Only once Benedict had closed the door behind him did Isaac allow himself to truly breathe again. The tension left his shoulders only slowly.
He was annoyed with Vincent for bringing Benedict to him without any warning. He couldn't understand at all why he'd been made to talk to Benedict. Was it a new tactic to get him to open up a little more again? Or was there a completely different reason and purpose behind it?
The way Vincent had spoken to Benedict…
Isaac snorted quietly.
It was none of his business. If they were into each other, then they should just get on with it and leave him out of it.
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes and let the silence settle over him. He was still tired, his body heavy and drained from the gunshot wound. Every movement reminded him how close he had come to death. But the physical exhaustion was only part of it. Far more wearing was having to avoid Noctis and his lies.
He didn't know what would happen next.
One thing, however, was certain: simply lying around and waiting was not an option.
He had to find out who had killed Noah. He had to understand what Noctis and Vincent were planning. He needed to know what was going on in the underworld—and, above all, what role Levi played in it.
The mere thought of Levi made his stomach turn.
Isaac had no desire whatsoever to run into him or be forced to deal with him. But he could no longer afford to turn a blind eye to reality. He needed information in order to plan his next steps.
He threw off the blanket and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed.
His body still felt sluggish, and he knew that without Vincent's magic he wouldn't stand a chance of healing any faster. Still, he was far from ready to place even a shred of trust in him.
He remained seated, elbows resting on his knees, as his thoughts began to spiral.
Noctis had said he would go into hiding with him. He had promised to stay by his side, no matter what came.
But after everything, Isaac could no longer trust him.
Maybe he should disappear on his own.
Simply take advantage of the cover of night, disappear without a sound, and never look back. But he couldn't get to his savings, and he didn't even know whether anyone had managed to remove anything from his apartment.
Several cash stashes were still there—enough to stay independent for a while, at least. But to reach them, he would first have to get there.
And that was exactly the problem.
The boss was still out there.
Noah was dead, and Isaac was still in possession of Eclis Sun. So he couldn't even say for certain that his apartment hadn't already been infiltrated—or placed under surveillance.
He also had no portal he could use to get there.
Damn.
The longer he thought about it, the clearer it became how few options he actually had left. Every possibility involved risks he could hardly afford to take in his current condition.
He sat there in silence, caught between the urge to act and sheer exhaustion, knowing that every decision he made would have consequences—consequences he would have to bear entirely on his own this time.
In his current state, returning to his apartment was out of the question. With a bit of bad luck, it would turn into a suicide mission—and luck had been consistently avoiding him lately.
What had become of his life?
He had always tried to carry out his tasks reliably. A quiet, withdrawn life—that was all he had ever wanted, and in a way, that was exactly what he had had. Of course, there were things he hadn't liked, decisions he would rather not have made. But he had grown used to dealing with unpleasant matters quickly and efficiently before they could take root.
Ever since he had regained full consciousness, he had spent most of his time just lying around, forced to confront his own thoughts. What wouldn't he give to at least have a canvas to vent on.
At least that would have distracted him from everything he had experienced here—the magic, the supposed death of his parents, who apparently hadn't abandoned him but simply hadn't been able to take care of him. Someone must have brought him to the orphanage on purpose, otherwise the Webster clan wouldn't have had to track him down.
Isaac let out a quiet sigh.
All those years, he had believed his parents had abandoned him. The thought had been so natural that he had never seriously questioned it. Not once had it occurred to him that they might be dead. The caretakers at the orphanage had been very clear about that.
Why had Noctis never told him that he had a family?
Damn it! He had known Noctis since he was eight years old! Why had he waited seventeen years?
Isaac pressed his lips together.
It was hard for him to admit how much of it had been his own doing—how stubborn he had been, and above all, how much he had idealized the Boss. To him, the Boss had always been a constant—someone who had taken him in, raised him, and protected him. The few moments of harshness he had shown, Isaac had written off as necessary discipline—the price for a life that had been made possible for him in the first place.
He had never questioned anything.
Noctis, on the other hand, had kept so much from him.
If he had been a mage as well, then he could have helped him learn everything. How often had Isaac weakened himself so much using magic that he had been too exhausted to lift even a finger? How often had things gone wrong? And how many times had he endured others using his magic as well? It had made him stronger, yes—but it was definitely not what he should have been learning.
Just thinking about what Noctis had subtly taught him made his blood boil again. His advice had always been helpful, and yet he had played dumb—pretending to seriously consider how magic could work for a non-mage.
Every time Noctis had helped him, Isaac had been grateful.
That was how he had slipped into his heart, how Isaac had built more and more trust in him over the years—until the desire to be close to him had grown stronger and stronger. Until Isaac had begun not just to value him, but to need him. Until the longing to be near him had outweighed every bit of caution.
Until he had fallen in love with him.
In the end, Noctis had been the only person he had truly noticed—aside from the Boss. Everyone else had remained a constant background noise.
Isaac swallowed hard.
…had that been a lie too? Had he been methodical about it, just to bind him to himself?
What else had he kept from him?
The realization that he not only had a brother, but that both of them belonged to the Webster clan—and even led it—had shaken him to the core. They were his enemies. The enemies of the Leviathan Cartel and every other clan in Magnolia.
"I belong to the Webster clan. But I was never your enemy."
The words Noctis had spoken to him just a few days ago, with that desperate look on his face, still lingered.
Deep down, Isaac knew how much Noctis loved him. He had proven it so many times that it couldn't be ignored. It was unbelievably hard to push him away. There was nothing Isaac wanted more than to give up that distance—to pull him back into his arms, to feel that familiar warmth he now missed like air. He wanted to tell him how hard it was to manage without him, how much the thought of taking the next step alone unsettled him.
But he couldn't.
Not after all the lies, not after everything Noctis had pretended to be since the day they met. Noctis had betrayed him. Even if, unlike Levi, he had never harmed him physically or emotionally, he had lied—again and again. The lies surrounding Noctis were so all-encompassing that Isaac couldn't even say when they had begun.
Isaac pressed his lips together and finally forced himself to stand. His body protested immediately, but he ignored the trembling in his legs and slowly made his way to the window. With a short motion, he opened it.
He needed air.
Isaac hated how his body always reacted to emotional stress like this—he could endure a lot. At least, he had believed his mental defenses were strong enough.
He took a deep breath, letting the cool, clear night air fill his lungs.
All of this stirred him up far too much, and it was difficult to find any kind of steady focus. He needed to bring order to his thoughts, to clear the chaos in his mind. It would be easy to let himself go, to do nothing at all. Damn it, that was exactly what he wanted—to just drift, to give up. But that wasn't who he was.
The door to his room opened.
Annoyed, he closed his eyes. He couldn't even get a moment of peace when he needed it most. These assassins from the Webster clan really did have terrible timing.
Isaac turned toward the door just as Moz stepped inside.
The only one he currently tolerated near him. He was trying to help, though he was not particularly capable in certain areas—wound care, for example. Isaac had never met anyone who managed to stick a bandage onto himself instead of the place it was actually meant for.
He was…clumsy. But somehow, that was exactly the trait that made Isaac like him. Moz was just as bad at pretending as he was. Maybe that was why he felt a certain sympathy for the man.
"Good evening, Isaac… huh?" Moz greeted him as he closed the door behind him. Confused, he glanced around the room until he spotted Isaac by the window. His eyes widened, and in just a few steps he was at his side. "Why are you up?! You're not supposed to be standing on your own yet!"
His voice was immediately laced with panic.
"I needed air," Isaac muttered curtly.
Moz swore under his breath and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "You know exactly when I come to check on you," he scolded. "Couldn't you have just waited five minutes?"
Isaac didn't respond right away. His gaze drifted back outside, into the darkness of the settling night. The cool air brushed against his skin, bringing at least a surface level of calm. Moz, on the other hand, remained tense at his side, as if expecting him to collapse at any moment.
Moz was the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve—a stark contrast to Noctis and Vincent.
"No," Isaac replied. "Why are you even still here? It's late."
"Because I wanted to check your bandages again," Moz answered without hesitation. "And I brought you something to eat."
He held up the tray demonstratively. The food was actually very good—Isaac just couldn't keep anything down. Every time even the thought of Noctis or Levi surfaced, his stomach turned. When he thought about the Boss and all the consequences… about Noah…
Isaac grimaced. "Take it back."
"You've barely eaten anything these past few days. You need to eat so your wounds can heal," Moz insisted.
He set the tray down on the small table that also held fresh bandages and painkillers. Isaac tilted his head slightly, watching him. Moz was right—he had to eat if he wanted to recover. He could barely stay upright for long as it was.
Even if he decided to run, he would need to build up some strength first. Or he could let Vincent heal him, at least sparing himself the pain.
But that, too, was something he couldn't allow.
"Did they order you to force me to eat?" he asked.
"They didn't," Moz muttered, though his expression said everything.
Isaac sighed in irritation. His thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Benedict. The matter with Noah wouldn't leave him alone. Strange—he had never cared much for the little troublemaker.
Maybe it was time to talk to Noctis. Otherwise, he would probably never find even a trace of peace in his thoughts.
"Can you message Noctis and tell him I need to speak with him?"
Moz made a face, clearly displeased with the request. "Fine. I'll text him," he said at last, albeit reluctantly. "Will you let me change your bandages while we wait?"
Isaac nodded and turned his gaze back outside. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, mentally preparing himself for what lay ahead. Then he walked back to the bed, pulled off his shirt, and sat down on the edge.
"He'll be here any moment," Moz said.
He stepped up beside Isaac and began unwrapping the bandages.
"So he won't take long."
Moz snorted. "Knowing him, he'll be here in seconds," he said, a hint of irritation in his voice.
Isaac studied him briefly before looking away again.
"You don't get along?"
"He's an idiot," Moz replied immediately.
"On that, we agree."
Moz paused, now it was his turn to examine Isaac more closely. "I've known Noctis for a few years, and we've never really gotten along," he began. "His moods are unpredictable, and every time I see him, I'm already annoyed. He's a free spirit—annoying as hell, especially when he starts with his arrogant remarks. I can't remember a single conversation between us that didn't turn tense."
He stuck the bandage on clumsily, looked at his work, frowned in dissatisfaction, and then glanced back at Isaac.
"I think we can leave the bandages off. The wound is dry, and a bit of air will probably help it heal," he muttered, slightly embarrassed.
Isaac nodded. The adhesive edges of those damn bandages had been irritating anyway. Moz peeled them off again, and Isaac watched him with mild suspicion.
"…why are you telling me all this?" Isaac asked cautiously. "About Noctis."
Moz just sighed, as if he had only now remembered that he'd been talking about him.
"I'm the last person who wants to take that bastard's side," he continued. "But I've never seen him as desperate as he was the day he finally brought you back to us. I don't know what exactly happened between you two, and I don't even want to imagine what you've been through. But…"
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
"…I think he loves you more than anything else in this world."
Isaac just looked at him in silence. The words struck something in him, and he immediately felt guilty for having put Noctis through so much. His guilt threatened to wash away his anger.
But he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't forgive Noctis.
"You sound like you were waiting for me to come back to this place."
Moz gave a small shrug.
"We look after our own, and no one who belongs to the Webster clan is simply abandoned. At least Vincent cares a great deal about our well-being, and he doesn't send anyone to their certain death. Every mission is carefully planned, and he always achieves his goals—no matter how long it takes."
Isaac grimaced as Moz removed the last bandage.
"You sound… respectful."
"He's the best boss you could imagine, Isaac," Moz said with a hint of pride. "I don't think there's anyone like him in the entire underworld. And considering what we do and what we stand for, that's a very good trait to have."
Silently, Isaac studied the well-dressed man who seemed so different. Was he an assassin too? Or a mage?
"What's your role here?"
Moz looked momentarily caught off guard. "Like everyone else, I'm an assassin. I carry out the tasks I'm given—though I'd probably be described as the boss's right-hand man. Or his errand boy…"
He let out a quiet laugh.
"I may not look it, but I'm a mage too. Even if my abilities aren't particularly useful. At least, I'm not as good at using them as the others."
Isaac regarded him thoughtfully.
"Is everyone in the Webster clan a mage?" he asked slowly.
Moz shook his head.
"Not all of them. Many are ordinary assassins, though we don't allow many outsiders into the clan. It's a bit much to explain everything in detail right now, but there are families within the Webster clan that produce stronger mages, and others that produce weaker ones. Magic exists only within our clan. Anyone who leaves is as good as dead—that's the only way we've been able to protect this secret for so many generations."
Isaac frowned slightly.
For a brief moment, he wondered why being a mage had to be such a secret—before his thoughts drifted back to Noctis.
So Noctis had kept it from him because he truly wasn't allowed to talk about it? But then why go to all that effort if Isaac himself was a mage and supposedly belonged to them? He could understand why they kept it hidden from outsiders.
Still, he believed Noctis should have told him much earlier. After all, they had shared more than what was typical for childhood friends. And beyond that, Isaac had loved him more than anything in the world.
Was that why he had asked him so often to run away together…?
"Then why did you go through the trouble of bringing me back?" Isaac asked, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "If all of this is such a big secret, you should have killed me too. That way no one would have found out I'm a mage. There are people who know who I am and what I can do. You could have killed me as well."
Moz was just about to respond when Noctis's voice filled the room.
"…because you were taken from us," he said.