"Let her go?" Arwen asked, amusement laced with disdain as she stared at him. "For you? And for the promise that you gave to her dying brother? Sorry, but who do you think you are?"
"Arwen, I —"
"At the very least, you weren't the one who suffered the pain I went through that night?"
She took a small step forward, her presence suffocating, forcing Ryan to step back subconsciously.
"I—"
"You weren't the one who saw death wrapped in a cape of regret and disappointment, creeping closer with every second," she continued, her voice low but razor-sharp. "And you definitely weren't the one paralyzed by the fear that the next second —your next breath —could be your last in this world."
Her words hit like a storm, each syllable laced with the pain he had never tried to understand.
"Since you haven't seen or experienced anything of the sort, you don't get to decide whether I let her go or not."
"Arwen, I am just —"
