Leah and Elias remained on the balcony, the iron railing cool beneath Leah's fingers. The metal grounded her, sharp and solid beneath her skin, a small reassurance against the strange unease curling in her chest. Below them, the garden stretched wide and immaculate—hedges trimmed with obsessive care, glass walls reflecting sunlight, marble paths gleaming as though untouched by shadow.
It was peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Izana still sat in the garden lounge, slumped in the leather armchair as he had been moments ago. His posture hadn't changed. His head hadn't shifted. The white silk blindfold caught the light, bright against his pale face.
Too still.
Leah frowned, her grip tightening on the railing.
Something about him felt wrong.
Not pain—she had seen pain before. This was something else. A tension in the air, like the moment before a storm breaks. Her breath slowed, instinctively quieting, as though the world itself were holding still.
"Izana…" she murmured under her breath, leaning forward.
Below, his body jerked.
The movement was sudden and violent, sharp enough to steal the air from her lungs. Izana lurched forward in the chair, a harsh, broken sound tearing from his throat. It wasn't a cry—not quite. It sounded like something being dragged out of him against its will.
He coughed once.
Violently.
Then again, harder.
His hand flew to his mouth. When he pulled it away, Leah saw the red immediately—too bright, too wrong against the white of his sleeve.
Blood.
Her breath caught painfully in her chest. "Elias—."
Before she could finish, Izana stiffened.
His shoulders locked, his back arching sharply as though something invisible had hooked itself into his spine and yanked. Both hands clutched at his chest, fingers digging in desperately. His mouth opened in a sharp, soundless gasp that never became a scream.
Then gravity claimed him.
He slid out of the armchair entirely, hitting the marble floor hard enough that Leah felt it in her bones even from above. The sound echoed faintly across the garden.
Izana curled inward instinctively, folding into himself as though trying to protect something vital. He coughed again—wet, brutal—blood splattering across pale skin and white fabric, staining both without mercy.
Leah spun toward Elias, panic flooding her face. "Something's happening—!"
Elias was already moving.
The color drained from his face as he took in the scene below, his body stiffening as though struck. For a heartbeat, he looked older than Leah had ever seen him—older and afraid.
"No," he said sharply. "No—it's too early."
His eyes widened, horror dawning fully. "The curse is starting a day early."
Leah's heart pounded so hard it hurt. "What does that mean? What do we do?"
Elias turned to her, his expression hardening into something sharp and commanding. "You need to go to your room. Now. Lock the door."
"What?" Leah protested, disbelief cutting through her fear. "I don't understand—he's hurt, he needs help—."
"Leah." His voice sliced through her panic, low and absolute. "Go. Now."
The urgency in his tone left no room for argument. Leah hesitated only a second longer, her eyes flicking back down to the garden lounge. Izana was still curled on the floor, blood streaking his skin, his body shaking with something far worse than pain.
Then she turned and ran.
Elias was already moving in the opposite direction, his footsteps pounding down the stairs.
"Dante!" he shouted into the corridors. "Get the chains. Now!"
The garden lounge felt wrong the moment Elias entered.
The air was heavy—charged, humming faintly, as though the space itself were under strain. Even the sunlight pouring through the glass walls felt muted, warped by something unseen.
Izana crouched low on the marble floor, one hand braced against the stone, the other pressed hard to his chest. Blood dripped steadily from his mouth, dark and thick as it splattered against the white surface below. The silk blindfold was stained red at the edges now, no longer pristine.
Dante stepped in behind Elias, chains clenched tightly in his hands. The metal rattled softly with each step.
"Izana," Elias warned. "Do not move."
Izana lifted his head.
Though the blindfold hid his eyes, his face turned toward Dante with unnatural precision, locking onto him without hesitation. There was no confusion in the movement. No searching.
Only certainty.
"…You're breathing too loud," Izana said softly.
Dante faltered.
The moment stretched—then snapped.
Izana surged upward with brutal speed.
There was no warning. One instant he was crouched on the floor; the next he was a blur of motion, slamming into Dante with crushing force. Dante was thrown across the marble as though he weighed nothing, his body crashing hard and skidding until it struck a column. He collapsed in a heap and didn't immediately rise.
Izana straightened slowly.
No shaking. No weakness.
Only control.
Blood slid from his chin, dripping steadily, but his posture was steady—predatory. He rolled his shoulders once, as if testing the limits of his body.
"Anyone else," he said quietly, voice low and layered with something wrong beneath it, "feel like putting their hands on me?"
The doors burst open as two guards rushed in, weapons forgotten in their urgency.
They grabbed him from behind.
The reaction was instant.
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
The roar that tore from Izana's throat was not human. It echoed unnaturally, layered with something feral and vast. He thrashed violently, rage erupting through every movement, power surging far beyond reason.
"GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF ME!"
He laughed under his breath between coughs, blood slipping down his chin.
A sound with no humor in it.
"You never learn."
He twisted sharply. One guard was flung aside like dead weight, crashing into the glass wall with a sickening sound. The other staggered back, barely keeping his footing.
Elias lunged forward in that instant and snapped the chains around Izana's wrists.
Metal locked.
For one terrifying heartbeat, Izana went completely still.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Slowly, his head tilted—then turned.
Not toward Elias.
Toward the upper windows.
Toward Leah.
Even blindfolded, he knew.
His lips curled faintly.
"So," he murmured, voice soft and wrong, "you're watching."
His chest heaved once. Then his voice dropped, venomous.
"Good."
He pulled.
CRACK.
The sound was sharp and final.
The chains snapped.
Broken links clattered across the marble as Izana stepped forward, blood trailing from his mouth. His smile was thin. Hollow.
"You keep calling this a curse," he said calmly. "Like it isn't a warning."
He angled his head toward Elias.
"I don't lose control," Izana said. "I remove restraint."
Elias shouted, "Get him down. Now!"
More guards rushed in. It took all of them—sheer numbers and desperate force—to overpower him. Izana fought with terrifying precision, every movement deliberate, efficient. He twisted out of grips, struck without hesitation, resisted every attempt to pin him.
"Don't touch me!" he snarled again and again. "Don't. Touch. Me!"
They dragged him across the garden, his heels scraping against stone, blood smearing the path behind him.
As they passed beneath the windows, Izana turned his head slightly toward the house.
Toward Leah.
His voice softened—deadly, intimate.
"Don't look away," he said. "You wanted to know what I am."
From her bedroom window, Leah saw the shattered chains glinting on the marble.
She saw the guards struggling—not to restrain him, but to survive holding him.
They forced Izana into the bunker.
The heavy steel door slammed shut.
Silence.
Then the bunker shuddered.
A slow, deliberate impact rolled through the ground.
Again.
Again.
Izana's voice carried through the thick steel—low, calm, and deadly.
"You locked the wrong thing in here."
Another impact shook the door.
Leah slid down against the wall, trembling.
Because that voice didn't sound enraged.
It sounded certain.