The house was quiet.
Too quiet, Leah thought, as she steadied Izana and guided him away from the open balcony doors and back into his bedroom. Night air still clung to him—cold, sharp, carrying the faint remnants of smoke that refused to leave his clothes. The city lights beyond the railing flickered distantly, uncaring witnesses to everything that had gone wrong.
Izana moved without resistance, though every step looked like it cost him something. His posture was rigid, shoulders tight beneath his black suit, jaw clenched as if he were holding the world together by force alone. The curse had retreated for now, subdued but not silenced, and the aftermath of suppressing it left him hollowed out and dangerously alert.
"I'll get you to bed," Leah said softly, her hand firm but gentle at his elbow.
"I'm fine," he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He rubbed his temple, fingers trembling just slightly. "You don't have to—."
"I know," she replied, not unkindly. "But I want to."
That stopped him.
She guided him the rest of the way to the bed and helped him sit. The mattress dipped under his weight. For the first time since she had met him, there was no blindfold to hide his eyes without choice. The green of them was sharp even now—too sharp for someone this exhausted—rimmed red, pupils slow to adjust to the low light.
The blindfold lay forgotten somewhere on the bedroom floor, discarded earlier and left behind like something he no longer had the strength to reach for.
"You should rest," Leah said, lowering herself onto the chair beside the bed. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."
A faint, humorless smile tugged at his lips. "You sound like Dante."
"Then maybe Dante's right," she said.
He huffed softly. The sound barely qualified as a laugh. "That's dangerous thinking."
She reached out before she could stop herself and brushed a stray lock of black hair back from his face. He stiffened—but didn't pull away.
"You're not a machine," she continued quietly. "You don't have to punish yourself every time something goes wrong."
His fingers curled into the bedsheet. "If I don't," he said, voice low, "it punishes me."
Leah swallowed. "Still… you don't have to be alone."
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Then, almost too softly to hear, he said, "I'm sorry."
Her heart skipped. "For what?"
"For today. For the deal. For losing focus." His jaw tightened. "For letting things slip."
"You didn't let anything slip," she said. "You were overwhelmed."
He shook his head slightly. "That's not an excuse I'm allowed to have."
She leaned closer. "It is when you're human."
The word landed hard.
Izana closed his eyes, a sharp breath leaving him as if it hurt to hear it. "That's the problem," he murmured. "Being human makes this worse."
She rested her hand over his clenched one. "Then let it be worse. Just… don't let it be alone."
The tremor in his fingers eased, just barely.
"Stay," he said, not opening his eyes.
"I will."
She stayed until his breathing evened out, until the tension in his shoulders loosened enough that she knew he wouldn't bolt upright the moment she left. Only then did she rise quietly and slip from his room, closing the door with careful precision.
Her own bedroom felt colder than usual.
Leah lay awake for a long time, staring at the ceiling, replaying the night over and over. The failed deal. The smoke. The way Izana had looked at her without the blindfold—unguarded and dangerous all at once. Her chest felt tight, like something unseen was pressing against it from the inside.
Sleep came eventually.
It did not come gently.
At first, there was darkness—thick and heavy, swallowing sound. Then came the whisper.
Not a voice exactly. More like intent, brushing against her thoughts, curling through her mind like smoke through a crack in the door.
Leah found herself standing in a room she didn't recognize.
The air was stale. The light dim and flickering, as if the world itself were struggling to stay awake. And then she saw him.
A boy.
He couldn't have been more than ten. Black hair fell into his eyes, shadowing a face too sharp, too still for someone so young. His eyes were red—unnaturally so—and when they met hers, her breath caught painfully in her chest.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The boy stared at her as if she were the one who didn't belong.
"You shouldn't be here," he said.
Something in his voice made her step back. "I didn't mean to—. "
"Stay away from him."
The words cut through the air like a command.
Leah shook her head. "I don't understand."
The room shifted. The walls seemed to bend inward, shadows deepening. That was when she saw them.
A man and a woman lay on the floor.
They were barely conscious, bodies twisted unnaturally, breaths shallow and uneven. There was blood—too much, dark stains spreading beneath them. Leah's stomach twisted violently.
"Oh no," she whispered. "What happened?"
The boy didn't look at them. His red eyes stayed locked on hers.
"He's dangerous," the boy said. "And so are you if you stay."
The world lurched.
The scene unfolded around her, no longer distant. She felt the panic, the chaos, the fear—raw and overwhelming. She saw the boy move, driven by something far larger than himself. His hands shook. His expression twisted between terror and fury.
The man and woman fell.
Leah cried out, stumbling back as the memory intensified, flooding her senses. She didn't know whose memory it was—only that it didn't belong to her. It was too real. Too heavy.
"Stop," she begged. "Please—."
The boy turned to her once more. There was something broken in his gaze now. Something small and buried beneath the red.
"You can't save him," he said quietly. "And if you try… it will destroy you too."
She woke with a gasp.
Her room was dark, silent, unchanged. Her heart pounded violently against her ribs, sweat clinging to her skin. Leah pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to steady her breathing.
It took several minutes before she realized she was shaking.
The images refused to fade. The boy. The warning. The man and woman on the floor. The certainty—terrifying and absolute—that the curse had reached beyond Izana now.
It was using her.
She curled in on herself, pulling the blankets tighter. Fear clawed at her chest, but beneath it burned something stronger.
Resolve.
Whatever the curse was trying to do—whatever past it was dragging her into—it wouldn't scare her away. Not now. Not after everything she had seen.
Across the hall, behind a closed door, Izana slept—unaware that the darkness bound to him had begun to bleed into her dreams.
And the curse watched.
Waiting.