Leah arrived at the mansion just before dusk.
The car rolled through the iron gates slowly, the gravel crunching beneath the tires sounding far too loud in the stillness. The estate looked the same as it always had—immaculate grounds, towering stone walls, windows glowing faintly as evening settled—but something about it felt… hollow. As if the place itself had been holding its breath for a month and never quite learned how to exhale again.
No one rushed out to greet her.
That alone told her everything.
A guard opened the car door and gave a small bow, his expression carefully neutral. "This way," he said, voice low.
Leah stepped out, clutching her bag tighter than necessary. Her heart was pounding, not with excitement, but with a growing, sinking dread. As she walked inside, the mansion swallowed her in familiar quiet—too quiet. Staff passed in the halls, moving carefully, eyes downcast. No one smiled. No one spoke unless spoken to.
They all knew.
Elias was waiting for her in the main hall.
He looked older than she remembered. Not frail—but tired in a way that settled deep into the bones. When he saw her, relief crossed his face so quickly that he didn't bother hiding it.
"You came," he said softly.
"I've been wanting to come back," Leah said quietly, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. "I was just waiting to be allowed."
She hesitated, then asked, "How is he?"
Elias did not answer right away.
Instead, he gestured for her to follow him. They walked side by side down a long corridor, their footsteps echoing faintly.
"He hasn't been… himself," Elias said at last. "The curse worsened after you left. Far more than I anticipated."
Leah swallowed. "Is he sick?"
"Yes," Elias said. Then, after a pause, "And no."
They stopped outside a familiar hallway—the one where Leah's room used to be. The one where Izana's door had always faced hers.
Only now, her door was gone.
The space across from Izana's room stood empty.
Leah's chest tightened painfully.
"Before you go in," Elias said quietly, "there's something you need to understand."
She turned to face him. "Tell me."
"He may not know you're real."
The words landed like a physical blow.
"What?" she whispered.
"The hallucinations," Elias continued. "They… changed. They are no longer hostile. They are comforting. And because of that, he stopped resisting them."
Leah's hands trembled. "So when he sees me—."
"He may think you're just another part of them," Elias finished gently. "If that happens, do not argue with him. Do not force him to accept reality."
She nodded slowly, even though every instinct inside her screamed to do the opposite.
"And Leah," Elias added, his voice heavy with guilt, "this is not your responsibility. Whatever happens next—."
"I know," she said softly.
But they both knew she would stay anyway.
Elias opened the door.
The room was dark.
Not dim—dark. Curtains drawn tight. No lamps lit. The air was stale, heavy with the faint scent of medication long untouched.
Leah froze in the doorway.
The darkness pressed in immediately, thick and absolute, swallowing the edges of the room. Her breath caught involuntarily. She had always hated the dark—had avoided it whenever she could, avoided rooms like this entirely.
Her fingers curled around the strap of her bag as her heart began to race.
She almost stepped back.
Then she thought of Izana.
Slowly, deliberately, she forced her feet forward, each step an act of will. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but she didn't turn back. She crossed the threshold and let the darkness close around her.
"Izana?" she said.
There was movement.
A soft laugh echoed from the far side of the room.
"You're late," Izana said calmly. "You're usually here by now."
Leah froze.
He lay on the bed, turned slightly on his side, blindfold still in place. He looked… wrong. Smaller. Thinner than she remembered—alarmingly so. His clothes hung loosely on his frame, wrinkled and clearly unchanged for far too long.
He smiled faintly, eyes hidden beneath the fabric. "Did something keep you?"
Leah took a careful step forward, fighting the instinct to retreat from the dark pressing in around her. "I—I just arrived."
"Mm," he hummed, unconcerned. "You always say that."
Her throat tightened painfully.
She moved closer, slowly, deliberately, stopping several feet away. "Izana. It's me."
He chuckled. "You say that too."
Elias remained at the door, silent, watching.
Izana shifted, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. The movement looked like it cost him effort. "You're quieter today," he said. "Usually you tell me not to skip meals."
Leah clenched her fists.
"I don't skip them," Izana continued lightly. "I just forget. You don't mind, do you?"
She shook her head, even though he couldn't see it. "I do mind."
"Oh?" He tilted his head. "That's new."
She stepped closer again, the darkness no longer stopping her. "Izana… when was the last time you ate?"
He frowned, as if genuinely thinking. "Yesterday," he said. Then paused. "No. Maybe before that. Time's strange here."
Leah looked at Elias helplessly.
Izana laughed softly again. "You're making that face," he said. "The worried one. It doesn't suit you."
Her voice broke. "You're not well."
"That's not true," he replied easily. "I feel fine. Better, actually."
"Better?" she echoed.
"Yes," he said. "You're here."
The words cut deeper than anything else could have.
Leah took a shaky breath. "I wasn't here before. Not really."
Silence stretched.
Then Izana sighed, almost fondly. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Trying to leave," he said quietly. "You always do that eventually."
"I didn't want to," she whispered.
"I know," he replied. "You never do."
Elias took a step forward. "Izana."
Izana stiffened instantly. "He's back," he muttered. "That's new."
Leah's heart sank.
"Izana," Elias said carefully, "Leah is here. Truly."
Izana laughed—louder this time, sharp and brittle. "You don't need to lie for me," he said. "She's been here the whole time."
Leah's breath caught. "What?"
He turned his face toward her voice. "You think I don't notice when you disappear?" he asked softly. "You think I don't know the difference?"
"Yes," she said desperately. "I do."
His smile faltered.
"Hallucinations don't argue," he murmured. "They don't hesitate like this."
Hope flickered dangerously in her chest.
"Izana," she said gently, "listen to me."
"I am listening," he snapped suddenly, tension surging. "I always listen. That's the problem."
He squeezed his eyes shut beneath the blindfold, breathing hard. "You're real today," he muttered. "You sound real. That's not fair."
Leah took one more step closer, ignoring how the darkness seemed to close in around her. Fear no longer mattered—not now. She was close enough now to see how shallow his breaths were, how fragile he looked.
"I came back," she said. "Elias brought me back."
His laughter returned, shaky and broken. "Elias can't fix this," he said. "He tried. You know that."
"I know," she replied. "But I'm not leaving again."
Silence.
Then, very quietly, Izana said, "Don't say that."
"Why?"
"Because if you leave again," he whispered, "I don't think I'll notice."
That broke her.
Tears slipped free before she could stop them. "I'm here," she said. "I'm right here."
He shook his head slowly. "You always say that."
Leah looked to Elias, panic rising. "What do I do?"
Elias's voice was low, grave. "You stay," he said. "And you let him come to the truth himself."
Izana lay back down, exhaustion overtaking him. "Sit," he murmured. "You don't have to stand."
Leah sat on the chair beside the bed, hands folded tightly in her lap, the darkness no longer frightening—only heavy.
Minutes passed.
Izana spoke again, voice soft and distant. "If you disappear later," he said, "don't tell me."
Leah's heart clenched. "Why?"
"Because it hurts less when I don't notice."
She stared at him, tears silently falling.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.
Izana smiled faintly. "That's what you said last time."
And as the room fell quiet again, Leah realized the truth:
She hadn't come back to save him.
She had come back to face what terrified her—
The dark, the silence, and the slow work of waiting—
Until reality became strong enough to hurt again.