Night pressed down on the mansion like a held breath.
The hall outside Izana's room was dim, lit only by low wall lights that cast long, uneven shadows. Leah moved quietly, her steps careful, measured. She hated how the darkness seemed to swallow sound, how every corner felt too close.
Izana's door was the only one with light beneath it.
She stopped there, heart racing, fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeve.
A sharp, wet cough echoed from inside.
Leah didn't hesitate this time. She knocked once and pushed the door open.
"Izana?"
He lay half-turned on the bed, blindfold still in place, shoulders tense. Blood stained the pillow beneath his mouth, darker now where it had dried. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
"…Who is it," he rasped.
"It's me," Leah said quickly. "I—I heard you coughing."
A pause.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
"I know."
"Then leave."
She stepped inside anyway, stopping several feet from the bed. "You're coughing again."
"As usual," he muttered.
Another cough tore through him mid-sentence. He clenched his jaw, turning his head sharply to the side as if refusing to let her see it.
Leah flinched at the sound before she could stop herself.
Izana noticed.
"…You do that a lot," he said suddenly.
She froze. "Do what?"
"That." His head tilted slightly toward her voice. "That sharp little recoil. Like you're expecting something to hit you."
Her throat tightened. "I'm just startled."
"You flinched earlier too," he continued. "In the garden lounge. When Elias touched your back."
Leah's fingers twisted together. "It was nothing."
"People don't flinch at nothing."
She forced herself to breathe evenly. "I don't like being surprised."
"That wasn't surprise," Izana said quietly. "That was fear."
The word landed between them, heavy.
Leah shook her head quickly. "You're imagining things."
A humorless huff escaped him. "I imagine a lot. That wasn't one of them."
Silence stretched.
"…Why does it matter," she asked softly.
"It doesn't," he replied immediately. Too fast. "Just an observation."
Another cough shook him. He pressed his hand into the mattress, breathing uneven again.
Leah stepped closer without realizing it—then caught herself and stopped.
"I'm not touching you," she said quickly. "I swear."
"I know," he said. "…I can hear your steps."
"You're breathing too fast," she added gently. "If you don't slow it down, it'll trigger another—."
"I don't need you managing my symptoms," he snapped.
She flinched again.
There it was.
Izana went very still.
"…There," he said. "Again."
Leah swallowed. "I'm fine."
"You're lying."
"So are you," she shot back before she could stop herself.
His lips twitched, not quite a smile.
"…Fair."
Another cough hit him, harsher this time. His shoulders tensed, body curling inward slightly despite the bandages.
Leah stepped closer again, stopping at the edge of the bed.
"Izana," she said softly. "May I talk?"
He hesitated. "…You already are."
"I mean—may I stay."
A long pause.
"…For now."
She exhaled quietly and pulled the chair closer, sitting where he could hear her but not feel her.
Minutes passed. Then—
"Why are you still awake," he asked.
"You keep coughing."
"That's not an answer."
"I worry," she admitted.
He scoffed weakly. "That's a mistake."
"Probably."
Another silence.
"…Why do you look scared of the dark," he asked suddenly.
Her heart skipped. "I'm not."
"You walked in here like the shadows were going to grab you."
She clenched her jaw. "I just don't like dark rooms."
"Why."
"I don't know," she said quickly. "I just don't."
He didn't push—yet.
Instead, he said quietly, "You don't have to explain."
She looked up, surprised.
"…I don't?"
"No," he said. "Everyone's afraid of something. Some people are just better liars."
She gave a small, strained laugh. "You sound like an expert."
"I am."
Another cough shook him, but weaker this time.
Leah rose instinctively, then stopped herself mid-step.
"…I'm not touching you," she repeated.
"I know," he said. Then, after a beat: "…You hesitate before you move. That's new."
"I don't want to upset you."
"You're already here," he said. "That ship sailed."
She dared to step closer, staying just out of reach.
"You don't like being touched," she said carefully.
"No," he replied. "I don't."
"But you let the medics move you."
"I didn't have a choice."
She nodded. "I won't cross that line."
"…Good."
She watched him breathe, counting the seconds between each rise of his chest.
"Does it hurt when you lie flat?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Can I adjust the pillow? I'll tell you everything I do. And I won't touch you."
His jaw tightened. "…Fine."
She narrated every motion, slow and deliberate.
Leah finished adjusting the pillow and stepped back, hands clasped tightly in front of her as if holding herself in place.
Izana exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing by the smallest degree.
"…Thank you," he said.
The words were quiet. Almost reluctant.
Leah blinked.
She hadn't expected them.
For a moment, she just stood there, unsure if she'd heard him correctly. Izana never thanked anyone—not Elias, not the medics, not the guards who kept him alive. Every interaction with him had always been edged with commands, warnings, or cruelty.
Never gratitude.
"You don't have to say that," she replied softly.
"I know," he said. "I chose to."
Something shifted in her chest at that—not warmth exactly, but awareness. As if she'd crossed an invisible line without realizing it existed.
She didn't smile. She didn't comment on it.
She simply nodded once, accepting the words as they were.
And Izana lay there in the dim light, blindfold stained, body broken, realizing far too late that he hadn't meant to let those words slip at all.