Time did not pass normally in isolation.
It stretched and warped, folding in on itself until hours felt like days and days blurred into something indistinguishable. Izana learned quickly that counting was a mistake. Numbers became hooks—things the curse could latch onto, twist, and throw back at him in distorted echoes.
So he stopped counting.
Darkness pressed in from every direction, thick and absolute. The blindfold ensured there was no light to fracture it, no sharp edges for hallucinations to cling to. The padded walls swallowed sound, muting even his own movements. It was meant to be calming.
It rarely was.
The first day was always the worst.
The curse raged against the sudden quiet, furious at the lack of stimulus. Whispers rose in overlapping layers, voices slipping between memories and lies. He heard his name spoken in tones he hadn't heard in years—mocking, pleading, furious. Shapes crawled just beyond perception, pressing against the edges of his awareness like claws against glass.
Izana sat on the floor, back against the wall, knees drawn up. His hands were clenched so tightly his palms ached, nails biting into skin. He kept his breathing slow, measured. Any spike in emotion fed the curse. Any fear gave it shape.
He would not give it that.
By the second day, exhaustion set in.
Sleep came in fragments—sharp, disjointed moments torn apart by sudden jolts of awareness. Every time he drifted too deeply, the curse dragged him back, flooding his mind with half-formed images and phantom sensations. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as if gravity itself had increased.
Food arrived quietly. He ate mechanically, barely tasting it.
He did not speak unless spoken to.
By the third day, the curse changed tactics.
Instead of noise, it offered clarity.
It whispered calmly now, slipping between thoughts, pretending to be reason. It reminded him of things he already feared.
She's close.
She shouldn't be.
You know what happens when she stays.
Izana pressed his forehead into his knees, breath hitching despite his control. He did not answer. He never answered.
But the thought dug in deep.
Leah.
He had asked for this isolation knowing it would hurt her. Knowing she would sit outside that door and wait, even when she shouldn't. Even when being near him made the curse restless, angry.
He hated that.
By the fourth day, Elias came.
Izana sensed him before he spoke—footsteps measured, familiar. Elias stopped just inside the room, close enough for his voice to carry without echoing.
"You're stabilizing," Elias said quietly. "Not well. But better than when we brought you in."
Izana didn't lift his head. "How long?"
"A few more days," Elias replied after a pause. "We're not rushing this."
Good, Izana thought distantly. Don't.
"Leah," Izana said suddenly.
Elias was silent for a beat. "She's been here every day."
That tightened something in Izana's chest.
"She shouldn't be," he said flatly.
"She refuses to leave."
Of course she does.
Izana turned his face slightly toward the wall, jaw tightening. "Keep her away from the door."
Elias exhaled. "I can't do that without locking her in her room. And that will only make things worse."
Izana didn't respond. He already knew.
By the fifth day, his body began to fail him.
His hands shook more often now, even when he wasn't aware of it. His muscles ached from tension he couldn't release. Standing took effort. Sitting took effort. Existing felt like dragging himself through deep water.
The curse quieted—but not in relief.
It waited.
Leah came every night.
She never knocked. She never spoke loudly. She simply sat on the floor outside the door, back against the wall, close enough that Izana could feel it—her presence like a warmth just beyond reach.
Sometimes she spoke softly, telling him meaningless things. What the sky looked like. What Elias had argued about that day. What the garden smelled like after the rain.
Sometimes she said nothing at all.
Izana listened despite himself.
And every time, the curse stirred.
Not violently. Not loudly.
Possessively.
By the sixth day, Izana made his decision.
When Elias came again, Izana spoke before he could ask anything.
"When I'm released," Izana said, voice hoarse but steady, "Leah leaves."
Elias stiffened. "Izana—."
"She goes back to her family," Izana continued. "Immediately."
"That's not your decision alone."
"It is," Izana snapped, then forced himself to breathe. "It has to be."
Elias frowned. "You think distance will fix this?"
"No," Izana said quietly. "I think distance is the only thing keeping her alive."
Elias studied him for a long moment. "She won't agree."
Izana's mouth curved into something bitter. "She doesn't have to."
By the seventh day, the door opened.
Light did not greet him—protocol kept it dim—but the shift in air was immediate. Less pressure. Less containment.
Izana stood slowly, swaying despite himself. His legs trembled under his weight, body protesting the movement. A medic spoke instructions softly from a distance. No hands touched him. They knew better.
He stepped into the corridor like someone leaving a battlefield.
Leah was there.
She froze when she saw him, breath catching sharply. He looked thinner. Paler. His movements were slow, careful, as if his body no longer trusted itself.
"Izana—." she started.
He did not turn toward her.
"Elias," Izana said instead, voice rough. "I want her sent back to her family."
The words landed like a blade.
Leah's face drained of color. "What?"
Elias stared at him. "You've been out of isolation for less than a minute."
"I know exactly what I'm saying."
Leah took a step forward without thinking. Izana flinched—not from her, but from the curse's immediate reaction. The air seemed to tighten, pressure building behind his eyes.
"Stop," he said sharply.
She froze.
"You don't get to decide this alone," Leah said, voice trembling but firm.
"Yes," Izana replied quietly. "I do."
Silence stretched between them, thick and unbearable.
"I'm doing this," he continued, softer now, "because the curse reacts to you. Because every time you get close, it gets louder. Because if I lose control—."
"You won't," she said desperately.
"I already am."
Leah's eyes filled with tears. "You're sending me away because you're scared."
"Yes," Izana admitted. "And because I'd rather hate myself than watch you get hurt."
He turned away before she could say anything else, exhaustion finally catching up to him. Elias moved to follow, conflicted and grim.
Behind them, Leah stood frozen in the corridor, hands clenched at her sides.
The distance Izana wanted had already begun.
And neither of them was ready for what it would cost.