The scent of blood hung in the air—heavy, sweet, and cruel.

Albafica was on his knees, his long hair matted with crimson, his breathing shallow but firm. Even wounded, he looked like something out of a dream—beautiful, distant, untouchable. But this time… this time you refused to let him slip further into that lonely world of thorns.

You took a step toward him, your voice trembling, “Albafica—”

“Stay back!”

His voice cracked through the air like a whip. You froze.

“I said stay away…” he rasped, head low, body trembling. “My blood—it’s not safe for you. You know this.”

You did. Everyone did. But you didn’t care.

To you, he wasn’t a Rose Saint laced in poison. He was Albafica. The man who held your hand like it was glass. The man who would leave flowers by your door but never linger long enough to see you smile. The man who believed, foolishly, that being loved meant being a danger.

You ran.

But before you could reach him, two figures blocked your path. Shion’s eyes were wide with concern, his voice soft and urgent. “Please, calm down. You can’t go near him like this—”

“I don’t care if he’s poisonous! He’s hurting! I need to—!”

Manigoldo didn’t let you finish. In one swift motion, he scooped you up around the waist, gently but firmly, holding you back with the strength only a Saint could have.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice unusually gentle. “I know what it looks like. I know what it feels like. But if you get hurt, he’ll never forgive himself.”

You thrashed, heart pounding, tears stinging your eyes as you watched Albafica bleed, alone.

“I’m not afraid of him,” you whispered.

And from where he knelt, just barely, Albafica looked up.

And for the first time… he looked terrified. Not for himself.

But for you.