Leah didn't move.
Not when Izana turned his back on her.
Not when Elias followed him down the corridor.
Not when the guards hesitated, unsure whether they were supposed to escort her or leave her standing there alone.
The words still rang in her ears.
I want her sent back to her family.
The corridor felt too long, too empty, like the space itself was mocking her. Her chest hurt—not sharp, not sudden, but deep and crushing, as if something vital had been slowly pressed inward until it could barely breathe.
Elias stopped several steps away, sensing it before she spoke.
"She won't go quietly," he said without turning around.
Izana's shoulders stiffened. He didn't face her. Didn't let himself.
"She doesn't have a choice," Izana replied, voice low and exhausted. "Make the arrangements."
Leah finally found her voice.
"No."
The single word cut through the air.
Izana flinched.
Elias turned slowly, concern etched into his expression. "Leah—."
"I said no," she repeated, louder now, steadier. She took a step forward, stopping well short of Izana's space. She knew better than to cross that line without permission. "You don't get to decide this for me."
Izana turned halfway, jaw tight beneath the blindfold. "I do when it's about your safety."
"You don't know what safety looks like for me," she shot back.
Silence fell.
The curse stirred.
Izana sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling slightly at his sides. He could feel it immediately—the pressure behind his eyes, the faint distortion at the edges of his perception. Leah being close always did this now. It was like the curse recognized her presence and reacted with possessive agitation.
"Leah," he said through clenched teeth, "you need to stop."
"No," she said again, stepping into his line of hearing but still keeping distance. "You don't get to shut me out and call it protection."
Elias lifted a hand. "Both of you—."
"Not now," Leah said, not looking at him. Her focus was locked on Izana. "You think sending me away will fix this? That it'll quiet the curse?"
Izana didn't answer.
"You think I haven't noticed?" she continued, voice trembling but determined. "Every time you pull away, every time you lock yourself in the dark, every time you decide you're better off alone—do you really think that makes things better for you?"
His breathing grew shallow.
"It's not about me," he snapped. "It never is."
"That's the problem!" Leah's voice cracked. "You never let it be about you. You never let anyone stay."
The curse whispered.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Insidious.
She's too close.
She'll break.
She'll leave anyway.
Izana pressed his teeth together hard enough to ache. "You don't understand what you're asking for," he said hoarsely. "Being near me isn't just uncomfortable. It's dangerous. I can't control what it does anymore."
Leah's hands curled into fists. "Then let me decide if that's a risk I'm willing to take."
"You're not thinking clearly."
"I am," she said. "For the first time in a long time."
Elias shifted uncomfortably. He'd seen Izana lose control before. He'd seen the curse turn proximity into punishment. But he'd also seen something else over the past weeks—something fragile and rare.
Connection.
"Izana," Elias said carefully, "forcing her to leave may not have the effect you think it will."
Izana let out a bitter laugh. "You think this is easy for me?"
"No," Elias admitted. "I think it's tearing you apart."
Leah swallowed hard, her voice softening. "If you send me back… I won't be safe."
Izana froze.
"What?" he asked sharply.
She hesitated. Just for a second. Then she lifted her chin. "You want me gone because you think I'll be safer there. But I won't be."
Elias frowned. "Leah—."
"It's not like that here," she continued quickly, before anyone could stop her. "Here, I'm watched. I'm protected. People notice when I disappear. When I'm hurt."
Izana's hands curled tighter.
"At home," she whispered, "no one does."
The curse went silent.
Not calm.
Not soothed.
Listening.
Izana turned fully toward her now, blindfold still hiding his eyes, but his attention unmistakable. "Who," he asked slowly, "hurt you?"
Leah's throat tightened. She looked away. "That doesn't matter."
"It fucking does," he snapped, taking a step forward before stopping himself abruptly. The curse surged in response, heat crawling up his spine. He forced himself to stay still. "Did someone touch you?"
"No," she said quickly. "Not like that."
His jaw clenched. "Then what?"
She hesitated too long.
Izana felt something ugly coil in his chest. "Leah."
"…My family isn't what you think it is," she said quietly. "Sending me back isn't saving me. It's… it's sending me back to something worse."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Elias exhaled slowly. "We should discuss this privately."
"No," Izana said. "I want to hear it."
Leah took a shaky breath. "You keep saying the curse reacts to me. That I'm dangerous to be near. But being here—near you—is the first time I've felt like I'm not constantly waiting for something bad to happen."
Izana shook his head slightly. "You don't know what you're choosing."
"I do," she said firmly. "I'm choosing you. Even like this. Even with the curse."
That was the wrong thing to say.
The curse surged violently, a sharp pulse that made Izana stagger back half a step. His breath hitched, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth.
"Enough," he growled, one hand bracing against the wall. "You're proving my point."
Leah froze, fear flashing across her face—not of him, but for him.
"Izana—."
"Get out," he said harshly. "Now."
Elias stepped forward immediately. "Leah, please."
She looked between them, eyes shining. "You're pushing me away because you're afraid," she said softly. "But you're not protecting me. You're punishing yourself."
Izana turned his face away, shoulders shaking slightly—not with sobs, but with the effort of holding himself together.
"If you stay," he said quietly, "the curse will make you pay."
She nodded. "Then I'll pay."
That broke something.
Izana's voice dropped to a whisper. "I won't let that happen."
"Then stop deciding for me," she pleaded.
Elias placed a hand on Leah's shoulder—careful, grounding. "Leah," he said gently, "give him time. He's barely holding himself together."
She swallowed, nodding slowly. "I won't leave tonight," she said. "But I'm not going home either."
Izana didn't argue.
He couldn't.
As Leah turned away, tears finally slipping free, the curse receded slightly—confused, unsettled.
Distance was supposed to weaken it.
But all Izana could think was this:
Sending her away might save her.
Keeping her close might destroy him.
And for the first time, he didn't know which choice would hurt more.