Morning came quietly.
Too quietly.
Izana stood alone in his room, the pale light of dawn slipping through the glass walls and settling against the sharp lines of the modern mansion. He fastened his coat with steady hands—deliberate, controlled—hands that betrayed none of the weakness still lingering beneath his skin.
The curse had loosened its grip.
But it hadn't let go.
It lingered in the aftermath, as it always did. A dull throb behind his eyes. A heaviness in his limbs that made every movement feel fractionally delayed. His heartbeat was slower than it should have been, uneven in a way only he could sense—just enough to remind him that the night before had not gone unnoticed.
Kindness never went unnoticed.
He adjusted his blindfold carefully, ensuring it sat exactly where it always did. The pressure was familiar. Grounding. A barrier between him and a world that asked too much, expected too much, saw too much.
Izana exhaled once—slow, controlled—before leaving the room.
Downstairs, the mansion felt different in daylight.
Less threatening.
Too open.
The sharp edges of the architecture softened under the morning sun, glass walls reflecting pale light instead of shadows. It was a place that looked peaceful to outsiders. Clean. Controlled.
Izana knew better.
He descended the stairs slowly, one hand trailing along the railing—not because he needed it, but because the habit had never left him. His steps were measured, silent, every movement economical. The scent of coffee reached him before the sound of movement.
Elias sat at the dining table, already dressed, posture relaxed but alert, eating breakfast with the calm routine of someone who had survived far too much to ever be rushed by anything again. Newspapers lay folded beside him. The world could be burning, and Elias would still eat first.
"Izana," Elias said, glancing up. "You're up early."
Izana nodded in response. His attention swept the room instinctively, cataloguing details without effort.
Leah wasn't there.
Something tightened briefly in his chest—a sharp, unwelcome sensation that flared and vanished before he allowed it space. He forced it down immediately, as he did with everything else.
"I'm heading out," Izana said.
Elias lifted an eyebrow slightly. "Out?"
"To the pharmacy."
That earned his full attention.
Elias set his utensils down with deliberate care. "You're not due for another visit until next month."
Izana paused mid-step.
He hated questions.
Hated being monitored.
Hated explaining himself.
Hated the subtle implication that someone was keeping track of his limits.
But Elias was not someone he could dismiss. Not someone he could intimidate into silence. Elias had seen Izana at ten years old, shaking and covered in blood. Authority meant nothing between them.
"My migraine medication expired," Izana said coolly. "I didn't notice until last night."
It was a lie.
Smooth. Practiced. Delivered without hesitation.
Elias studied him for a moment, sharp eyes searching beneath the surface—not for truth, but for danger. Then he nodded once. "Very well. Don't take too long."
Izana inclined his head in acknowledgment and continued toward the double glass doors.
Outside, the air was crisp and cool, brushing against his skin like a reminder that the world kept moving regardless of him. He got into his car and pulled away, the mansion shrinking behind him in the rearview mirror.
The drive passed in silence.
Thirty minutes later, he arrived at the family's private pharmacy.
The building was discreet—modern, unmarked, shielded by loyalty rather than law. No signage. No unnecessary windows. Everyone who worked there belonged to the family in one way or another.
Izana parked and remained seated for a moment, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel as a wave of dizziness rolled through him. He waited it out, breathing steadily until the world righted itself.
Then he opened the door.
He stepped out slowly and closed it behind him.
The parking lot was empty.
Too empty.
His instincts prickled instantly, the quiet pressing in on him like a held breath. He had taken only a few steps when he heard it.
Click.
The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.
Izana stopped.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't reach for a weapon.
Didn't run.
He turned slowly, controlled, as if this were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
Three men stood several meters away, guns raised and steady.
Their faces were unfamiliar, but the insignias on their jackets were not.
A rival mafia family.
Izana straightened, instinct overriding the lingering weakness in his body. His voice was calm when he spoke. "You're far from your territory."
One of them smiled coldly. "So are you."
Izana exhaled slowly. "This is a mistake."
"Funny," another man said, tightening his grip on his gun. "That's exactly what our boss said when you wiped out half our operation."
Izana didn't deny it.
"You should leave," he said evenly. "Now."
The leader laughed. "You don't get to give orders anymore, Don."
Izana tilted his head slightly. "You're pointing guns at me in my city. I'd reconsider who's lost authority here."
They hesitated.
Just for a fraction of a second.
The curse stirred.
Not violently.
Not yet.
It coiled low in Izana's chest, responding to the threat, the adrenaline, the danger pressing in from all sides. Heat spread beneath his skin—familiar, unwelcome, alive.
"You think we're afraid of you?" one of them sneered. "You're alone. Weak. No guards."
They stepped closer.
Izana didn't move.
"You want revenge," he said calmly. "This won't give it to you."
"No," the leader replied. "But it'll make us feel better."
The curse pulsed sharply.
Izana felt it rise—anger, instinct, something ancient and brutal flooding his veins. The air around him seemed to tighten, pressure building like a storm about to break.
The first man fired.
Izana moved.
The curse exploded outward in a violent surge, knocking the shooter off balance before he could fire again. Izana closed the distance in seconds, strength far beyond what his body should have been capable of. He struck hard and fast, movements sharp, precise, almost unnatural.
Another gunshot rang out.
Pain ripped through his shoulder as the bullet tore into him.
Izana staggered back with a sharp hiss, blood blooming darkly against his coat. The curse reacted instantly—furious, protective, enraged. Heat burned through his veins as the pain vanished beneath something far more dangerous.
"You just made it worse," Izana growled.
The ground beneath them cracked slightly as the curse surged again, throwing one man violently backward. Another was slammed into the side of a parked car with bone-jarring force.
The leader raised his gun again, hands shaking now.
Izana was on him in a heartbeat.
He grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him down, the curse flaring violently, eyes burning beneath the blindfold. The leader's weapon clattered uselessly across the pavement.
Within seconds, it was over.
Three men lay on the ground—alive, but broken, groaning and unmoving.
Izana stood among them, breathing heavily.
Blood ran down his arm from the wound in his shoulder. His chest burned, heart pounding too fast, the curse still roaring beneath his skin before slowly—reluctantly—receding.
He straightened with effort, forcing control back into his body.
"You came for revenge," he said coldly. "Tell your family what it cost you."
He turned away from them without waiting for a response.
Each step toward the pharmacy sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder, but he didn't slow. He didn't look back.
Izana had won.
But the curse was awake now.
And somewhere far away, whether she knew it or not—
Leah would feel the consequences of this fight too.