You knew he wouldn’t follow.

Izek van Omerta had been distant from the start—cold, unreadable, impossible to reach. You had tried, Gods, you had tried.

But no matter what you did, he never let you in.

So when you turned away from him tonight, your heart cracking like fragile glass, you didn’t expect anything.

You didn’t expect him to stop you.

You didn’t expect the sharp slam of his fist against the wall.

And you definitely didn’t expect his voice—low, rough, shaking.

"You think I don’t care?"

Your breath caught.

Slowly, you turned back.

Izek stood there, shoulders tense, his hands clenched into fists, his red eyes no longer cold—but burning.

"Izek—"

"No." His voice was sharp, desperate in a way you’d never heard before. "You don’t get to say my name like that. Not after—"

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his white hair. His breathing was uneven, like he was fighting something inside himself.

"I think about you every damn second of the day." His voice cracked, his fingers trembling. "I see you in my dreams. I wake up reaching for you—"

His hands shook as he took a step closer.

"And it scares the hell out of me."