They found each other by sound.
Not footsteps—those were too unreliable in the vast, hollow dark of the warehouse—but breath. Ragged, uneven, unmistakably human.
"Leah."
Her name reached her like a lifeline.
"Izana!" she called back, panic flaring sharp in her chest as she turned toward the sound. Her hands brushed cold metal, then cracked concrete as she moved faster, ignoring the way the darkness pressed in on her vision.
She collided with him a second later.
Not hard—but enough that she felt his body sway, his weight falter before he caught himself with a sharp hiss of pain.
"I'm here," she said breathlessly, hands gripping the front of his coat like she was afraid he might disappear again. "I'm here."
Izana exhaled shakily, shoulders sagging as the tension that had been holding him upright finally cracked. "You shouldn't have been alone," he muttered, voice hoarse. "I tried to get back—. "
She felt it then.
Warmth.
Too warm.
Her hands slid instinctively down his side, and when her fingers came away slick, her breath caught.
"No—Izana," she whispered, fear spiking as she pressed her palm back against him. "You're bleeding."
"It's nothing," he said automatically, but the lie fell apart when his knees buckled slightly.
Leah tightened her grip instantly. "You're shaking."
The dark made everything worse. Every sound was louder. Every sensation sharper. Her pulse roared in her ears as memories threatened to surface—the same suffocating helplessness, the same cold panic that always came when the lights were gone.
But she forced herself to focus.
On him.
"Lean on me," she said, even though she knew he outweighed her, even though her own legs felt weak. "Just—slowly."
Izana hesitated for half a second, then gave in. His arm came around her shoulders, heavy and unsteady, and she felt the tension in his body—not just from pain, but from restraint. Like he was holding himself together by sheer will.
They moved carefully until her back brushed against a wall. Concrete. Solid. Real.
"Okay," she murmured, guiding him down with her until he was leaning back, breath shallow, head tilted slightly forward. She stayed close, not letting go.
Her hands trembled as she tugged at the hem of her shirt.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, already tearing the fabric. "I need to—."
"Do it," he said without argument.
She worked quickly, clumsily, fingers numb as she pressed the makeshift bandage against his side. He sucked in a sharp breath but didn't pull away.
"Dante's coming," Izana added, as if sensing her fear. "I triggered the signal before—before it got worse."
"That's good," Leah said, though her voice wavered. "That's really good."
Silence settled again, broken only by the distant creak of the warehouse and Izana's uneven breathing.
Leah swallowed.
Something from the memory wouldn't let go of her.
"Izana," she said softly, hesitant. "That boy… in the memory."
He stiffened.
She felt it immediately—the way his muscles locked, the way his breathing changed.
"When his eyes changed," she continued carefully, "when the red… turned green…"
Her throat tightened. "He looked… familiar."
Izana didn't respond.
For a long moment, Leah thought he wouldn't. Then he exhaled slowly, the sound hollow.
"You shouldn't have seen that," he said quietly.
"I know," she replied. "But I did."
The curse stirred faintly, like something listening from the walls, but it didn't strike. It waited.
Leah shifted closer without thinking.
The darkness pressed in again, thick and heavy, and her chest tightened as her breath began to shorten. She hugged herself instinctively, shoulders curling inward.
Izana noticed instantly.
"Come here," he said, voice low but firm.
Before she could protest, he drew her in—carefully, despite the pain—guiding her so her back was against his chest, his arm wrapping around her in a protective hold. His hand rested over her forearm, grounding, steady.
She froze for a second.
Then she melted into him.
"I'm right here," he murmured near her ear. "You're not alone."
His chest was warm beneath her cheek, solid despite the tremor running through him. She could hear his heartbeat—slow, uneven, but present.
She leaned into him fully.
"I hate the dark," she whispered, ashamed of how small her voice sounded.
"I know," he replied immediately.
That alone nearly broke her.
They stayed like that—breathing together, waiting. Blood loss left Izana pale and shivering, but he didn't loosen his hold. Not even when she shifted, not even when the pain made his jaw clench.
The curse hated this.
It pressed faintly, testing, but the closeness disrupted it—confused it.
For now, it retreated.
Leah shifted slightly in his arms, just enough to breathe easier.
Izana felt it immediately.
Her hair brushed his jaw. Her shoulder pressed more fully into his chest. The warmth of her seeped through him, grounding in a way nothing else ever had. His arm tightened without him meaning to, protective instinct overriding pain, blood loss, everything.
"Leah," he murmured—her name slipping out softer than intended.
She tilted her head, just barely, enough that her cheek lifted from his chest. In the darkness, she couldn't see his eyes beneath the white blindfold—but she could feel his attention, heavy and focused, like the world had narrowed to the space between them.
"Are you okay?" she whispered.
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, his free hand lifted slowly, hesitating midair as if unsure whether he was allowed to touch her face. When she didn't pull away, his fingers brushed her jaw—careful, reverent, like he was afraid she might vanish.
Her breath hitched.
The curse stirred—sharp, angry—but weak. Distant.
Leah's fear of the dark dulled, replaced by something warmer, something dangerously close to hope. She turned more fully toward him, instinct guiding her where logic failed.
Their foreheads almost touched.
"I shouldn't—." Izana started, voice rough, but the words dissolved when she leaned in that last fraction.
So close.
Close enough that he could feel her breath against his lips. Close enough that the world seemed to pause, suspended in that fragile moment where choice still existed.
His head dipped instinctively.
Hers tilted up.
The curse recoiled—hissing, wounded.
And then—
"Izana!"
Dante's voice echoed through the warehouse.
Both of them froze.
Leah jerked back first, heart slamming painfully against her ribs. Izana's hand fell away from her face as if burned, his body tensing instantly, walls slamming back into place.
They pulled apart just enough to breathe.
Too close to pretend nothing had almost happened.
Too far to finish it.
Footsteps grew louder.
"Leah!" Dante's voice came again, closer now. "Hold on."
Leah swallowed hard, fingers curling into the fabric of Izana's coat as if grounding herself.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them looked at the other.
But the space between them hummed—charged, unfinished, undeniable.
Their first kiss left hanging in the dark.