A few days later, Elias noticed the change before anyone else dared to speak.
It wasn't a single event—it never was with Izana. It was the accumulation of small signs that refused to be ignored. The way his temper frayed over trivial things, the moments when he froze mid-step as if listening to a voice no one else could hear, the faint tremor in his hands that appeared when he thought no one was watching.
And the nights.
The staff had stopped pretending they didn't hear the muffled crashes, the sharp curses that cut through the quiet, the soft thuds of things breaking. Hours of stillness followed each outburst, a silence that felt heavier than noise ever could.
Elias stood in the doorway of the observation room, arms crossed, watching Izana through the one-way glass.
Izana sat at the small table, blindfold already covering his eyes, as he always did. His elbows rested on the surface, the weight of his own body seemingly too much to hold upright. His shoulders were hunched. His breathing was shallow. The bandage on his arm had already been replaced once today, but fresh blood seeped through again.
He looked… worn. Older. Not weak—but drained in a way Elias had never seen.
"How long has it been this bad?" Elias asked quietly.
One of the medics shifted uneasily. "It's escalating faster than usual. The hallucinations are bleeding into daylight. That's new."
Elias exhaled through his nose. He already knew the answer.
"Isolation," he said, voice low but firm. "Full quiet protocol."
The medic hesitated. "Sir—."
"Now," Elias interrupted, then softened slightly. "Before it gets worse."
Behind the glass, Izana lifted his head slightly, sensing the decision being made.
Leah discovered it ten minutes later.
She was in the living room when two guards hurried past her, speaking in hushed tones.
"…isolation again?" one whispered.
"…Elias' orders."
Her chest tightened. Without thinking, she followed them, her footsteps muted against the stone floors. By the time she reached the medical room, tension clung to the walls like a thick fog.
Izana stood in the center of the room, blindfold in place as usual, hands at his sides, posture rigid but controlled. He didn't move toward them; he didn't flinch when they approached—but he also didn't allow them to touch him.
Elias stepped forward. "This isn't a punishment," he said firmly.
Izana let out a short, humorless laugh. "Could've fooled me."
"You're spiraling," Elias continued. "You know what happens if we let it run unchecked."
"I can handle it," Izana said, voice low but clipped.
"You said that last time," Elias replied, "and the time before that."
Silence followed.
"…Do it," Izana muttered finally. "Before I hurt someone."
Leah felt the world tilt slightly.
"Izana—." she said softly, stepping forward.
His head snapped toward her. Fear flickered across his face—not for himself. For her.
"No," he said quickly. "You shouldn't be here for this."
Elias raised a hand, signaling the guards to wait. "Leah," he said gently, "we need to take precautions."
"Precautions?" she echoed. "You're locking him away."
Izana spoke before Elias could respond. "It helps," he said quietly. "The dark. The blindfold. It keeps things… quieter."
Leah searched his face. There was no defiance now. No resistance. Only exhaustion.
The guards moved then, careful to respect his boundaries. They didn't touch him. Not once. Izana allowed them to guide him verbally—responding to instructions with nods, the faintest inclinations of his head—but never physical contact. He moved like a shadow, measured, controlled, every step deliberate.
The corridor leading to isolation was narrow, the walls thick and stone, sound swallowed by the heavy masonry. Izana followed without complaint, blindfold still on, his breathing steadying slightly with the lack of visual stimuli.
The isolation room was small and windowless, padded in muted tones. Not a prison, Elias had said once. A buffer. A place where the curse had less to feed on.
The door closed behind him with a heavy, final sound. Leah flinched. She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until it slipped out in a shudder.
"How long?" she asked Elias, voice tight.
"As long as it takes," he replied. "Hours. Maybe a day... Or more."
"And if it gets worse?"
"That's why we're doing this now," he said finally.
Leah sank to the floor near the door, back pressed against the wall. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the solid, sealed door as if sheer willpower could keep him safe.
Inside, Izana sat alone in total darkness.
The blindfold muted the hallucinations, dulled the cruel edges of the curse—but didn't silence it entirely. Whispers crept through his mind, distant, distorted. Shadows twisted and merged into faces he'd buried long ago. Movement at the edge of perception that shouldn't exist. Shapes that wanted to make him afraid.
He concentrated on his breathing. In. Out.
Don't think about the hallway.
Don't think about the door across from yours.
Don't think about her.
That last one was always the hardest.
Leah whispered softly outside. "I'm here. You're not alone."
Izana shifted slightly, the words impossible to hear but the sentiment still threading through the invisible connection between them. For a moment, the noise in his head eased.
Even in isolation, even with the darkness pressing in, someone stayed.
Even in fear, someone waited.
And for the first time in days, he let himself lean against the weight of that thought.