think I don’t? You think I like seeing you angry at me?”

We paused briefly, bodies pressed together, sweat and blood from small scratches mingling on our skin. The intensity in her eyes was mirrored in mine, the fight slowing, becoming something else entirely.

I pressed a hand to her cheek, ignoring the sting from our earlier scuffle. “Stop hiding behind your anger. Let me see you, Ellie. Really see you.”