Melanie glances from his face to his hand and back. He's not looking at her as if she's a monster. Remembering the other man in the dream, it occurs to her that the competition might be stiffer than she'd thought. He must be the one who gave Aziraphale those burns. The one he told her she'd never have to worry about. So much for that.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly. She didn't land in his dream on purpose, but she knows she wasn't a welcome intrusion. After a moment's hesitation, she pulls the door open enough to edge out of the bathroom and into the faint, orange, ambient glow that is as close as the flat ever gets to 'dark.' "I didn't mean to." To see what she did, or to react the way she did. As she looks at the faded, near-vanished remains of those black burns across his face, she thinks with sudden fervor that she's not sorry at all, that she'd do it again if she had the chance. But that probably isn't what he'd like to hear.