The city slowly gave way to open roads.
Concrete turned into winding asphalt.
Buildings faded into trees.
Leah noticed it first.
Her fingers tightened slightly around Izana's hand.
"This road…" she murmured.
Izana didn't look at her, but the corner of his mouth lifted faintly.
"You remember."
"How could I forget?"
The car climbed higher, tires crunching softly over gravel as they turned onto a narrow path.
And then—
The hill appeared.
Wide. Open. Quiet.
At the top stood the old tree.
Large and ancient, its branches stretched wide like protective arms over the city below. From there, the entire skyline could be seen — sharp towers in the distance, sunlight reflecting faintly off glass and steel.
Two years ago, they had stood beneath that same tree.
Before exile.
Before bloodshed.
Before everything fractured.
Leah gasped softly.
"You brought me back here?"
Izana finally turned the engine off.
"Yes."
She didn't wait.
The moment the car door opened, she stepped out — then broke into a run.
"Izana!"
Her laughter carried on the wind.
It was light.
Free.
He stepped out more slowly, closing the car door behind him.
And then he just… watched her.
The way her hair caught the sunlight.
The way she ran uphill without hesitation.
The way she looked like herself again.
Not weighed down.
Not careful.
Just Leah.
A warmth spread through his chest that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.
She reached the top first and spun around, arms slightly outstretched.
"It's exactly the same!" she called down to him.
"It's only been two years," he replied calmly, beginning his walk up the hill.
"That's long enough for everything to change."
Her words lingered in the air.
He didn't respond.
Instead, he watched her turn and take another step—
And then—
She stumbled.
It happened fast.
Her foot caught on something hidden in the grass.
"Izana—!"
His body reacted before his mind did.
He broke into a sprint.
But he didn't see it either.
His own foot caught the same hidden root.
He lost balance —
And before she could hit the ground fully —
He grabbed her.
Wrapped both arms around her waist.
Pulled her against him.
They fell together.
Grass flattened beneath them as they rolled once—
Twice—
Down the slope.
Leah's small laugh mixed with a startled gasp.
Izana tightened his hold, making sure her head didn't hit the ground.
They finally came to a stop near the base of the hill.
Silence followed.
The wind rustled the leaves overhead.
Leah blinked.
She was lying on top of him.
Her hands braced against his chest.
His arms were still wrapped securely around her waist.
He hadn't let go.
Not even once.
"Izana—."
"I'm fine," he said quickly, lifting his head slightly. "Are you hurt?"
His eyes moved over her face, checking for any sign of pain.
But before he could finish assessing her—
She lifted her head too.
"I should be asking you that," she said softly.
Their foreheads nearly brushed.
They froze.
Eye contact.
His red eyes — sharp and intense even now — locked with her blue ones.
The world felt very small suddenly.
Very quiet.
Her breathing shifted first.
Softer.
Then heavier.
His fingers tightened just slightly against her waist.
He could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric.
Her cheeks were faintly pink.
He was sure his were too.
Neither of them moved away.
Instead—
They leaned closer.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if giving the other time to pull back.
Neither did.
Their lips met gently at first.
A soft brush.
Testing.
Familiar.
Then it deepened.
Not rushed.
Not reckless.
But full of two years of absence.
Two years of missing.
Two years of almost losing everything.
His hand moved slightly upward along her back, steady and protective.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
The kiss grew warmer.
More certain.
Their breathing mingled in the space between them.
The wind moved through the tree branches above, sunlight flickering across their faces.
It felt like the world had narrowed down to this hill.
This tree.
This moment.
When they finally pulled back, it wasn't abrupt.
It was slow.
Reluctant.
Their foreheads rested together.
Izana's hand came up gently to brush a loose strand of hair away from her face.
He looked at her as if memorizing her.
"I love you," he said quietly.
He had said it before.
Many times.
In whispers before sleep.
In passing before meetings.
In rare soft moments.
But this one—
This one carried no distraction.
No urgency.
No fear of interruption.
Just truth.
Raw and steady.
Leah felt her chest tighten.
Her blush deepened slightly.
Why did it feel different?
Why did it feel heavier… deeper?
Maybe because he chose this place.
Maybe because he had almost lost her.
Maybe because she had almost lost him.
"I love you too," she whispered.
Not rushed.
Not embarrassed.
Certain.
She lowered her head gently back against his chest.
His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear.
Stronger than it had been in the medical corridor.
His arms wrapped around her again — this time not from falling, but intentionally.
Carefully, mindful of his healing ribs.
They lay there beneath the tree.
The city stretched out below them.
Power.
Territory.
Enemies.
Responsibility.
All of it felt distant from here.
"I thought I'd never see this place again," Leah murmured softly.
"You would have," he replied.
"You sound very confident."
"I am."
She tilted her head slightly to look up at him.
"You didn't know if you'd survive."
His gaze shifted toward the skyline.
"I didn't need to survive for me," he said quietly. "I needed to survive for you."
Her heart skipped.
"You can't say things like that so casually."
"It isn't casual."
Silence settled again — comfortable this time.
After a moment, he spoke again, softer.
"Two years ago, when we came here… I told you I used to come here for the curse."
"You did."
"Now I come here for you."
She studied his face.
The strength.
The scars.
The hardness that self-imposed exile had carved into him.
But beneath it—
Still him.
Still the boy who had once brought her here to escape the world.
"I'm glad," she said.
His thumb brushed lightly over her arm.
"That's good."
The words were simple.
But they carried weight.
She shifted slightly, adjusting so she was more comfortably resting against him.
He didn't let go.
Not even a little.
Above them, the old tree stood unmoved by time.
Below them, the city continued to breathe.
And for this one afternoon—
Izana Grimshaw was not a feared mafia boss.
Not a legend returned from exile.
Not a man preparing for war.
He was just a man lying on a slope of a hill, beneath a tree, holding the woman he loved.
And Leah —
For the first time in a long time —
Felt like she could breathe without fear.
But neither of them knew—
That this place…
This hill…
Held more memories than either of them had yet uncovered.
And soon—
Very soon—
The truth they had both been circling would find them here again.