"How is this going to work now?" Isaac asked in a rough voice. Exhaustion weighed heavily on every word as Vincent sat down beside him on the edge of the bed.
Isaac was still pale, almost translucent, despite the blood transfusions and the slow onset of healing. The gunshot wound had clearly marked him; every movement seemed exhausting, every breath took effort. At least nothing had become infected—something Vincent attributed both to his own careful treatment and to Isaac's stubborn constitution. It was almost a miracle that he was still alive at all.
Vincent had to admit that Isaac was more resilient than weeds. Even when he had found him and Noctis in the alley behind the museum, he hadn't been convinced Isaac would survive. After the second cardiac arrest, Vincent had practically given up hope for him.
And yet he had survived, and now he was sitting here. Suspicious and hurt.
Vincent was glad that it was Isaac his younger brother had fallen in love with, even if things between them didn't look promising at the moment. If the two of them reconciled, it would make certain decisions easier. He really didn't want to imagine what options he would have left if Isaac turned against them.
He pushed the thought aside and calmly extended his hand toward Isaac. "I can stimulate your body's natural healing processes," he explained matter-of-factly. "That will accelerate your recovery."
He still couldn't quite believe that Isaac had decided to help them. Of course, he was glad—it would finally move his plans forward. But what terrible timing was that supposed to be? Just moments ago he'd thought he could properly indulge himself with the cop, and then Noctis storms in at the worst possible moment!
Isaac tilted his head slightly and studied him with undisguised mistrust. "How long will it take?"
"It will take some time," Vincent replied. He looked at Isaac's exhausted face and his body, worn down by the gunshot wound. Isaac had lost weight, and the physical pain was still plainly visible. "It always depends on how well your body cooperates. You're weakened, so I'd estimate around three to four days."
Isaac grimaced in dissatisfaction. "Can't it be faster?"
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Do you have something planned, or why are you in such a hurry to get back on your feet?"
Isaac was silent for a moment. Then his gaze shifted to Noctis, lingering there for a heartbeat before he gave a brief nod. "The sooner it's over, the better," he muttered.
Vincent glanced at his brother, who shot Isaac a hurt look.
Damn, so he's still angry about everything Noctis had to keep from him?
He turned his gaze back to Isaac.
"Your body will have to heal on its own. I can only accelerate the process, and even that will cost me enough strength."
Isaac exhaled softly, as if surrendering to an inner resistance. Finally, he placed his hand in Vincent's. His fingers were cool, the grip hesitant at first, then firmer. Determined—and yet there was a barely concealed trace of uncertainty in it. Did he regret his decision?
"Let's get this over with," Isaac muttered.
His hand trembled slightly. Vincent briefly returned the pressure, then focused. A faint flicker passed over his features as he began stimulating Isaac's cells, deliberately initiating the healing process.
"This will take a while," he said calmly. "If you have questions, ask them."
Isaac didn't hesitate for a second. "Do I really belong to the Webster clan?"
His red eyes studied him with interest, though the uncertainty in his gaze didn't fade. Vincent nodded.
"Your family has belonged to this clan for a very long time, Isaac. However, there's no one left from your branch of the family who's still alive. You're the last. Which also means you're the last Crafter."
Isaac's jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a thin line.
"If I belong to you, then why did it take you 25 years to bring me in? Why didn't you do it earlier?" he suddenly snapped. "And what the hell is a Crafter supposed to be?!"
Isaac looked at him, hurt, and for a moment he seemed so lost that Vincent regretted how long it had taken them. Unfortunately, they hadn't had a choice. He met his gaze seriously.
"There are many reasons for that. Didn't Noctis tell you everything?" Vincent asked cautiously.
Isaac started to respond, then broke off. His gaze shifted aside briefly before he shook his head.
"How am I supposed to believe him after everything?" he said quietly.
Vincent sighed softly. He was still annoyed with his brother because of the earlier interruption, but Noctis had only ever acted the way Vincent had instructed him to. Noctis was an idiot, but he certainly didn't deserve to be spoken about as if he weren't even present.
"Don't be too hard on him. He only did all of this because there was no other way. As for your profession, I'll explain everything to you tomorrow," Vincent said. "Of course, only if you're in any condition to listen by then."
Isaac snorted quietly, too tired to truly get upset. "And what's that supposed to mean now?"
With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes. The strain was visibly starting to wear on him.
Vincent studied him briefly and decided to hurry with the explanation before Isaac fell asleep like Sleeping Beauty. Stimulating the body's own cells put additional stress on an already damaged system. Of course, Vincent could resolve this in another way—but that would cost him too much strength, and he would have to sustain the magic himself.
In their current phase, he couldn't afford any weakness.
Isaac would have to go through this on his own.
"You'll notice it," Vincent said finally, curtly, meeting his gaze. "For a long time, we didn't even know if you were still alive."
Isaac's eyes widened—a brief, incredulous reflex. He said nothing.
"Your family was wiped out in a single night. About half a year after your birth. We turned the entire house upside down, but there was no trace of you. They had taken you. At the time, we didn't know who it was or where they had taken you—a baby."
"We kept an eye on the entire underworld," Noctis added quietly. "But we never saw a baby or small child with albino traits anywhere. Your appearance is so distinctive that we hoped to spot you like a beacon—but there was nothing."
Isaac's gaze flicked briefly toward Noctis, only to turn away again in pain.
"It wasn't until you were seven years old that we found out where you were," Vincent continued. "You had been seen eating cake with another child in a small, remote town. If I remember correctly, it was just a few days before your eighth birthday."
Isaac's gaze drifted aside. "That was Levi… back then we were still—"
He broke off.
Vincent gave a short nod. "We acted immediately. Prepared everything. A couple from our clan was ready to take you in." His voice remained calm, almost clinical. "But we were too late."
He paused briefly.
"On the day we tried to get you out, you were injured. The wound on your neck." His gaze sharpened. "And from that moment on, you were out of our reach. The leader of the Leviathan cartel already had you under his control. He made sure no one could get near you again."
"Later, we found out why," Vincent went on. "The orphanage you lived in—it belongs to him."
Isaac looked at him directly now, visibly shaken.
"You're lying," Isaac said immediately, though his voice had lost its firmness.
"I'm actually quite good at lying, but right now I'm being completely honest with you," Vincent replied seriously. "Since you're helping us crack that damn safe, you'll see everything with your own eyes soon enough. The orphanage still exists, and those records will be there as well."
"That…," Isaac began.
"Isaac, what I'm trying to tell you is this: the boss you've lived and worked for all this time has been manipulating you since early childhood. He instructed the orphanage staff to isolate you. Levi was there to open you up emotionally—and then abandon you, so you'd run straight into the boss's arms. It was never about you. It was about your ability."
Isaac closed his eyes briefly; his strength seemed to be fading more and more. Vincent quickly checked the effect of his healing and decided it was enough. Given the extent of the injuries, he had used more magic than usual. A slight dizziness set in, so he cut off the flow of magic and simply held Isaac's hand.
As on the previous days, Isaac was emotionally shaken. Vincent regretted seeing the young man like this. They had tried so many times to free him from the Leviathan cartel's grip, but had failed just as often. Many good men had died in the attempts, and only Noctis had remained undetected all these years.
Vincent had placed him there early enough that the boss never grew suspicious. Still, Noctis had lived every single day in fear of being discovered and killed. The fact that he had made it this far only showed how well he had adapted over the years.
"My abilities…," Isaac murmured. "Because I can create portals?" He opened his eyes again, searching Vincent's gaze. "How did he even know that?"
Vincent answered without hesitation. "Because your mother could create portals—and he found out through a rather unfortunate coincidence."
Isaac looked up.
"She was an excellent engineer, and thanks to her we were able to acquire some very useful magical items," Vincent said with a faint, sad smile. "From what Noctis has told me, you take after her quite a lot when it comes to your abilities. Your father, on the other hand, wasn't a Crafter—he had no magical abilities, but he made up for it with his physical attributes."
Isaac just stared at him, unable to say a word. He looked hurt; the pain in his eyes showed how difficult all of this was for him to process. Vincent could understand that, to some extent. It wasn't easy to adapt to something that had changed overnight.
He himself had struggled back then, when he hadn't been given any time to grieve his parents before having to take over the clan. Sometimes life simply wasn't fair.
"…enough about my parents," Isaac finally muttered hoarsely.
Vincent brushed his thumb once over the back of Isaac's hand. "We had to be extremely careful getting you out of there, Isaac. Don't blame Noctis—if anything, the fault lies with me, because I couldn't find another way to get you out without complications."
He stood up and straightened to his full height before exhaustion could fully catch up with him. Someone was still waiting in his bedroom—someone he intended to save his remaining energy for. It would be a shame not to have his fun with the cop after he had finally agreed to get involved with him.
Isaac looked up at him.
"As I already told you, magic is a very closely guarded secret within our clan. In time, you'll understand why we rarely—if ever—share our abilities with outsiders. I don't even want to imagine what would happen if it became widely known that we Websters can use magic. The chaos would likely be uncontrollable," he said, stretching slightly. "Get some rest and think carefully about how you want to proceed. Depending on your decision, I'll have to take certain measures."
Isaac rubbed his eyes. "What kind of measures?" he asked drowsily.
"Measures to protect the clan," Vincent replied matter-of-factly. "And measures concerning your own safety."
Isaac blinked heavily. "Why am I suddenly so tired…?"
"Because your body is working," Vincent said. "Healing comes at a cost."
He helped him lie down carefully, making sure not to put additional strain on the injured side.
"What will you do if I try to disappear?" Isaac asked sleepily. His eyes kept closing; he seemed to be forcing himself to stay awake.
"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Vincent said, brushing the white hair from his forehead. "I can't just let you go."
A barely audible snort.
"…bastard," Isaac muttered before his voice finally faded into sleep.
Vincent gave a faint smile. "The safety of the clan comes first for me," he said, slowly straightening up. "My brother didn't tell you everything from the beginning—that's true. But he acted on my orders." His gaze remained steady on Isaac. "You should try to look at this objectively. This is your home. And we are… relieved that you're back."
He paused briefly.
"Get to know us. And see for yourself what kind of man your so-called boss really is. In the meantime, I'll prepare everything."
Just as Vincent was about to turn away, Isaac suddenly grabbed his collar and pulled him down with unexpected strength.
"You still owe me some answers!" he hissed.
Vincent held his gaze without resisting. "In due time," he replied calmly. "Get some sleep now. I'll come back tomorrow."
Isaac's grip was already loosening. His strength visibly drained away, his fingers slipping from Vincent's clothing. He sank back into the pillows, throwing him one last exhausted, annoyed look before his eyes finally fell shut.
Vincent straightened again and exhaled quietly. "Stubborn," he muttered.
"That's an understatement," Noctis said softly.
He stepped closer to the bed, sat down carefully beside Isaac, and pulled the blanket into place. Then he gently took Isaac's hand in his.
"I hope he finally realizes soon how awful the boss really is," he said quietly. He brushed his thumb lightly over the back of Isaac's hand, as if afraid of waking him. "I just want to kiss him again and touch him like before… I hate the way he pulls away from me—and that look in his eyes…"
His brother looked so infinitely sad that it made Vincent's chest tighten.
"He'll understand once you have the records," Vincent said, placing a hand on Noctis's shoulder. "He loves you, Noctis. He just needs to make sense of everything first."
Noctis sighed and pressed Isaac's hand to his forehead.
"I can't lose him, Vince… not after all this… not after he almost died in my arms," Noctis said, his voice strained. "Damn it, I'd do anything to make him stay with me…"
"Give him some time," Vincent said. "And beyond that, I hope he chooses to stay with us of his own accord. He can't leave us now."
Noctis looked at him.
"I don't want you to lock him up," he said quietly. "He's been through enough already."
Vincent gave his brother a reassuring smile.
"Let's just hope he realizes how vile that bastard really is."
Noctis nodded grimly. "I can't wait until he gets the punishment he deserves."
Vincent gave his shoulder one last squeeze before turning toward the door.
"Isaac will probably spend the next three to four days sleeping more than he's awake. You should get some rest too—I've never seen you this exhausted, little brother."
Noctis snorted. "When do we start planning?" he asked at last.
Vincent paused briefly, considering.
"Contact Ashe—maybe she'll help us. I'll draft a rough plan tomorrow and let the others know to prepare. As soon as Isaac is capable of taking it in, I want to go through everything with everyone."
"Okay."
Vincent glanced back over his shoulder, giving Noctis a warning look.
"I don't want to be disturbed for the next few hours. Stick to it this time."
"Because you want to play with the cop?" Noctis scoffed.
Vincent grinned. "Exactly," he said. Then his expression turned serious again. "If you interrupt me again, you'll regret it."
Noctis rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Have fun. I just hope I don't have to see your junk again anytime soon."
Vincent smirked. "Why? Jealous?"
Noctis raised a brow. "As you know, we're built pretty similarly—so shut up and go screw him already."
"On my way," Vincent said as he left the room. He waved once over his shoulder. "See you tomorrow."