The sunlight did not soften.
It remained merciless.
Glass walls stretched endlessly around them, reflecting fractured images of sky and blood and broken men. The rooftop was quiet now—too quiet. The chaos had already burned itself out, leaving behind only heat and consequence.
Leah stood in the center of it all.
And Izana stood across from her.
Still.
Rigid.
Bleeding.
The strip of sunlight between them looked wider than it had moments ago.
His breathing was uneven. Controlled only by force. Blood stained his fingers where he had wiped his mouth. He didn't look at her again after that last sentence.
That's what terrifies me.
The elevator chimed softly.
The sound was almost polite.
The doors slid open.
Dante stepped out.
He took in the shattered glass first. The fallen guards. The cracks spiderwebbing across reinforced panels. The air itself felt wrong—charged, strained.
Then his eyes landed on Izana.
And something in his expression hardened.
He had known Izana since before the empire rose to its current height. He had seen him ruthless. Seen him calculated. Seen him destroy men twice his size without flinching.
But this—
This was different.
Izana wasn't composed.
He wasn't in control.
He was standing perfectly still, hands trembling almost imperceptibly at his sides, sunlight burning into unshielded eyes he refused to close.
Dante stepped forward slowly.
"It activated," he said quietly.
Not a question.
Izana didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Another cough tore through him. Not as violent as before—but enough.
Enough.
Leah instinctively stepped forward.
Izana stepped back.
The movement was automatic.
Protective.
Dante saw it.
Saw the distance.
Saw the blood.
Saw the way Izana would not look directly at Leah again.
Dante's jaw tightened.
"You need to be restrained," he said.
Leah's head snapped toward him.
"What?"
But Dante's gaze never left Izana.
"If it surged once, it can surge again."
The sunlight was still pouring in from every angle.
Still slicing into exposed nerves.
Still feeding whatever lived beneath his skin.
Izana's breathing was controlled—but thin.
Measured.
Too measured.
He didn't argue.
That was the worst part.
Slowly, deliberately, Izana lifted his hands.
Held them out.
Offering them.
Leah felt her stomach drop.
"No," she whispered.
Dante hesitated only a fraction of a second.
Then he reached into his coat and pulled out restraint cuffs—heavy, reinforced, not decorative. Practical.
He stepped closer.
Izana did not move.
The metal clicked softly around his wrists.
Tight.
Deliberate.
The sound echoed far louder than it should have in the glass expanse.
Leah stared at the bound hands.
He wasn't fighting.
He wasn't defending himself.
He was surrendering.
To Dante.
To the curse.
To guilt.
The sunlight caught the edge of the metal restraints, gleaming against his pale skin.
He still didn't look at her.
"She goes separately," Izana said quietly.
Leah froze.
Dante glanced at her.
Izana continued, voice hoarse but steady.
"I don't want her near me."
It sounded cold.
Detached.
But Leah heard what was underneath.
Fear.
Dante gave a small nod. "Understood."
"No."
Leah stepped forward.
Her voice wasn't loud.
But it cut clean through the air.
"I'm not going separately."
Izana didn't turn toward her.
"Leah."
It was almost a warning.
"I'm not leaving you."
"You are," he said softly. "You will."
Dante stepped slightly between them—not aggressively, but enough to signal he would follow orders.
Leah's eyes burned.
"You don't get to decide that."
Izana's jaw tightened.
"Yes. I do."
Another cough. He swallowed it down this time.
"You saw what happened."
"I saw you fight it."
"I almost didn't."
That honesty landed harder than anything else.
Silence stretched between them.
Dante spoke quietly, to Leah now. "He's not wrong. It's safer."
"For who?" she snapped.
Neither man answered.
Because they both knew.
For her.
Dante moved toward the elevator, gently but firmly guiding Izana with him.
Izana followed without resistance.
Hands bound.
Eyes exposed to relentless light.
And that was when Leah moved.
She didn't think.
She didn't ask.
She ran forward.
"Stop."
Dante paused instinctively.
Izana stiffened.
Leah reached up—her hands trembling—and lifted the blindfold from where it had fallen earlier.
The fabric was warm.
Still carrying the faint imprint of his skin.
She stepped in front of him.
He could see her fully now.
And that hurt.
She raised her hands and carefully, gently, tied the blindfold over his eyes.
Her fingers brushed his temples.
He flinched.
But he didn't pull away.
Not yet.
"There," she whispered. "You don't have to suffer."
The sunlight disappeared from his vision.
His breathing changed instantly.
Not calm.
But less strained.
For one small moment, it felt almost intimate.
Like something fragile being repaired.
Then his head tilted downward slightly.
His bound hands flexed against the restraints.
"No," he said.
And with a sharp movement of his head and shoulders, he shook the blindfold loose.
It slipped down, fell to the floor at their feet.
The light hit his eyes again.
Brutal.
Unforgiving.
Leah's breath caught.
"Why?"
His voice was low.
Raw.
"I deserve it."
The words didn't come from anger.
They came from conviction.
Another cough broke through him—harder this time.
Blood touched his lips again.
Dante stepped forward quickly, steadying him by the shoulder as Izana's balance faltered.
Izana straightened immediately, shaking off assistance even while restrained.
"Don't shield me from it," he muttered.
The light.
The pain.
The consequences.
Leah stared at him.
"You don't get to punish yourself for loving me."
He didn't respond.
Didn't deny it.
Didn't accept it.
He just stood there, bound hands clenched tightly.
Dante's voice was firm now. "We're leaving."
The elevator doors were still open.
Waiting.
Izana walked toward them without looking back.
That hurt more than anything.
Leah followed two steps behind.
Dante moved between them again.
Not unkindly.
But decisively.
"She'll come in the next car," Dante said.
Leah stopped walking.
"No."
Dante met her eyes this time.
And there was something almost apologetic in his expression.
"It's what he ordered."
The word ordered felt wrong in this moment.
Izana stopped just before entering the elevator.
For half a second—
He almost turned around.
Almost.
Then he stepped inside.
The doors began to close.
Leah's chest tightened.
"Don't shut me out," she said softly.
The doors paused briefly as Dante held them.
Izana stood inside the elevator.
Bound.
Exposed.
Refusing to put the blindfold back on.
The sunlight from the rooftop still cut through the space.
He spoke without turning.
"If I stay near you," he said quietly, "I won't know if I'm choosing to."
The doors closed.
Slowly.
Sealing him away.
The rooftop felt impossibly large now.
Empty.
Leah stood in the middle of broken glass and blinding light.
The blindfold lay at her feet.
She bent down and picked it up.
There was a faint smear of red along the edge of the fabric.
Her fingers tightened around it.
He believed he deserved pain.
He believed distance was mercy.
He believed loving her was a mistake.
And that realization hurt far more than the bruise forming on her wrist.
The elevator was already descending.
Taking him somewhere darker.
Somewhere controlled.
Somewhere he thought he belonged.
Leah stood there a long moment longer.
Then she looked at the sunlight flooding the rooftop.
And for the first time—
She hated it.
Because it wasn't the rival who broke him today.
It was what he believed about himself.
And if he continued believing it—
No enemy would have to destroy him.
He would do it himself.
Leah closed her eyes briefly.
Then opened them again.
He could lock himself away.
He could bind his own hands.
He could step back.
But she wasn't going to let him disappear into guilt.
She tightened her grip on the blindfold.
And followed the elevator down.