The next day arrived quietly, carried in on muted light and the soft hush of the mansion waking around them.
Leah had been awake long before Izana stirred.
She sat beside the bed, watching the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest, listening for any change in his breathing that might signal pain or the curse stirring too strongly. The night had been mercifully calm, but she knew better than to trust calmness. With Izana, peace was always temporary—borrowed time that had to be used carefully.
When he finally woke, it wasn't sudden. His fingers twitched first, then his brow furrowed faintly beneath the blindfold.
"You're still here," he murmured.
Leah smiled softly. "I told you I would be."
He exhaled, tension easing just slightly. "Good."
She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Izana… today we need to get you cleaned up."
He went still.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncertain.
"…A bath?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she said gently. "It's been a while."
He swallowed. "I can't—."
"I know," she interrupted softly. "You won't be doing it alone."
That was what made him tense.
He didn't respond right away. His fingers curled into the blanket, grip tightening as the reality of what she was suggesting sank in. He hated being touched. Hated needing help. And this—this was vulnerability in its purest form.
"I don't want to scare you," Leah added quickly. "We'll go slow. If you want me to stop at any point, I will."
His jaw tightened.
"…Alright," he said finally, the word fragile but sincere.
Leah stood and moved carefully to his side. "I'm going to help you sit up first," she said, narrating every movement the way Elias had taught her. "I'm here."
She slipped one arm gently around his back, careful not to startle him, and another around his side. Even through the fabric of his clothes, she felt it—how little there was of him now. Bone beneath skin, angles too sharp, weight far too light.
He hissed softly as she lifted him, not in pain but effort.
"Easy," she murmured. "I've got you."
When his feet touched the floor, his knees wobbled immediately.
He swayed.
Leah tightened her grip. "Okay. We're standing. That's good."
"I don't feel good," he admitted quietly.
"I know."
They moved slowly—painfully slowly—toward the ensuite bathroom. Each step was measured, deliberate, like walking through deep water. Izana leaned heavily against her, his weight more burden than she'd expected, and yet still frighteningly light.
Halfway there, his legs trembled violently.
"I—." His breath hitched.
Then his foot caught.
He stumbled forward.
Leah reacted instantly, throwing her arm out to catch him. Izana grabbed onto her instinctively, fingers clamping hard around her arm as he struggled to keep himself upright.
She sucked in a sharp breath before she could stop herself.
The sound was small—but he heard it.
"I hurt you," he said immediately, panic flickering into his voice. His head lifted weakly toward her. "I'm sorry—did I hurt you?"
Leah forced herself to relax her expression, even as pain throbbed through her arm. "No," she said quickly. "It's okay. You didn't."
He frowned slightly. "You made a sound."
"I just wasn't expecting it," she lied gently. "I'm fine. I promise."
He didn't look convinced—but he nodded, trusting her more than his instincts.
They continued the short distance to the bathroom, and Leah helped him sit carefully on the closed toilet lid. He sagged forward immediately, elbows resting on his knees, breath uneven.
She knelt in front of him. "Do you need a minute?"
"…Yes," he admitted.
She waited.
When he tried to move again, he lifted his hands toward the buttons of his shirt—but his arms trembled too badly. His fingers slipped, strength failing him completely.
Leah reached out and stopped him gently. "Izana."
He froze. "I can do it."
"I know you want to," she said softly. "But you don't have to prove anything to me. May I help?"
There it was—the hesitation.
He went very still, breath shallow. "The word," he said quietly. "On my chest."
"I've seen it before," she reminded him. "And I'm still here."
Silence.
"…Alright," he said at last. "You can."
Leah moved slowly, deliberately. She unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, giving him space to pull away if he needed to. The fabric was worn, wrinkled, faintly stale—unchanged since the day she'd been forced to leave.
When she slipped it from his shoulders, the word was exposed.
MONSTER.
Carved into skin that was far too thin.
Izana's shoulders hunched reflexively, as if bracing for a blow.
Leah didn't flinch.
She didn't look away.
She didn't gasp.
She simply looked at him—really looked.
At the sharp lines of his ribs. The hollowness beneath his collarbones. The way the word seemed to loom larger now, stretched across a body that had wasted away under guilt and pain.
"You're freezing," she said softly, reaching for a towel.
His breath trembled. "You're not… disgusted?"
She met his face, steady and honest. "No."
He swallowed hard.
She helped him out of his pants next, then guided him carefully to the bathtub. He was too weak to stand under the shower, so she eased him down into the warm water, supporting him the entire way.
When he settled against the porcelain, he let out a shaky breath.
"It's warm," he murmured.
"That's good," she said. "Just focus on that."
She knelt beside the tub and reached for the washcloth. "I'll help you clean up, okay?"
This kind of care was foreign to him. Unfamiliar. He'd never been tended to like this—never allowed to simply receive without consequence.
The curse stirred faintly, displeased.
But it didn't strike.
It waited.
Leah rolled her sleeves up without thinking, slipping into the rhythm of care—wetting the cloth, wringing it out, moving slowly and gently as she washed his arm.
Izana went very still.
His head tilted slightly, as if listening harder than before.
"…Leah," he said quietly.
"Yes?" she answered, distracted, continuing the motion.
There was a sharp change in his breathing.
His fingers curled against the edge of the tub.
"…What the hell is that?" he muttered.
Leah froze.
Too late, she realized what she'd done.
The bruises—dark, some yellowing at the edges, others newer and deeper—were fully exposed along her forearms. Marks she'd learned to hide. Marks she'd stopped thinking about because thinking about them hurt too much.
Izana sucked in a breath.
"What the fuck," he whispered, the words rough and shaking. "Leah… your arms."
Her heart slammed against her ribs. She reached for the towel instinctively, trying to cover them. "It's nothing," she said quickly. "I'm fine, really."
"Bullshit," he snapped, the curse stirring faintly beneath his skin. "That's not nothing."
She swallowed hard. "Please," she said softly. "Not right now."
Izana's hands trembled as they gripped the tub harder. "Did they do this to you?" His voice cracked. "Did they hurt you?"
Leah hesitated.
Just for a second.
And that was enough.
"Fuck," Izana breathed, a bitter, broken sound. His head dropped slightly. "I sent you away to keep you safe."
Leah looked at him, pain and gentleness tangled together in her expression. "I know," she said quietly.
Silence fell between them, thick and heavy.
The water lapped softly against porcelain.
The curse shifted—angry, alert—but still waiting.
And Izana sat there in the bath, shaking, staring at nothing behind his blindfold, knowing with brutal clarity that the place he'd believed was safer for her had left its marks all the same.
And somewhere deep inside Izana, something dark and furious began to take shape—not at her, not at the world—
But at himself.