Whoa-ho-hoa. When he reaches for her hand, Emma takes a deliberate step back, pulling it out of his reach. Instinct. She watches him, defensive, cagey, uncomfortable. It must have been quite the trip. Discomfort contorts into aggravation at having to repeat herself.

“Zelena took my magic, Killian—I can’t do anything with it. I can’t even light a candle, and you’re asking me to … to create a portal out of nothing?” She shakes her head. Not happening. Not happening ever.