The warehouse doors screeched as Dante forced one open, the metal protesting loudly against the silence inside.
Cold night air slipped through the opening, chasing away the suffocating heaviness that had settled in the dark.
Dante stepped in, flashlight raised.
The beam sliced across rusted beams, broken crates, oil-stained concrete—
—and then it caught something that made his stomach drop.
Blood.
A dark trail smeared across the floor.
"Damn it…" he muttered under his breath, already moving.
The light followed the trail to the far wall.
And there they were.
Izana wasn't standing.
He was sitting on the floor, back against the concrete wall, one leg stretched out awkwardly. His head rested heavily against Leah's shoulder. His white blindfold looked almost too clean against the red staining his coat.
Leah was sitting beside him, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist to keep him upright. Her other hand was pressed firmly against his side, fabric bunched under her palm in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes snapped up when the light hit them.
"Dante."
Relief flooded her voice—but fear followed close behind it.
Dante crouched in front of them quickly. "I'm here."
His gaze flicked over Izana's form, assessing.
Blood soaked through the makeshift bandage. It had spread down his side and pooled faintly beneath him.
Izana's breathing was shallow. Controlled. Too controlled.
"How bad?" Dante asked.
"I'm fine," Izana answered immediately, his voice hoarse but steady.
Leah shook her head at the same time. "He's not."
Dante looked between them.
Izana didn't lift his head from Leah's shoulder. "It looks worse than it is."
"You're bleeding through everything," Dante replied flatly.
"It's manageable."
Leah tightened her arm around him. "You almost passed out five minutes ago."
Izana clicked his tongue faintly. "I didn't."
"You did," she insisted softly.
Dante leaned closer, carefully peeling back part of the soaked fabric just enough to see the wound.
His jaw tightened.
"You've lost a lot of blood," he said quietly. "And your ribs?"
Izana exhaled slowly. "Probably cracked."
"Probably?" Dante echoed.
"Broken," Leah corrected under her breath.
Dante swore quietly. "We need to get you up."
Izana didn't respond.
Dante moved to slide an arm around his back to lift him—
—and Izana's body went rigid instantly.
His muscles locked.
It wasn't pain.
It was reflex.
Dante paused. "We don't have time for this."
Leah looked at Izana gently. "It's just to help you stand."
There was a long moment of silence.
Izana's fingers tightened faintly against Leah's sleeve.
Then he exhaled through his teeth. "…Fine."
Dante repositioned carefully.
"On three," he said. "One. Two. Three."
They lifted.
The moment Izana's torso shifted forward, his ribs moved.
A sharp, broken sound tore from his throat.
"—Shit—!"
His body folded involuntarily before he caught himself, breath shuddering as pain radiated through his chest.
Leah's grip tightened instantly. "Izana—."
"I'm fine," he bit out, though his voice trembled slightly.
"You don't sound fine," Dante muttered.
They adjusted again, slower this time.
Izana forced his legs to lock.
Forced himself upright.
His breathing turned shallow and uneven.
Dante steadied him as he swayed.
Izana's arm rested over Dante's shoulders at first for balance.
Then, slowly, it shifted.
It slid from Dante—
—to Leah.
She moved under his weight naturally, supporting him without hesitation.
And then she winced.
It was subtle.
But Izana felt it immediately.
His head tilted slightly. "Leah."
"I'm okay," she said quickly.
"Leah."
Her name was firmer this time.
Dante glanced at her.
She hesitated. "…The curse shoved me."
Izana went still.
"Where?" he asked quietly.
"It's nothing."
"Where."
"My shoulder," she admitted softly. "It pushed me into a wall."
His jaw tightened. "Show me."
"In the middle of a warehouse?" she tried lightly.
His grip on her arm tightened slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to demand.
"I'm fine," she insisted. "It just hurts when you lean too much."
Silence stretched between them.
"I'll deal with it later," Izana said quietly.
The tone wasn't calm.
It was controlled anger.
They began moving toward the exit slowly.
Each step cost him.
Every shift of weight forced another muted breath or curse under it.
"Don't rush," Leah murmured.
"I'm not," he replied, though sweat had begun to bead faintly at his temple.
Dante pushed the warehouse door open fully.
Cool night air washed over them.
It felt sharper outside.
Cleaner.
They made it to the car.
Dante opened the back door quickly. "We'll lay him across the seat."
"I can sit," Izana muttered.
"You can't," Leah and Dante said at the same time.
Izana exhaled in mild irritation.
They helped him bend toward the seat.
The movement compressed his ribs.
A low groan escaped before he could stop it.
"Damn it..."
His hand gripped the door frame hard.
Leah moved quickly. "Wait—slowly. Lean this way first."
They adjusted him sideways instead of straight down.
Even so, when he finally lowered into the seat, his back curved awkwardly.
Pain flared sharply across his chest.
His breathing stuttered.
Without hesitation, Leah climbed into the back seat beside him.
"Move," she said gently.
"I'm not helpless," he muttered.
"I know," she replied softly. "But you're injured."
Dante steadied him while Leah guided his shoulders.
"Lie down."
There was a pause.
Then Izana relented.
Carefully, she helped him stretch out across the seat.
She adjusted his hips.
Straightened his back.
Shifted his legs slightly to ease pressure.
Then she sat back against the door.
And gently lowered his head into her lap.
The effect was immediate.
His breathing eased just slightly.
The pressure on his ribs lessened with the straighter alignment.
He went quiet.
Leah brushed her fingers carefully through his black hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
"Better?" she asked softly.
A small pause.
"…Yeah."
Dante closed the door and got into the driver's seat.
In the rearview mirror, he caught the image—
Izana stretched across the back seat, pale and bloodied.
Leah sitting steady, her hand moving slowly through his hair.
Izana not resisting.
Not tensing.
Just… allowing it.
Dante dialed Elias as he started the engine.
"They're safe," he said when the line connected. "But he's hurt."
A pause.
"Yes. Significant blood loss."
Another pause.
"Ribs too."
Silence.
"We're heading back now."
He ended the call and pulled away from the warehouse.
The ride was quiet.
Leah's fingers continued their slow, rhythmic motion through Izana's hair.
Each stroke gentle.
Careful not to jostle him.
Izana's hand shifted slightly, brushing faintly against her thigh as if confirming she was still there.
She noticed.
She didn't comment.
"Does it hurt a lot?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
The honesty surprised her.
"But it's manageable," he added.
"You don't have to pretend with me."
"I'm not pretending."
She smiled faintly. "You're terrible at lying."
A faint huff of breath escaped him—almost a laugh.
"Don't get used to this," he murmured.
"To what?"
"This."
Her hand paused briefly, then resumed. "I wasn't planning to."
Silence again.
But it wasn't awkward.
It was heavy. Soft.
The warmth in his chest grew stronger.
Strange.
Unfamiliar.
The last time he had laid like this—
His mother's lap.
Her hand smoothing his hair when he had a fever.
The memory surfaced gently.
Not violently like the warehouse.
Soft.
Safe.
His throat tightened.
Before he could stop it—
A single tear slipped from beneath the edge of his white blindfold.
It trailed silently into his hair.
Leah noticed the change in his breathing.
She didn't point it out.
Instead, her thumb brushed gently near his temple as her fingers continued stroking his hair.
"I'm here," she whispered.
Izana exhaled slowly.
For once—
He believed it.