There was a long, taut silence. Mark didn't answer at first, and in that quiet, I could feel the weight of the question hanging between us. My fists clenched, and I could almost hear him struggling with the words, with the shame of it all. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and final.
"It's over," Mark said, cold as ice. "I'm going to bed. Goodnight."
"Mark!" I slammed my fist against the door, the impact sending a jolt up my arm. The sound echoed down the stairwell, bouncing off the walls. "Open it! Mark!"
Nala grabbed my arm, her grip firm but not aggressive. "Evan," she said, her voice sharp but not unkind. "It's no use."
"But—" I protested, my chest heaving with frustration.
"We'll think of something else," Nala said, her voice softer now, almost soothing. "This isn't going anywhere. Come on."
I wanted to scream, wanted to break the door down and make him face the truth. But I knew she was right. We couldn't force him. Not now. Not like this.
