Leah didn't sleep again.
Not really.
Her body lay still beneath the blankets, breath slow, eyes closed—but her mind never fully surfaced. It drifted just beneath consciousness, trapped in the thin, fragile space where dreams could reach her without permission.
And the curse took advantage of that.
It started subtly.
A pressure behind her eyes.
A faint ringing in her ears.
Then heat—sudden and suffocating—curling through her chest like something had reached inside her and tightened its grip around her lungs.
Across the hall, Izana stirred.
He hadn't dreamed in years. The curse rarely allowed it and when it did, it came in nightmares. Sleep, for him, was usually a void—dark, empty, mercifully silent. But tonight, something was wrong.
Pain bloomed behind his eyes without warning.
He sucked in a sharp breath, fingers clawing into the mattress as a tremor ripped through his arm. His heart slammed violently against his ribs, too fast, too hard, as if it were trying to escape.
No.
Not now.
He forced himself to breathe, grounding instinctively—but the curse didn't respond the way it usually did. It didn't recoil. It didn't lash out.
It pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Like it was listening to something else.
Leah's dream fractured.
The room returned—but it wasn't the same as before. The walls were closer now, shadows crawling like living things. The air felt thick, heavy with emotion she couldn't name.
The boy stood at the center of the room again.
Black hair. Red eyes.
He looked… different.
Less distant.
More agitated.
"You didn't listen," he said.
Leah's chest tightened. "I tried to understand."
"That's the problem." His voice trembled—not with fear, but with anger barely contained. "Understanding him is dangerous."
The pressure in her chest intensified suddenly, sharp enough that she gasped—even in the dream. She clutched at herself, knees buckling.
At the same moment, Izana cried out.
The sound tore from his throat before he could stop it. His vision blurred as agony lanced through his skull, white-hot and blinding. He rolled onto his side, teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached.
Something was wrong.
This wasn't punishment.
This wasn't suppression.
This was feedback.
Leah staggered backward in the dream, breath shallow. "Why does it hurt?"
The boy's eyes flickered—not red now, but darker, almost black. "Because it feels you."
Izana's body arched as another wave hit him. His hands shook violently, fingers curling as if grasping at something unseen. His heartbeat was erratic now, skipping, racing, then slowing too much.
Dante's monitors—locked away in another room—would have been screaming.
"Leah," Izana rasped, though he didn't know why her name was on his tongue.
The curse surged.
Not outward.
Inward.
Leah screamed.
The room shattered, reforming into something far worse.
She stood in the same house now—but it was wrong. Darkened. Warped. The walls were streaked with shadows like old scars. The air reeked of smoke and iron.
The boy was gone.
Instead, she felt him.
Someone else's fear.
Someone else's rage.
Someone else's guilt crushing down on her chest like a physical weight.
She stumbled into a room she recognized only vaguely—and froze.
The man and woman were there again.
But this time, she was closer.
Too close.
They were breathing. Barely. The man's hand twitched weakly against the floor. The woman's eyes were open, unfocused, staring at nothing.
"No," Leah whispered. "Please… no…"
The air vibrated.
Power—raw and uncontrolled—ripped through the room.
She didn't see the strike.
She felt it.
The memory wasn't visual anymore. It was emotional. Overwhelming. A child drowning in something far too big, far too violent to understand. Terror twisted into fury. Fury into devastation.
The curse wrapped around the memory like a loving hand.
Across the hall, Izana screamed again.
His vision went black.
For a terrifying second, he thought he was dying.
Then—clarity.
Not relief. Not peace.
Awareness.
He saw flashes that weren't his.
Blue eyes wide with terror.
A small body trembling under invisible pressure.
Leah.
"No," he whispered hoarsely, forcing himself upright despite the tremors wracking his body. His feet hit the floor hard, balance unsteady, but instinct drove him forward.
The curse shrieked inside him—not in pain, but in fury.
Leah collapsed in the dream, clutching her head as the weight became unbearable. The boy reappeared suddenly, grabbing her wrist.
"Wake up," he snapped. "You have to wake up!"
"I can't," she sobbed. "It won't let me—."
"Then listen to me," he said urgently. "If you stay near him, it will use you. It already is."
Her vision blurred with tears. "I won't leave him."
The boy stared at her, something raw and conflicted flashing across his face. "Then it will break you both."
Izana slammed into her door.
"Leah!"
The sound cut through the nightmare like a blade.
Her body jerked violently in bed, a sharp gasp tearing from her lungs as she bolted upright. Pain throbbed behind her eyes, chest aching as if she'd been running for miles.
"Izana?" she croaked.
The door flew open.
He stood there, pale, breathing hard, black hair disheveled, eyes burning unnaturally bright in the darkness. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then the curse shifted.
It recoiled.
Izana crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees beside her bed, gripping the mattress like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
"What did it show you?" he demanded, voice rough.
Leah stared at him, still trembling. "I—I don't know whose memory it was. There was a boy. He told me to stay away from you."
Izana froze.
His expression shuttered instantly—too fast, too controlled.
"And?" he asked quietly.
"There were people," she continued, swallowing hard. "A man and a woman. They were hurt. Barely alive. And I could feel—." Her voice broke. "I could feel that whoever the boy was… he didn't mean to. But it was him."
Silence crashed down between them.
Izana slowly stood, turning away from her. His hands clenched at his sides so tightly his knuckles went white.
The curse stirred, pleased.
"That memory doesn't belong to you," he said at last.
"I know," Leah whispered. "But it wanted me to see it."
Izana didn't answer.
Because for the first time since the curse had bound itself to him, it had crossed a line.
And it had done it on purpose.