The smell reached Leah before the sound.
It wasn't loud—no crash, no raised voices, no unmistakable sign of chaos. Just something faint and wrong drifting down the corridor, curling into the air like a warning.
Smoke.
Not the sharp, clean scent of incense or candles.
Something heavier.
Something bitter.
Leah's chest tightened.
She stood at the base of the stairs, fingers curling slowly into her sleeves, eyes fixed on the second floor. Dante was still there beside her, arms crossed, posture rigid.
"He locked the door," Dante said quietly, already knowing what she was thinking. "You shouldn't go up there."
She didn't look at him. "That's not just smoke."
Dante exhaled through his nose. "Leah—."
"He's not okay."
"I know," Dante said. "But when he's like this—."
"When he's like this," she cut in, finally turning to face him, "is when he needs someone to stop him."
Silence stretched between them.
Dante searched her face, conflicted. "If the curse flares again—."
"Then he won't survive it alone," she said softly.
That was what broke him.
Dante stepped aside.
Leah didn't run. She didn't rush. She moved carefully up the stairs, each step deliberate, heart pounding louder with every second. The smell grew stronger the closer she got to Izana's door.
Smoke.
Alcohol.
And something else—something sharp and wrong beneath it.
She stopped in front of the door.
"Izana," she said, knocking once.
No answer.
"Izana," she tried again, firmer. "I know you're in there."
Inside, Izana froze.
The bottle hovered halfway to his lips. His chest tightened painfully—not from the curse this time, but from the sound of her voice.
Damn it.
He closed his eyes, the light still burning even through his lids. "Go away, Leah."
Her breath caught on the other side of the door.
"I'm not leaving," she said.
"You should."
"I'm opening the door."
The lock clicked.
Izana cursed under his breath as the door creaked open.
Leah stepped inside—and stopped.
The room was dim, curtains half-drawn, the balcony doors wide open. Smoke lingered thickly in the air, curling lazily toward the ceiling. The smell of whiskey was unmistakable.
And there he was.
Sitting on the balcony floor, back against the railing, blindfold discarded on the ground beside him. His green eyes were exposed, red-rimmed, unfocused, flinching slightly even in the low light.
The bottle rested loosely in his hand.
Her heart sank.
"Izana…" she whispered.
He looked at her.
Really looked.
And the curse stirred.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes instantly, sharp and punishing. His breath hitched as a tremor rippled through his fingers.
"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Don't come closer."
Leah ignored him.
She stepped onto the balcony, closing the door behind her to trap the smoke outside. "You're hurting yourself."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "That's the point."
Her throat tightened. "The deal failed."
He flinched.
"I know," he said quietly. "I felt it the moment it happened."
"You didn't even look at me when you came home."
His jaw clenched. "I couldn't."
"Why?"
Because if I did, I'd break.
Because you are the reason I faltered.
Because the curse knows you matter.
"You shouldn't be here," he said instead. "You shouldn't see this."
She knelt in front of him without asking permission. The smell clung to his clothes, sharp and wrong against the familiar warmth of him.
"This isn't medical," she said gently, glancing at the bottle. "This is punishment."
His grip tightened around the glass. "It's control."
"No," she said softly. "It's guilt."
That did it.
The curse surged.
Not violently—insidiously.
Izana gasped, spine arching as pain exploded through his skull. The world narrowed, fog pressing in at the edges of his vision.
Leah reacted instantly. "Izana—. "
"Don't touch me!" he snapped, breath ragged. "It's reacting—."
His hands shook uncontrollably now. The smoke he had inhaled twisted the sensation, dulling the edge but making the curse unpredictable. The tremors worsened, spreading through his arms, his shoulders.
"You're suppressing it," Leah said, realization dawning. "You're trying to drown it."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "If I don't… it'll use you against me."
Her chest ached.
"I'm already part of this," she said. "Whether you want me to be or not."
He looked at her then—really looked.
No blindfold.
No barrier.
Her blue eyes were steady, scared but unwavering.
The curse recoiled.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
The pain stuttered, faltered.
Izana slumped forward suddenly, breath shuddering as the worst of it passed. Leah caught him instinctively, arms wrapping around his shoulders before he could stop her.
He was burning.
"You scared me," she whispered.
He laughed weakly. "Good. Means you're smarter than I am."
She pulled back just enough to look at him. "You're not allowed to destroy yourself because you made a mistake."
"I didn't just make a mistake," he said quietly. "I became careless."
"You became human."
The word hit harder than any accusation.
The curse shifted again—uneasy.
Izana closed his eyes, pressing his forehead lightly against hers despite the pain the light still caused. "That's dangerous for me."
"I know," she said. "But you don't have to face it alone."
Footsteps approached outside the room.
Dante.
"Izana," he called through the door, voice tense. "The readings just spiked."
"I know," Izana replied hoarsely.
Leah stayed where she was.
For once, the curse didn't fight it.