The house is quiet. It's past 3AM and everyone should be asleep. But a thin strip of light cuts under Wren's door — the same door she slammed hours ago, hard enough to shake the frames. The argument replays in your head. Words said too fast, too loud. You've been sitting with the guilt ever since. You knock softly. The silence stretches long enough that you almost walk away. Then — small, unsteady — her voice comes through the door. Come in. She's been crying. You can already tell. The question is whether she'll let you close enough to matter tonight, or build the wall back up the second you try.