The hallway buzzed with tension—electric, bitter, and clawing at the walls like it wanted out.
Lilly hadn't come back. The door she'd slammed still trembled in its frame.
Ava sat on the couch like she owned it, nursing her wound and wearing that same damn smirk—like the world was one giant chessboard and she'd already won.
Sam stood at the center of the room, chest rising and falling with the storm building inside her.
"I'm guessing she didn't thank you for your motivational speech," Ava said dryly.
That was it.
Sam's hands curled into fists at her sides. Her voice came out low, but sharp as broken glass.
"If you're going to stay here…" She stalked closer, every word a loaded gun. "Then shut the hell up."
Ava blinked. That smug look faltered.
Sam didn't stop.
"Stop picking fights with her. Stop dredging up ghosts. She watched Alyx die in her arms. She's holding herself together with paperclips and half-healed stitches—and you keep poking the wound like it'll win you something."
Ava sat straighter, face tightening.
Sam's voice cracked fury and grief twisted together. "It was peaceful without you. We were healing. Slowly, painfully, but it was something. And then you show up, lighting matches like you want to watch her burn."
"She needs to remember who she is—"
"She knows who she is," Sam snarled. "She just doesn't need you dragging her through the flames to prove it."
Ava's jaw clenched.
Sam pointed at the door.
"So here it is. You want to stay? Fine. But you keep your mouth shut. You keep your history to yourself. And if you can't do that…" Her voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Silence.
Ava stared at her like she didn't recognize her anymore.
Maybe she didn't.
Sam turned away, trembling with rage, heart aching.
Because Lilly still hadn't come back.
Because part of her wanted to follow—but part of her needed to stand guard, needed to draw a line in blood and say this far, no further.
And for the first time…
Ava had no comeback.