The building looked ordinary.
Too ordinary.
Leah slowed the car as the GPS announced their arrival, her eyes lifting to take in the low, weathered motel sign glowing faintly against the dark. Peeling paint. Flickering lights. A place people passed through and forgot.
This is a safe house?
She glanced toward the passenger seat.
Izana was slumped back against the headrest, blindfold still in place, face pale beneath it. His breathing was shallow but steady—just enough to reassure her, not enough to ease the tight knot forming in her chest.
He hadn't said a word the last ten minutes of the drive.
Leah parked and turned the engine off, the sudden silence loud in her ears. She waited, watching him.
Maybe he's just exhausted. He's been through a lot.
Still… something felt wrong.
"Izana?" she called softly.
No response.
Her heart skipped.
"Izana," she tried again, quieter this time, leaning slightly toward him. "We're here."
Nothing.
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Panic crept in slowly, insidiously, whispering all the things she didn't want to think about.
Is he unconscious? Did I wait too long?
She hesitated, every instinct warring with what she knew about him. He hated being touched. He feared it. He reacted to it.
But she couldn't just sit there.
Swallowing, Leah reached out and gently placed her hand on his arm.
The reaction was instant.
Izana jolted awake with a sharp gasp, body jerking away from her touch as if burned. His hand flew up defensively, breath ragged, heart pounding hard enough that Leah could almost feel it through the air between them.
"—Don't," he snapped hoarsely.
Leah recoiled immediately, pulling her hand back. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."
It took him a moment to orient himself, chest rising and falling too fast. His head turned toward the window, toward the building outside.
"…We're here," he murmured, more to himself than to her.
Leah watched the tension slowly drain from his posture. "Is this… the right place?" she asked carefully.
He nodded once.
Trusting that nod more than her instincts, Leah got out of the car and moved to his side. Izana pushed the door open but faltered immediately, strength failing him before his feet even touched the ground.
"Damn it," he swore under his breath.
"I'll help," Leah said without thinking.
He froze.
For a long moment, he didn't answer. Leah could almost hear the war inside his head—the instinct to refuse, the pride, the fear.
"…Okay," he said finally, quietly. "Just... slow."
Relief washed through her.
She wrapped an arm around his shoulders gently, careful not to startle him. He flinched at first, muscles going rigid beneath her touch, but then he forced himself to relax, leaning just enough to keep himself upright.
Every step toward the entrance was measured. Controlled. Painful.
Inside, the lobby smelled faintly of cleaning chemicals and stale air. A man stood behind the desk, looking up the moment they entered.
"Room one-two-eight," Izana said, voice low.
The receptionist's expression changed instantly—not surprised, but knowing. He reached beneath the counter and slid a key across, along with a small first aid kit.
Leah noticed that.
Noted how practiced the exchange felt.
She frowned but said nothing.
They moved down the corridor slowly, her arm still supporting Izana. The further they went, the quieter it became. Too quiet.
When they reached the end, Leah stopped.
"The last room is one-twenty-six," she said. "There isn't a one-twenty-eight."
Izana didn't slow. "It's not listed."
He guided her across the hall to what appeared to be a cleaning closet. Shelves. Supplies. A mop leaning against the wall.
Leah opened her mouth to question him—
Then he shifted a box aside, revealing a keyhole embedded in the wall itself.
Her breath caught.
Izana inserted the key and turned it.
With a low mechanical sound, the wall slid open.
Leah stared, stunned.
A staircase descended underground, lights flickering on as Izana flipped a switch. The glow was harsh, but he didn't even react—didn't even hesitate.
Not for himself, she realized.
For me.
They descended slowly, the air growing cooler with each step. At the bottom, another door. Another lock. Another turn of the key.
Inside was a room that looked, at first glance, like a normal motel bedroom.
Then Leah noticed the details.
The room didn't look like a normal motel room anymore—not really.
It wasn't neat or orderly. The air felt stale, untouched for a long time. Used bandages were scattered across surfaces and the floor, stiff and darkened with old stains. A few bullets lay abandoned on the bedside table and near the trash bin, their metal dulled, traces of dried blood clinging to them like a reminder rather than a threat.
Nothing was fresh.
Nothing was happening now.
But everything suggested that something had happened before.
Leah's breath caught slightly as she took it in. It wasn't violent in front of her—it was quiet. Leftover. Like the room itself remembered.
She turned slowly toward Izana. "What… happened here?"
He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't answer.
"The last guest," he said finally, voice low and distant, "wasn't so lucky."
Something in his tone told her not to ask more.
He gently disentangled himself from her hold and moved toward the bed, sitting down heavily. His breath hitched, pain catching up with him now that adrenaline had faded.
"Could you… turn around?" he asked.
Leah nodded immediately, assuming it was modesty, and faced the wall.
She didn't expect the mirror.
It leaned at an angle, just enough for her to catch a reflection she hadn't meant to see.
Izana's back.
Scarred.
Old gunshot wounds. Faded lines. Evidence of violence layered over years.
Her chest tightened.
How much has he survived alone?
She forced herself to look away before she saw more.
Behind her, he finished examining the wound, redressed quickly, and stood with the first aid kit in hand.
"I'll handle it," he said, moving toward the bathroom.
"Do you need help?" she asked, turning back.
He shook his head. "Better if I'm alone."
The door closed softly behind him.
Leah sat down on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
She told herself not to take it personally.
But it still hurt.
She stared at the floor, mind racing with questions she didn't dare ask, heart heavy with concern she didn't know how to express.
Behind the bathroom door, Izana leaned against the sink, breathing hard.
Not because of the pain.
Because he'd almost let her see his chest.
Because he'd almost trusted her with the truth.
And because the curse stirred faintly at the thought—reminding him, once again, that closeness came at a cost.