Noctis stared at Isaac, who was struggling to sit up in bed despite the lingering effects of his panic attack and his obvious physical weakness. A quiet, barely suppressed groan escaped him as the movement ran through his body. His breathing was still unsteady, shallow, as if he had not fully regained control over it.
There was a silent but unmistakable message in Isaac's eyes about what he thought of his sudden presence.
Subtly, he pressed his hand against the gunshot wound—a detail Vincent had certainly not missed.
The painkiller hadn't taken effect yet, and he had to be in considerable pain, yet he was stubborn enough to try to hide his weakness. Noctis knew this side of him well. And normally, he even liked it—that persistence, that refusal to give in. But not like this. Not when Isaac was hurting himself because of it.
His brother's timing could hardly have been worse. It had taken long enough to calm Isaac down at all. Just minutes ago, he had been completely beside himself, trapped in memories and pain. Now he looked drained, as if every ounce of strength had been pulled from his body. Everything in Noctis resisted putting any more strain on him.
However, he was also aware that his brother didn't always have the time to check on Isaac.
After all, they still had a great deal to do—now that they had taken from the boss of the Leviathan Cartel what truly mattered to him.
His beloved son, Noah.
And he still needed to talk to him properly. Not about what had happened to Noah, but about all the other things he had never told him. Like the mission he had been pursuing for years. What the boss was really doing with his power, and what the Webster clan stood for—and was feared for.
Of course, he also still had to tell him that the boss of that Webster clan was his brother, and that Noctis himself had infiltrated the Leviathan Cartel for years to pass information on to him.
His gaze dropped for a moment.
How would Isaac react to all of that?
The answer was obvious.
He cursed inwardly. This would be anything but pleasant—and Isaac hated being lied to. Although, strictly speaking, Noctis had only ever withheld the full truth.
To him, betrayal was betrayal.
Isaac had been part of the Leviathan Cartel for so long that all other clans were enemies to him—just like the Webster clan Noctis had belonged to since the day he was born. No matter how Noctis looked at the situation, now was definitely not the time to tell Isaac everything. He was neither physically nor mentally stable enough for it.
One wrong word, and everything would escalate.
Isaac's gaze lifted and met Noctis's directly.
"What's this supposed to mean?" His voice was rough, irritated. "Why is your 'friend' here?"
Noctis opened his mouth. "Well, he—"
"I'm here," Vincent cut in calmly, "because I patched you up when you were on the verge of dying."
He gave Isaac a friendly smile. "You're welcome, by the way."
Isaac's gaze shifted back to Vincent. Guilt flickered in his eyes, his hands clutching into the blanket. Still, he looked anything but pleased—more distrustful and dismissive. He had never been particularly fond of Vincent, and Isaac wasn't very good at hiding his dislike.
It would have been amusing—under different circumstances.
Unfortunately, it wasn't.
"Then I suppose thanks are in order," Isaac said sincerely. Exhausted, he brushed the sweat-damp hair from his face before looking at Vincent again. "That said, it doesn't explain why you're here. Who are you really? You're certainly not just an ordinary friend if you're taking care of a criminal like me."
His gaze turned ice-cold.
"He's part of the underworld, like us," Noctis explained. He took Isaac's hand in his and gently stroked the back of it with his thumb. "But he doesn't answer to the Leviathan Cartel, and this hideout belongs to him as well. It's safe here, Isaac. Don't worry."
Vincent shot Noctis a brief, scrutinizing look. Noctis gave a barely noticeable shake of his head, signaling to his brother that he hadn't spoken to Isaac yet.
"That's correct," Vincent replied. "How are you feeling? This is the first day I've found you conscious."
Isaac let out a dry snort. "Fantastic. As you can see, I'm the picture of health."
Vincent raised an eyebrow slightly. "Of course. How could I have missed that?" he said, a trace of sarcasm slipping through his otherwise calm demeanor. Then his expression turned clinical again. "Can you lie down? I need to check your wounds."
His eyes drifted to the IV lines that had been carelessly set aside.
"You'll also need a new venous access for the infusions and antibiotics," he continued. "I'm not going to risk your injury getting infected."
Isaac studied him closely, his gaze still cool, then glanced at Noctis. He seemed about to ask something, but then looked back at Vincent.
"Are you one of those underground doctors?"
Vincent tilted his head slightly, as if weighing the question.
"Not exactly. But you could say I treat those who manage to find their way to me alive—regardless of whether their injuries were intentional or not," he explained. He folded his arms loosely. "You could say my specialty is healing wounds, though that ability isn't accessible to everyone. That might be why you've never heard of me."
Isaac's eyes narrowed slightly.
"If you offer such an… exclusive service, why me?" His voice had grown quieter, but no less suspicious. "Why did you help me?"
"Darling," Noctis interjected softly, his fingers still wrapped around Isaac's hand, "just let him look at your wounds. He's been genuinely worried about you these past few days."
Isaac let out a tired scoff.
"Maybe. But I want answers first. Until then, he's not touching me," he snapped defensively. "Besides, I don't see why he of all people should be worried about me."
Vincent shrugged and gestured toward Noctis.
"Because you matter a great deal to him—and Noctis matters a great deal to me."
The effect was immediate.
Isaac's hand tightened around Noctis's. The cool distance in his gaze shifted into something darker, more dangerous.
"In what way?" he asked, his tone edged with threat. His gaze flicked between Vincent and Noctis, eyes narrowing further. "What exactly is your relationship?"
This was going in a completely wrong direction.
"It's not what you think, darling," Noctis tried to calm him.
"Then what is it?" Isaac hissed. "First you show up out of nowhere with him, and now I find out you matter to him so much that he treats me?!"
Vincent sighed.
"Calm down, Isaac. Stress is the last thing you need in your condition," Vincent said evenly. "Noctis matters to me because he's my younger brother. There's nothing going on between us, in case that's what you're thinking."
Noctis stared at his brother in shock.
Why would he just tell him like that?!
Isaac looked no less shaken. His fingers twitched, a barely controllable tremor running through his hand.
"W-what?" His voice suddenly faltered. Slowly, almost mechanically, he turned his head toward Noctis. There was something new in his gaze—something Noctis had rarely seen in him.
Uncertainty.
"You told me you didn't have a family."
The words hung heavily in the air.
Somehow, he had to defuse the situation before the tension tipped over completely.
"I don't have a family in the traditional sense," he explained. He didn't let go of Isaac's hand. "My brother is all that's left of my family."
Isaac pulled his hand away as if he'd been burned. The sudden emptiness left Noctis's fingers lingering in the air for a moment before he slowly lowered them.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
Isaac's voice was quiet. He looked away, and for a moment he didn't seem like the man who had just been fighting pain and suspicion.
Just… hurt.
"Wasn't it important enough to tell me?"
Isaac looked back up. His expression was hard to read now, somewhere between coldness and something deeper.
"Or was I just not important enough to know?"
"Isaac, it's not what you think—"
"Then what is it?!" The sharpness was back, stronger than before.
Noctis tried to take Isaac's hand again. "This really isn't the right moment. Let's talk about it later, when you've calmed down and Vincent has checked your wounds."
But Isaac yanked his hand away. Noctis pressed his lips together.
"I am calm!" he shot back.
His posture gave him away—the tension in his shoulders, the shallow breathing, the slight tremor, and the way he could barely keep himself upright. Every moment was costing him strength.
"Darling, please lie back down," Noctis urged.
"Don't touch me!"
Isaac let out a shaky breath. "What else are you hiding from me? What kind of place is this? Who does he help? Is he neutral, or does he belong to another clan? What's his stance toward the boss—and why are you living with the Leviathan Cartel while he's hiding? Does anyone else know you're brothers? Or am I the only idiot who didn't? Did the boss know?" he asked quietly. He pointed at Vincent. "He's not touching me until you tell me everything."
So that was it—the trust he had built over all those years, gone.
Vincent, who had been silent for a while, now let out an audible sigh.
"I'll give you the answers you're looking for."
Noctis withdrew his hand. It hurt to be pushed away so suddenly—just minutes ago, Isaac hadn't wanted to let go of him, had been crying out of fear. Now he looked like he might collapse at any moment, and yet he stubbornly held himself upright.
Knowing Isaac, he would rather die of internal bleeding than give in.
He closed his eyes briefly, bracing himself for what was coming.
Please don't hate me too much for what I have to tell you…
Then he opened them again and looked at Isaac seriously.
"I'll explain everything to you too, darling."
Vincent pulled up a chair and sat down on the other side of Isaac's bed.
"You already know my name," Vincent began in a calm tone. "Noctis is my younger brother, and we don't have any parents anymore. There are no other relatives either—at least none that I know of. They were murdered a few years after Noctis was born. He was three at the time, while I was eleven."
Isaac's eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing.
Vincent seemed to study his reactions closely.
"From one day to the next, we had no family left. I had to take care of my little brother—and on top of that, continue our parents' work," he went on.
"What kind of work?" Isaac asked quietly.
"They led the Webster clan. And I became their successor."
He said it so casually, as if he hadn't just revealed one of the biggest secrets Noctis had spent years carefully hiding from Isaac. Isaac stared at Vincent in disbelief, then his gaze shifted back to Noctis. He looked hurt.
"…This is a joke, right?" His voice trembled slightly. "The Webster clan? Seriously?" A bitter, barely controlled laugh escaped him. "Tell me that's a lie. You're usually so good at that."
That hit its mark.
Alright, that stung—though Isaac wasn't wrong. Lying had never been difficult for Noctis.
He didn't know what to do. Isaac was pulling away from him, and that was something he couldn't allow.
"Isaac—"
"I'm aware that people fear us," Vincent cut in. "After all, we have quite a bloody reputation, and the underworld is afraid to even speak our clan's name."
Isaac's hands clenched so tightly into the fabric of the blanket that his knuckles turned white. The strain pulled at the seams, as if his grip alone was keeping him from completely falling apart.
"You belong to the enemy," Isaac hissed at him. His gaze snapped back to Noctis. "Is that why you wanted the spider symbol on your damn cards?! Was that the reason? Because you belong to the enemy?!"
Noctis exhaled, guilt weighing on him. He shot Isaac a pleading look.
"I belong to the Webster clan," he admitted. "But I was never your enemy."
The words hung firmly in the air, but they barely reached Isaac.
"Then why were you with the cartel?!" Isaac's voice nearly broke, driven by both desperation and anger. "Why were you there all those years? The boss took you in! He treated you like a son!"
Noctis's jaw tightened.
"Because he's the man who killed our parents," he growled.
Normally, Noctis had no patience. It surprised even him how calmly he could speak about it. This conversation was anything but easy—yet at the same time, it felt almost relieving to finally let Isaac in on everything.
Well, almost everything.
Isaac froze.
"…What?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Why would he kill your parents? What did they do?"
"He feared them," Vincent answered matter-of-factly.
Isaac's gaze snapped toward him.
"They were both assassins," Vincent continued. "But that wasn't the real reason for his fear."
Isaac pressed his lips together, visibly tense.
"What was it, then?"
A brief moment of silence.
"They had certain abilities—ones quite similar to yours. Not exactly the same, but they were magicians as well."
Isaac's body visibly stiffened.
All at once, he looked as if the ground had been pulled out from under him. His body trembled, and his breathing grew heavier again. He raised a hand to stop Vincent from continuing.
"…there are more like me?" he asked quietly. Slowly, he lowered his hand again. "If they were magicians… then you are one too?"
Vincent nodded. "I'm a healer."
Isaac stared at him as if struggling to process the information. His thoughts seemed to stumble, trying to rearrange themselves.
Slowly, he turned to Noctis. "…and you too?"
His voice faltered slightly on the last words.
Noctis nodded. "I'm an illusionist. As you know, I can create alternative realities, enter the minds of others, and show them visions. I'm not called Sandman for nothing," he explained quietly.
"B-but the cards…! Why did you need them then, if you can use magic yourself?!"
"I didn't really need them," Noctis said. "But there's no denying that, thanks to your cards, I was able to control my own magic better."
A single tear slipped from the corner of Isaac's eye and slowly traced its way down his cheek. He didn't even seem to notice. Noctis's gaze lingered on it as it moved downward.
He wanted nothing more than to wipe it away. The distance between them suddenly felt unbearable. And yet he knew that any touch now would do the opposite of what he intended. Because of him, Isaac was sitting there—desperate and lost. He pressed his lips together.
"All these years we've known each other, you never told me…" Isaac asked quietly. "What else have you lied about…? Was everything a lie? Why did you approach me? Why didn't you ever let it go?! Because you knew I was a magician too?!"
"Isaac, I never directly lied to you…" Noctis said quickly.
He reached out his hand toward Isaac, but once again, Isaac pulled away.
Noctis cursed inwardly.
"You could have shown me how to deal with this!" Isaac burst out. The control he had struggled so hard to maintain began to crumble. "You should have told me that there are others like us!"
His voice faltered, turned rough, then softer again.
Isaac looked at him so desperately that Noctis wanted nothing more than to pull him into his arms—but he was fairly certain Isaac would only pull away again. He clenched his hand into a fist. The man he loved was drifting away from him, and all he could do was give him the answers to all the questions he sought.
"I couldn't tell you," he replied quietly. "Isaac…"
"It's a very closely guarded secret of our clan that we are mages," Vincent explained. "Nearly everyone who belonged to the Webster clan had some form of magical ability. That's not something you just go around telling people."
Isaac stared at him wide-eyed, still visibly shaken.
"You were so fixated on the boss that you shut everything else out, Isaac. I couldn't let you in—not until I was sure you wouldn't tell him. Your loyalty to the boss has always been unyielding."
A bitter expression flickered across his face.
"And I didn't have that certainty for a long time."
Isaac wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, as if he could simply erase the tears.
"…do you have any idea how lonely I felt because of the magic?" he asked quietly. "I wished so often that there were others like me, but I never met another mage…"
He let out a humorless laugh.
"…who would have thought that one had been with me the whole time?"
The words hung heavily between them.
Noctis leaned forward, wanting to touch him, to offer comfort. He wanted to show Isaac with every fiber of his being that he wasn't alone. But he drew his hand back again.
"I wanted to tell you so many times," Noctis said.
Isaac looked at him. "Then why didn't you?"
"Because the boss couldn't find out," Noctis said. "He would have locked you away."
Isaac scoffed. "Why would he lock me up for that? Don't be ridiculous."
"Because he was afraid we would take you back," Noctis replied quietly. "Because you belong to the Webster clan too. This is the place where you can live freely."
Isaac pressed his lips together.
"I belong to the Leviathan cartel," he said quietly.
The words didn't sound convincing—more like something he had to tell himself.
"No," Noctis replied just as softly. "You were born into the Webster clan." A brief moment as he searched Isaac's gaze. "You belong with us."
Then, even quieter: "You belong to me."
Isaac's face twisted. A choked sob escaped his throat.
"If I belong with you—" His voice broke, then suddenly rose, filled with desperation. "Then why was I in an orphanage? Who are my parents? Why did they leave me there?! Why did no one ever come for me?!"
"Because they're dead as well," Vincent answered. Isaac looked at him but couldn't make a sound. "Your beloved boss killed them too. It was all a setup."
Isaac shook his head slightly, almost imperceptibly.
"No…" His voice was barely audible. "You're lying…"
"I'm not. The boss orchestrated all of it to get you."
Isaac's shoulders slowly sagged, as if something inside him gave way. His breathing grew uneven again, shallow. His gaze drifted to the bedspread, fixing on a point no one else could see.
"Did you know too, Noctis?" he asked, his voice trembling. "Did you know all of this?"
Noctis couldn't answer him. He felt certain Isaac would push him away completely if he confirmed it. Of course he had known everything—after all, it had been his task to bring Isaac back.
He was supposed to win him over, to convince him that the boss wasn't the good man Isaac believed him to be.
Isaac's expression tightened.
"So you did know…" His voice faltered. "Then was everything else a lie too?"
His gaze lifted, meeting Noctis's directly.
"Did you only pretend to love me… so you could manipulate me more easily?"
"No!" Noctis snapped, shocked. "How can you think I don't love you?!"
"Because you lied to me about everything else!" Isaac shot back.
Suddenly, he was on his feet.
Too fast.
Too abrupt.
His body swayed slightly, but he ignored it completely. In the next moment, he had grabbed Noctis by the collar and yanked him closer.
"You knew exactly how I felt about you," he hissed. His fingers tightened in the fabric. "And you shamelessly took advantage of it!"
Vincent jumped up as well, alarm flashing across his face. "Isaac, you shouldn't be moving so much!"
But Noctis barely heard him. His gaze was locked on Isaac.
He looked at him with a mix of anger, desperation, and pain that threatened to tear his heart out of his chest. In that instant, Noctis himself felt as though the ground had been ripped out from under him.
His love for Isaac had always been real. It was the purest feeling he carried within himself.
With a trembling hand, he touched Isaac's cheek.
He couldn't lose him. Not after everything they had been through. Not after Isaac had finally become his.
…not after Noctis had almost lost him forever.
"I love you more than anything in this world," he said quietly, his voice shaking. "I never manipulated you. You are the most important person in the world to me, Isaac. I've wanted to call you mine since the day we met."
Isaac looked at him, yet seemed to stare straight through him. Tears kept falling as he just stood there, offering no further reaction, no visible emotion.
"…Isaac?"
A moment passed.
"Go. And take your brother with you." His voice was dull, almost emotionless. "I don't want to hear any more of your lies."
"Isaac, please—!" Noctis' voice broke, the desperation unmistakable.
But Isaac didn't respond.
He simply sat down again, slowly, mechanically. His movements no longer seemed like conscious decisions, but like a body functioning only because it had to.
His gaze lifted one last time.
Empty.
"Get out, Noctis."
He seemed to be running purely on autopilot. His responses were mechanical, and he no longer appeared truly present.
Noctis' hands closed abruptly around Isaac's shoulders. He pulled him slightly closer, as if he could draw him back like that—snap him out of this state somehow.
"Damn it, Isaac!" His voice was louder now, rougher. "Don't just send me away! I messed up, okay! But we can fix this—we have to talk about it!"
No response. Not even a flinch. Isaac let it happen without resisting.
Then Vincent's hand suddenly settled on Noctis' shoulder. Noctis looked up at his brother, who simply shook his head.
"Give him time. This was all a bit too much," he said, glancing at Isaac. "If you won't let me look at your wounds, at least let Moz or Lucy take care of them. I don't care which one, but I really want to avoid your injuries getting infected."
But Isaac said nothing. He stared at a spot on the bed, ignoring them.
As if everything else had faded out.
As if neither of them existed anymore.
Noctis' hands slowly fell away.
Reluctantly, he allowed Vincent to pull him back. Every step away from Isaac felt wrong, like a mistake he could no longer undo.
At the door, he paused once more.
Turned around.
Isaac sat slumped on the bed, motionless, lost within himself. The image burned into Noctis' memory—sharp, inescapable.
It hurt to leave him like that.
But could he have salvaged the situation? Could he have made Isaac listen? Would his view be different if he had told him everything about the boss? There was still so much he didn't know.
Or would he dismiss it all as lies?
Just before the door finally closed, he cast one last glance back.
Just in time to see Isaac suddenly pitch forward.
His body simply gave out.