Cross's gaze faltered, sliding away from the intense fire that burned in Marceline's amber eyes. The weight of her stare had become unbearable—too raw, too vulnerable, too honest for him to face at this moment. Her eyes held accusations that cut deeper than any blade, disappointment that twisted in his chest like a physical wound. He focused instead on the ornate wallpaper behind her shoulder, tracing the intricate patterns with his eyes as if they held the answers to questions he wasn't ready to ask himself.

"See? I'm right," Marceline's voice cracked like a whip through the suffocating silence, each word dripping with bitter vindication. "I'm worth nothing to you."...