The fire had almost gone out.
The dark red embers still glowed, like forgotten hearts.
Catarina approached slowly.
Her footsteps glided silently across the thick carpet.
She sat down in the armchair opposite, without a word.
The fire between them served as both a barrier and a confessional.
Sylus finally looked up.
He looked... tired.
But not the kind of tiredness that sleep can cure:
the tiredness of a man who has waited too long for the pain to stop haunting him.
"You shouldn't be here," he whispered.
"Neither should you," she replied without hesitation.
He gave a sad smile.
"It seems you always have an answer."
"Because you ask the wrong questions."
Silence.
A breath.
Then that look.
The one that had started it all.
The one she wanted to forget.
He looked away, but it was too late: she had seen the tremor in his hand, the invisible struggle he was waging with himself.
"Catarina... I'm not a good man."
She stared at him.
"Then why are you still trying to be one with me?"
The question floated, light, almost gentle.
But nothing gentle emanated from what it provoked.
Sylus rose slowly.
Two steps, then he stopped behind the armchair.
His voice lowered:
"Because with you, I'm afraid of coming back to life."
Catarina felt her throat tighten.
She stood up too and found herself facing him.
The fire cast a shifting, almost golden light on their faces.
"Do you think that's what I want? To be the one who brings you back to life?"
"No. I think you already are."
She stepped back, shaking her head.
"Stop it."
"Catarina..."
"No, you don't understand, Sylus. If you keep this up, I'm going to..."
Her voice trailed off; she couldn't finish the sentence.
He looked at her as one looks at a secret that has been kept for too long.
"You're going to what?"
She closed her eyes.
"I'm going to start hating you."
It was a punch in the gut.
A confession that neither of them had the courage to hear.
Sylus moved closer.
One step. Then another.
His fingers brushed the sleeve of her sweater.
Not a gesture of desire.
A gesture of surrender.
She didn't move. She let him do it.
The contact was so light that it could have been mistaken for a mistake.
But it lasted.
Long enough for both of them to understand that nothing after that could ever be repaired.
"Catarina," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper.
"Don't say anything," she murmured.
They stood there in the impossible silence, looking at each other like two survivors of a shipwreck who were still slowly sinking.
The wind banged against the windows.
A crackling sound in the fireplace made Catarina jump.
She abruptly looked away.
"I have to go upstairs."
Sylus nodded, his jaw clenched.
"Yes. You must."
She turned on her heel and took a few steps.
But when she reached the first step of the staircase, she stopped.
Without turning around, she said:
"If you keep this up, one day... you'll lose me for good."
He replied without thinking:
"I already lost you the day I met you."
This time, she left without saying a word.
The house fell silent once more.
But it was no longer the same silence:
it was the silence after the storm, when everything seems intact even though everything has changed.
Sylus stood in front of the fire until it burned out completely.
Then he too went upstairs, slowly, as if climbing the steps of a tomb.