The door closed behind Scarlet with a click.
And with that, something in Noah fractured.
He didn't budge—not for a few minutes. The room was impossibly vast suddenly. The resonance of Scarlet's voice still lingered faintly in the edges. Her last words lingered in the air like smoke that refused to disperse.
"Being your comfort, your almost, your placeholder—
I don't think I'll ever forgive you for that."
Noah released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. His knees buckled, and he fell onto the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Outside, the rain had ceased, but it continued to storm inside his chest.
He hadn't intended to hurt her.
He really hadn't.
But wasn't that what had made it worse? That even his silence was a knife? That his doubts had penned responses he did not dare speak aloud?
