Elias didn't hesitate.
Neither did Dante.
They found Izana in his office, seated behind his desk, blindfold still in place, posture rigid as ever.
"Boss."
Dante's voice wasn't calm.
That alone made Izana's head lift.
"What is it?"
Elias spoke next, steady but urgent. "It's Leah."
Something in the way he said her name made the air shift.
Izana stood immediately.
"What about her?"
"She's worse," Dante said. "She collapsed."
For a split second, Izana didn't move.
Then—
"What?"
His voice wasn't controlled anymore.
Elias didn't waste time. "She has a high fever. She could barely stand. She asked us not to tell you."
Izana's eyes widened beneath the blindfold.
"…She what?"
"She didn't want you to blame yourself."
That was enough.
Izana ripped the blindfold off.
For the first time in days, he didn't care about the light.
He stood so abruptly the chair scraped sharply against the floor.
"Where is she?"
"In her room."
He didn't wait for anything else.
He was already moving.
—
He didn't knock.
He didn't slow down.
He pushed her bedroom door open so hard it struck the wall.
And there she was.
On the floor.
Glass shattered near the bedside table.
Water soaking into the carpet.
Leah lay half-curled on her side, barely conscious.
His chest tightened violently.
"Leah."
He crossed the room in seconds and dropped to his knees beside her.
His hands reached for her without hesitation.
No fear.
No distance.
No second thoughts.
He touched her cheek—
And froze.
She was burning.
Her skin was far too hot.
His jaw tightened.
"Leah, look at me."
Her eyelids fluttered weakly.
"I… didn't want…" she murmured faintly.
His hand slid gently behind her head.
"You're burning up," he whispered, guilt slicing through him.
This was his fault.
The distance.
The stress.
The argument.
She had tried to handle it alone.
Because he pushed her away.
His chest felt tight.
Without another word, he slid one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back.
He lifted her carefully.
She felt too light.
Too fragile.
He stood and turned toward the door.
"Dante," he said sharply.
Dante stepped forward immediately.
"No one disturbs us."
Dante nodded once. "Understood."
Izana didn't look at either of them again.
He carried her straight to his bedroom.
—
He shut the door firmly behind him.
The room felt smaller now.
Too quiet.
He crossed to his bed and lowered her gently onto the mattress.
Her head rolled slightly to the side.
She was barely conscious.
His throat tightened.
He brushed damp hair away from her forehead.
"Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered.
Her lips parted slightly, but no answer came.
Guilt pressed down on him harder than the curse ever had.
He leaned down carefully and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
"I'll be right back," he murmured.
Then he stood and moved quickly into the ensuite bathroom.
He turned the water on, adjusting it cold — not freezing, but enough to bring her temperature down safely.
His movements were precise. Controlled.
He grabbed a large towel and returned to the bedroom.
Leah stirred weakly when he approached.
"Izana…" she breathed.
"I'm here."
He knelt beside the bed.
"You need to cool down. Your fever's too high."
She blinked slowly.
"The bath," he said gently. "It'll help."
She nodded faintly.
He swallowed.
"I'm going to help you, alright?"
Her eyes barely focused on him, but she gave the smallest nod again.
His movements were careful and clinical, helping her out of her outer clothes only as much as necessary so she wouldn't overheat further. He avoided looking at her any longer than required, keeping his focus on what needed to be done.
Once she was left in minimal clothing, he wrapped the towel securely around her shoulders and torso so she wouldn't feel exposed.
"You're okay," he murmured quietly.
He lifted her again.
She barely reacted.
He carried her into the bathroom and knelt beside the tub.
Steam didn't rise — the water wasn't warm.
He carefully lowered her feet into it.
The second her skin touched the cold water, she gasped sharply and clung to him.
"It's too cold," she whispered weakly, shaking her head.
"I know," he said softly. "I know."
She tried to pull back.
"Izana… no…"
"It's the only way," he said gently but firmly.
Her hands tightened against his shoulders.
Her body trembled from both fever and shock.
He hesitated for only a moment.
Then he made a decision.
He guided her back up briefly and set her carefully on the closed toilet lid.
"Stay with me," he told her.
She looked confused but didn't resist.
Izana stood and quickly removed his own outer clothing until he was down to his underwear — nothing unnecessary, nothing slow.
He returned to her immediately.
"I won't let you do this alone," he said quietly.
Before she could protest again, he lifted her back into his arms and stepped into the cold bath himself.
The water climbed slowly up his legs.
Cold.
Sharp.
But he didn't react.
He lowered himself down carefully with her still against his chest.
When the water reached her again, she tensed immediately, gripping him tightly.
"I know," he murmured against her hair. "I know it's cold."
She trembled violently.
He adjusted his hold so she remained supported, her head resting safely against his shoulder.
"You're okay," he whispered. "I've got you."
Her breathing was uneven, but gradually the initial shock of the temperature settled into trembling instead of panic.
He kept one arm around her securely while the other hand gently wet the towel and pressed it lightly against the back of her neck.
"You should've told me," he murmured, guilt heavy in his voice. "I pushed you away… and you tried to handle it alone."
Her voice was faint.
"You said… stay away…"
His chest tightened painfully.
"I was wrong."
The admission was quiet.
Firm.
"I was wrong," he repeated.
She didn't respond.
Her body leaned more fully against him now, exhausted.
He stayed still in the cold water, ignoring the sting against his own skin.
If this was what it took to bring her fever down, he would sit here all night.
He would endure far worse than this.
The blindfold lay forgotten on the bedroom floor.
Distance forgotten.
Fear forgotten.
All that mattered now was the way her trembling slowly began to lessen.
And the steady, silent promise forming in his chest—
He would never push her away like that again.
Not when she needed him.
Not when he could hold her instead.