Night came gently.
Leah hadn't realised how exhausted she was until the quiet finally settled over the mansion. The reunion, the emotions, the relief — it had all drained her. Now the bedroom was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp she'd forgotten to switch off.
Izana lay beside her.
Close.
Warmer than she remembered.
One arm rested loosely over her waist as though he was afraid she might disappear again if he let go.
Leah watched him in the low light. His features were softer in sleep. Peaceful. The tension that once lived permanently in his expression was gone.
And his eyes…
Red.
Not the cursed green she had known for years.
Red, like the Grimshaws.
She reached up and brushed a strand of black hair away from his forehead. He stirred faintly but didn't wake.
"You're really here," she whispered.
For the first time in two years, she allowed herself to fall asleep without fear.
Hours later.
She woke to emptiness.
The space beside her was cold.
Leah blinked, disoriented. The bathroom light was on, shining faintly through the crack in the door. She could hear water running.
She relaxed slightly.
He must have woken up uncomfortable.
She sat up slowly, about to call his name—
Then the water stopped.
Silence followed.
A few seconds passed.
And then—
A dull, heavy thud.
Not loud.
But wrong.
Leah was already on her feet before her mind caught up with her body.
"Izana?"
No answer.
Her heartbeat began to race as she pushed open the bathroom door.
The scent hit her first.
Metallic.
Sharp.
Her breath caught.
Izana was on the floor.
Half slumped against the marble tile, one hand weakly braced as though he had tried to stop himself from falling. His head hung forward. Dark hair shadowed his face.
And his shirt—
Red.
Blood soaked through the side beneath his ribs, spreading slowly, steadily.
The sink behind him was streaked faintly crimson.
"Izana."
Her voice came out thin.
She dropped to her knees beside him, hands hovering for just a second before she pressed one against his shoulder.
His eyes fluttered open.
Red.
Unfocused.
"Leah…" His voice was rough, strained. "Don't—."
He tried to push himself up.
He couldn't.
His arm gave out and he collapsed back against the floor.
Her hand moved instinctively to his side.
Warm.
Wet.
She pulled her fingers away.
Blood.
A lot of it.
Her vision swam for half a second.
But she didn't scream.
Didn't cry.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was steady.
"Stay with me."
She reached for her phone on the counter and pressed one number.
Elias answered on the first ring.
"Leah?"
"Bedroom. Now."
Something in her tone made him hang up immediately.
Footsteps pounded down the corridor within seconds.
Dante arrived first, Elias right behind him.
They both froze at the doorway.
Izana was barely conscious now, leaning against Leah as she held him upright.
Dante swore under his breath. "What the hell—."
Elias moved quickly, kneeling on Izana's other side. He carefully lifted the edge of the blood-soaked shirt.
His jaw tightened.
"He stitched this himself."
Leah's head snapped toward him. "What?"
Elias didn't look at her. "There are sutures. Crude ones."
Izana's eyes flickered open again. "I'm fine."
Dante let out a harsh breath. "You're bleeding through your shirt."
"I said—." His voice faltered.
He swayed.
Leah tightened her grip. "Stop trying to act strong."
His gaze shifted to her. Even through the haze of pain, there was something almost apologetic in it.
He squeezed her hand weakly.
Then his body went slack.
"Move," Elias ordered sharply.
Dante and Elias worked together, lifting Izana carefully despite the blood soaking into their sleeves. Leah stayed at his side, gripping his hand as they carried him down the hall.
Staff began to gather, whispering.
Then they passed the medical corridor.
Caesar saw them.
From his bed, he'd heard the commotion — the rushing footsteps, the urgency.
He turned his head.
And saw him.
Izana.
Carried in blood.
Red eyes barely visible beneath half-closed lids.
Caesar's breath caught.
He's back.
No one told him.
His gaze dropped to the spreading crimson stain along Izana's side.
Injured.
Vulnerable.
A slow, calculating light entered his expression.
Good.
He didn't yet understand the eyes.
Didn't yet understand what they meant.
He only saw opportunity.
You came back broken, he thought. I can finish what I started.
Inside the medical corridor, doctors moved quickly.
They cut away Izana's shirt.
Leah stood frozen as the fabric fell open.
The wound was worse than she imagined.
A deep, long gash stretched beneath his ribs, angled brutally as though something had torn through him. The stitching was uneven — tight in some places, loose in others.
The skin around it was swollen.
Angry.
Infected.
One of the doctors inhaled sharply. "This should have killed him."
Another shook his head. "He did this himself."
Leah felt like the floor had dropped away beneath her.
Two years.
Alone.
He had stitched this.
Without help.
Without proper tools.
Without anaesthetic.
Her hands trembled at her sides.
They began cutting the sutures.
Izana didn't wake.
Didn't even flinch.
"He's septic," a doctor muttered. "We need antibiotics immediately."
Elias stepped closer to Leah. "You should step outside."
"No."
Her voice was quiet but unyielding.
"I'm staying."
She watched them clean the wound.
Watched fresh blood well up as they removed his work.
Watched the reality of what he'd endured unfold piece by piece.
He hadn't just disappeared.
He had survived something.
Something violent.
Something terrible.
Her throat tightened.
"You said you were fine," she whispered.
No one answered her.
Machines beeped softly as they worked.
Dante stood near the wall, fists clenched, jaw tight.
Elias remained composed, but his eyes were darker than usual.
After what felt like hours, the doctors finally stepped back.
"He's stable for now," one said. "But the infection is serious. He should not have been walking."
Leah moved to his side immediately.
His face was pale now.
Too pale.
She brushed her fingers gently along his cheek.
"You idiot," she murmured softly.
Her voice broke just slightly.
"You don't get to come back to me and almost leave again."
His chest rose and fell steadily now.
Alive.
Still here.
Down the hall, in the private hospital room at the far end of the corridor Caesar lay motionless in his bed.
He hadn't seen everything.
But he had heard enough.
The rushed footsteps.
The clipped medical commands.
The word spoken in shock by one of the staff—
"Izana."
That name traveled down the corridor like a blade.
Caesar's eyes opened slowly.
Izana.
Back.
He stared at the ceiling, mind turning.
Then a nurse entered hurriedly, whispering to another staff member just outside the door.
"…deep laceration… self-stitched… infection…"
Caesar's breathing slowed.
Injured.
His lips twitched faintly.
He couldn't stand.
Couldn't walk.
Couldn't even turn without assistance.
But his mind?
Untouched.
Sharp.
Calculating.
If Izana had returned wounded… if he was weak…
That meant opportunity.
He didn't know about the broken curse.
He didn't know the significance of the red eyes.
He only knew this:
Izana was back inside his reach.
And this time, he was bleeding.
Caesar's gaze shifted toward the hallway, though he could see nothing from his bed.
Softly, almost thoughtfully, he murmured to himself:
"So you crawled back."
A pause.
"You were never meant to survive without me."
His eyes darkened.
"Let's see how long your freedom lasts."
The machines in his room continued their steady rhythm.
And though he could not move—
Something far more dangerous than movement had just awakened.