"C-Cyrus?" Isabella’s brows drew together as she spotted the tall figure standing just off to the side. His red hair moved gently in the night breeze, catching the dim moonlight like fla, but his body was perfectly still—unnaturally so. Her voice cracked with disbelief as she slowly straightened up, the nausea from the teleport already fading beneath confusion.
What was he doing standing here... waiting?
Cyrus didn’t respond at first. His eyes—those soft pink orbs—were locked on Kian, unwavering, unreadable. But the mont he heard her voice, that stare shattered. He turned.
His gaze found hers instantly. That blank mask he wore lted, giving way to the gentle warmth he always carried—except this ti, it was weighed down with sothing else. Worry. Deep, tender worry.
Before Isabella could ask anything more, he started walking—straight toward her. He moved with calm purpose, passing Kian without a glance. Kian, in return, offered only a sideways look, sharp and unreadable, before vanishing into the palace without a word.
Isabella blinked as Cyrus neared, her lips parting to speak, but her breath caught when his arms opened naturally—as if it was only natural that she would fit there.
And she did. She stepped into them without thinking.
The mont he held her, his arms tightened around her waist with firm gentleness. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just... anchoring. Solid. Safe. She tilted her head slightly to look up at him, confusion still flickering in her eyes, her breath uneven from all the recent chaos.
"What are you doing here?" she asked softly.
Cyrus didn’t answer right away. He simply stared at her, as if searching her face for bruises, for pain, for anything he could fix. His lips curved into a soft smile that tried its best to be reassuring—but his eyes were still worried.
"Ophelia told I should wait for you here," he said finally, his voice calm, gentle as ever. His sole purpose in that mont was to make her feel better, like always.
But it backfired.
"She said you should wait outside the palace?" Isabella straightened slightly, brows furrowing as she looked around as if expecting Ophelia to appear from the shadows and get a piece of her mind.
Her voice held no childish whine this ti. It was taut with disbelief and irritation, grounded in concern for him. He could’ve been out here all night. It was cold, the stone courtyard unforgiving.
Cyrus’ smile grew at her reaction. There it was again—that soft care in her tone. That subtle, hidden warmth she always tried to cover with sarcasm or sass. He saw it. Every ti.
"No," he said gently. "I simply decided to wait... until you ca back."
Isabella’s head snapped up. She blinked at him, mouth slightly open.
"You decided to wait?" Her voice was flat now. Not amused. Not surprised. Just blank—like her brain had hit a wall. "You’ve been out here just... waiting?"
"Mmh." His smile didn’t waver. It stayed sweet, serene, maddeningly patient.
Sothing shifted in her then. She narrowed her eyes slightly. Of course, she thought bitterly. He was too kind. Too soft. Just like Ophelia.
People like that—people like him—got eaten alive.
And yet... he stood there with that sa soft smile, like he would do it all again just to see her for a second longer.
It was infuriating.
"I swear you’re the male version of Ophelia," she muttered under her breath, more to herself than to him. "Too damn nice."
Still, she didn’t move out of his hold. Not yet.
She glanced up again, arching a brow. "So what if I didn’t co back all day, huh?"
"I’d keep waiting," he said without missing a beat, the sa calm confidence in his tone.
Her smirk wobbled slightly. She cleared her throat, trying to brush off the warmth rising up her neck.
"A-and what if I didn’t show up for days?"
"I’d keep waiting," he said again, his voice like a promise that wrapped around her chest and squeezed.
She pulled away then—not harshly, but slowly—needing air. Space. Sanity. She stepped back, the chill of the night brushing against her skin where his warmth had just been.
Cyrus didn’t stop her. He didn’t reach. He only watched her.
Her departure disappointed him, but he said nothing.
She studied him carefully, suddenly needing to see his face from a distance. His expression hadn’t changed. That sa gentle patience. That sa quiet smile that made her feel like she was standing in the middle of a vow.
Her chest tightened.
"And what if..." Her voice lowered. "I never co back?"
This ti, Cyrus didn’t answer right away.
He just looked at her. Really looked at her.
Then, with a voice soft enough to make the world fall quiet, he said:
"Then I’ll wait for you in the next life."
Silence.
The kind of silence that lands like a weight on your heart.
Isabella blinked. Her lips parted, but no words ca out.
Her throat tightened.
She swallowed. Once. Twice.
"You’re..." Her voice cracked.
"You’re crazy," she whispered, her gaze dropping to the ground as sothing warm and dangerous stirred in her chest.
Sothing she wasn’t ready to na.
Isabella stared at him like he’d just dropped a teor at her feet.
"Then I’ll wait for you in the next life."
What was she supposed to say to that?
There were confessions, and then there were statents that made you rethink your entire operating system as a person. Hers had just shut down and tried to restart twice.
Her first instinct was to scoff and pretend it didn’t hit like a freight train. Her second was to pretend she hadn’t heard him at all.
She did neither.
Because, for so reason, her chest felt tight—and that was annoying. Inconvenient.
And definitely not sothing she was about to acknowledge. Not tonight. Not ever, if she had her way.
Instead, Isabella inhaled. Deeply. Like she could breathe the logic back into herself.
Then she laughed.
Just once.
A sharp, dry little sound as she rubbed her palm over her face, fingers pressing into her temples like she could squeeze the heat out of her cheeks.
"You’re unbelievable," she muttered under her breath, not looking at him.
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