The bunker was never meant to be humane.
It was meant to be effective.
Cold concrete swallowed sound, light, and warmth alike, the walls thick enough that nothing inside could bleed out into the rest of the mansion—not screams, not violence, not whatever the curse decided to become when it was fully unleashed. The air smelled faintly of metal and antiseptic, sharp and sterile, clinging to the back of the throat.
Izana lay on the thin mattress at the center of the room.
His wrists were chained together, not anchored to the floor or the walls—just bound, heavy iron links pressing cold into his skin. The chains were a precaution, not a punishment. A way to limit reach. A way to remind everyone involved that this was containment, not execution.
His body shook.
Not violently—not at first.
It started as a tremor deep in his chest, a shudder that rippled outward until his fingers curled involuntarily, nails biting into his palms. His breathing came shallow and uneven, lungs stuttering as if they couldn't quite remember how to draw air properly.
The curse wasn't raging anymore.
It was surging in waves.
Each one rolled through him with brutal force, then receded just long enough to let him gasp, to let awareness claw its way back in. His vision swam behind the blindfold, flashes of white and black bursting like static across his mind.
Too early.
That thought surfaced dimly, fractured but persistent.
This wasn't supposed to happen yet.
He could feel it—deep in his bones, in the way his body responded too slowly, too weakly. The curse demanded more than he could give. It burned through his strength with reckless hunger, uncaring that there was nothing left to sustain it.
Izana tried to sit up.
His arms shook violently as he pushed against the mattress, elbows locking for barely a second before giving out. He collapsed back with a sharp exhale, chest heaving.
Pain bloomed behind his ribs, heavy and crushing, like something was pressing down on his lungs from the inside. He swallowed hard, throat dry, and coughed—a harsh, tearing sound that left his chest aching.
Dark spots crowded his vision.
"…No," he muttered hoarsely.
Not like this.
The curse stirred again, agitated by his resistance. Heat flared beneath his skin, his pulse spiking erratically. His muscles tensed, then spasmed, legs kicking weakly against the mattress.
Control slipped.
Not because he wanted it to—but because his body couldn't hold the line anymore.
Above him, the bunker door remained sealed.
Elias stood just outside the heavy reinforced steel door. He peered through the thick iron bars of the door, looking down at Izana.
Izana looked… wrong.
Not feral. Not fully consumed.
Fragile.
His movements lacked the terrifying precision Elias had seen before. There was no calculated aggression, no focused intent. Just raw instability—his body betraying him under the weight of power it was never meant to carry in this state.
Dante stood beside him, jaw tight, eyes tracking every erratic breath.
"This isn't escalation," Dante said quietly. "It's overload."
Elias didn't respond immediately.
He watched as Izana coughed again, body curling inward as if trying to protect his core. His breathing stuttered, then slowed unnaturally, a dangerous lull settling over him.
Elias's grip tightened on his cane.
"How long?" he asked.
Dante hesitated. "If the curse keeps spiking like this? Hours. Maybe less."
"And if it stabilizes?"
"It won't," Dante said bluntly. "Not without intervention."
Elias closed his eyes briefly.
Containment protocols had been written for monsters.
Not for boys who were still healing.
"He's not strong enough," Elias murmured. "His heart—his lungs—they're still compromised."
"And the curse doesn't care," Dante replied.
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Elias exhaled slowly. "Prepare the sedative."
Dante's head snapped toward him. "Elias—."
"I know," Elias said sharply. "I know what it risks."
Sedation had always been a last resort.
Suppressing the curse chemically put immense strain on Izana's system. His body was already fighting to maintain basic function—forcing it into an artificial shutdown could tip the balance entirely.
But leaving him like this—
Another shudder tore through Izana's body. His back arched sharply, a strangled sound ripping from his throat as the curse surged again, uncontrolled.
Elias opened his eyes.
"We don't have a choice," he said quietly. "If he fully loses consciousness during a surge like this, it could stop his heart."
Dante swallowed. "And if we sedate him?"
"…It might still," Elias admitted.
The words tasted bitter.
"Then why—."
"Because this way," Elias said, voice low and resolute, "we're at least trying to keep him alive."
Leah sat on the floor outside Izana's room, knees drawn to her chest.
She hadn't moved since they locked him in the bunker.
Time had blurred into something indistinct—minutes bleeding into hours, the silence around her growing heavier with every passing second. Her hands trembled where they rested against her arms, nails digging lightly into fabric as if grounding herself was the only thing keeping her upright.
Every sound made her flinch.
Footsteps. Voices. The distant echo of metal.
She knew where he was.
She knew what that bunker meant.
Her chest tightened painfully.
It's my fault.
The thought crept in uninvited, sharp and relentless. If she hadn't stayed still. If she hadn't said his name. If she hadn't—
No.
She squeezed her eyes shut, breathing uneven.
He told me to run.
The memory of his voice—raw, terrified—cut deeper than anything else. Not the snarling. Not the violence.
The fear.
Footsteps approached.
Leah looked up as Elias emerged from the corridor, his expression drawn, older somehow than it had been a few hours ago.
"Elias," she said immediately, scrambling to her feet. "How is he?"
He hesitated.
That was answer enough.
"You're going to sedate him," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Elias nodded once.
Her breath hitched. "That's dangerous."
"Yes."
"For him," she pressed. "He's not—he's not strong enough yet."
"I know," Elias said quietly.
Leah's hands clenched into fists. "Then don't."
Elias met her gaze. "If we don't, he may not survive the night."
The words landed like a blow.
She shook her head slowly, disbelief and fear twisting together in her chest. "You can't just—he trusts you."
"And that trust is the only reason we're still standing here," Elias replied. "Because if this curse had fully taken him—if he were at full strength—we wouldn't be discussing sedation. We'd be discussing casualties."
Leah swallowed hard.
"…Can I see him?" she asked.
Elias's jaw tightened. "No."
The single word broke something in her.
She nodded stiffly, tears burning but unshed. "Then tell him," she whispered. "If he wakes up. Tell him I didn't leave."
Elias's expression softened—just a fraction. "I will."
Inside the bunker, Izana was slipping.
Awareness came and went in jagged fragments. Sound distorted, pressure building behind his eyes until it felt like his skull might split open. His heartbeat thundered unevenly in his ears, too fast, then too slow.
The curse pressed down harder, frustrated by his weakening resistance.
This is your fault.
The whisper slithered through his mind, venomous and familiar.
You're too weak. You let her see you like this.
His chest tightened painfully.
"Leah…" he rasped, the name barely audible.
Footsteps echoed faintly beyond the door.
The world tilted.
Cold seeped into his veins as the needle pierced his arm, the sensation dull and distant. He tried to jerk away, but his body barely responded—muscles sluggish, uncooperative.
"Easy," Dante's voice murmured somewhere above him. "It's going to help."
The sedative burned as it spread, a heavy numbness creeping through his limbs.
The curse reacted instantly.
Pain spiked violently, his body convulsing as it fought the intrusion, every instinct screaming to resist. His breathing hitched sharply, then stuttered.
"Heart rate's dropping," Dante said urgently.
Elias leaned closer. "Izana," he said firmly. "Listen to me."
Izana's consciousness flickered weakly.
"Stay with us," Elias urged. "Just breathe."
The pressure in Izana's chest intensified, crushing and unbearable. His vision dimmed further, darkness closing in around the edges.
I'm sorry.
The thought surfaced faintly—not directed at the curse, not at Elias.
At her.
The sedative dragged him down, consciousness slipping through his fingers no matter how desperately he tried to cling to it. His breathing slowed dangerously, chest barely rising.
"Elias," Dante said sharply. "We're losing him."
His chest stopped rising for a terrifying half-second—
Then jolted up in a weak, shallow breath.
Elias exhaled shakily, one hand gripping the edge of the bed.
"Stabilize him," he ordered. "Don't let him slip any further."
Izana lay still now.
Unconscious.
The curse quieted—not defeated, not gone—but forcibly suppressed, coiled and furious beneath the surface.
For the moment, the bunker was silent.
But the risk remained.
And everyone in that room knew the truth:
Keeping Izana alive tonight had come at a cost.
One more surge like this—one more misstep—and there might not be another chance.
The fight wasn't just against the curse anymore.
It was against time itself.