Mellisa didn't speak at first. Neither did Felix.
They sat across from each other in the low-lit chamber, the space filled with a stillness that wasn't uncomfortable—but weighted. It was the kind of silence that existed only when something monumental was waiting to be given a name.
Felix broke it, his voice barely rising above the crackle of the hearth.
"You know why I don't use it," he said softly, his hands clasped tight to stop the
trembling.
Mellisa nodded slowly. "I know you hide it. I've seen the way you pull your punches, even when your life is on the line. But I don't understand the why. I don't know why you're so afraid of your own light."
Felix exhaled a long, shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the grain of the floorboards.
"It's not fear," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "It's memory."
He looked up then—really looked at her—and Mellisa saw a weariness there that belonged to someone much older than a scout.
"When I let it loose… when I stop holding the leash… I don't just lose control of the power," he whispered. "I lose myself. The 'Felix' you know—the one who jokes, the one who worries about the soup, the one who cares—he vanishes."
Mellisa's chest tightened, her breath hitching in her throat.
"It doesn't burn outward like Ember's fire,"
Felix continued, his gaze hauntingly steady.
"It burns inward. Every time I use it fully, something in me dulls. My senses. My emotions. My ability to feel things the way a person should. The world becomes... a series of equations. Targets. Vectors."
He hesitated, his jaw tightening.
"And the worst part?" he said quietly. "It works. I win. I survive. But afterward… I feel less human. I feel like a machine made of glass and cold magic."
Silence reclaimed the room for a heartbeat.
"So I learned to be smaller," Felix said, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. "Kinder. Lighter. I learned to be the person everyone underestimates, because people don't fear what makes them laugh. And if they don't fear me, they don't look too closely."
Mellisa leaned forward, her voice a soft plea. "And you think that protects them? Being a shadow of yourself?"
Felix nodded, his eyes shining with a painful sincerity. "It protects them from the version of me that doesn't care if they live or die. It protects them... and it protects you."
Her breath caught. He wasn't just hiding a weapon; he was hiding a monster he feared he would become for their sake.
The door opened with a sudden, sharp click.
Felix stopped mid-thought, the air in the room instantly turning brittle.
Ember stood in the doorway, her hand still resting on the frame, her eyes flicking between them with a searing, golden intensity. The warmth she usually carried was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp-edged realization.
"Oh," she said quietly. "Sorry. I didn't know you were… busy."
The room went deathly still.
Felix straightened immediately, a flash of pure, unadulterated guilt washing over his face. Mellisa's fingers curled instinctively into the heavy fabric of her sleeves, her heart hammering against her ribs.
"No—it's fine," Mellisa said quickly, her voice a pitch too high. "We were just discussing… the reports. From the boundary."
"It's okay," Ember interrupted, already stepping back into the shadow of the corridor. Her voice was calm. Too calm. It was the sound of a fire being deprived of oxygen. "I'll come back later. When you're finished."
She didn't wait for an answer. She didn't look back. The door closed softly, the sound echoing like a gavel.
The quiet that followed was louder than any shout Ember could have mustered.
Felix stared at the closed door for a long moment, his shoulders slumping.
"I didn't want her to hear it like that," he said, his voice thick. "Or at all. I never wanted her to feel like an outsider."
Mellisa swallowed the lump in her throat.
"She didn't hear the words, Felix. She only saw the proximity."
"That might be worse," Felix replied, rubbing his face with his hands.
He turned back to Mellisa, his expression tight with regret. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't told you—if I hadn't pulled you into this—it wouldn't have created this distance between you two. I'm breaking the only family I've ever had."
Mellisa shook her head immediately, standing up and crossing the small space between them. "No. Do not take that on yourself."
She rested a hand briefly over his, her touch firm and grounding.
"This isn't your fault," she said firmly. "And it's not mine. It's the situation. Secrets forced by survival. Silence mistaken for distance. None of us chose this war, Felix. We are just trying to survive the fallout."
Felix looked at her, his hazel eyes searching hers. "But Ember's hurting, Mel. I can feel the heat coming off her from here."
"I know," Mellisa said quietly, her own eyes burning. "And that hurts me too. More than I can say."
Mellisa squeezed his hand once—a silent vow of solidarity.
"We'll fix it," she said, more to herself than to him. It wasn't a tactical plan; it was a
desperate belief.
Felix nodded slowly. "When it's safe. When the Council isn't watching our every breath."
"Yes," Mellisa agreed. "Only then."
Outside the chamber, Ember walked down the long, echoing corridor alone.
She didn't hear the explanation. She didn't know about the power that burned inward or the boy who was terrified of losing his humanity. All she knew was that her two closest friends were sharing a world she no longer had the key to.
She felt the distance deepen with every step, a cold hollow forming where her fire used to be.
Inside the room, Felix and Mellisa sat in the fading light, the weight of the secret settling between them like a physical barrier. They were protecting the group, but they were doing it by wounding the very bonds that kept them together.
It was a truth none of them were ready to face: that sometimes, the cost of protection is the very thing you are trying to save.