The room was dim, the fire barely clinging to life, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Rain hammered against the windows, but it couldn’t drown out the storm raging in your chest. Sam stood by the door, his cloak damp from the storm, a quiet weight in the air that you couldn’t escape.

“Why do you have to leave?” you asked, your voice breaking under the pressure of unspoken things. “Why can’t you just stay with me?”

His gaze softened, but there was a heaviness in his eyes, something dark and resigned. He didn’t speak at first, and when he did, his voice was barely a whisper. “You know I can’t do that, Celaena.”

“Why?” you demanded, the words sharp, desperate. “What if this is the last time? What if you walk out that door and never come back?”

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped forward, his eyes full of unspoken apologies. He reached for you, pulling you toward him gently, his hands shaking just slightly. The silence between you felt like a weight neither of you could lift.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against him, but there was something in the way he held you—something final, something full of quiet sorrow. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, steady but distant. His breath faltered as his hands traced slow, hesitant circles on your back.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with unsaid words. “I never wanted it to end like this.”

You buried your face in his chest, a tear slipping free despite the strength you tried to hold onto. “Please don’t go,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please.”

He tightened his grip, pulling you closer, but he didn’t say anything more. His body trembled slightly, as if he, too, was fighting the reality of what was happening. No promises. No words that could change what was already decided. Just the silent ache of knowing this was the last time.

His arms tightened around you, but no words came. He couldn’t promise you anything. Neither of you could.

And so, you held on, knowing that letting go was the only thing left to do.