Something was different now. A hesitation lingered where there hadn't been one before—heavy, unspoken, undeniable. They were both painfully aware of what simmered beneath the surface: feelings neither of them dared to name, let alone acknowledge. Because acknowledging them could only make everything worse.

And beneath it all, the weight of their failure hung thick in the air. Their chance to escape—if it had even been a real chance—had crumbled before them. They were left with the harsh truth: at least another year here, trapped, starved, and too weak to fight back. The thought alone was suffocating.

Hopelessness. It rang through every breath, every silence. Deafening. Suffocating.

When Dr. Whitmore arrived the next day, his steps echoed like a prelude to misery. Without hesitation, he made straight for Luciana's cage.

Enzo was on his feet in an instant—tall, defiant, and unflinching. "Eager to relive last night's embarrassment, Doctor?" His voice cut like glass—sharp, smooth, callous, prideful.

Whitmore raised an eyebrow, amused by the sudden spark of energy. "Well, aren't we lively today?" He turned to his guards with a lazy wave. "Very well. Bring him instead."

Enzo didn't resist as they unlocked his cage and led him away. His body moved willingly, without struggle. Luciana watched him go, a knot tightening in her stomach. Why? But deep down, she already knew. And the knowing—that instinctual, gut-wrenching truth—was exactly why she couldn't let anything between them surface.

When they dragged him back, his body was limp. His eyes—his eyes—were closed, blood trickling from beneath the lids. They tossed him into the cell like garbage. He hit the ground hard, curling away from her as if trying to protect what little dignity he had left.

She had planned to yell at him. "Don't you ever do that again!" The words were on her tongue—fueled by rage, by frustration, by guilt and fear. She wanted to tear into him for thinking she needed saving. For assuming she was weak. For making her owe him.

But then she realized—Dr. Witmore cut his eyes out.

Her throat closed up. The fury evaporated, leaving only a crushing, unbearable guilt. The best she could manage was a weak, trembling plea. "Please… never do that again."

Enzo's lips curved into something faint—tired but undeniably him. "Can't make any promises on that account, love."

Her heart stuttered. Her stomach dropped.

He drifted into unconsciousness soon after.

Luciana watched him sleep—his features peaceful in a way that felt wrong, like it was stolen from him. His jaw was sharp, shadowed with exhaustion. The dried blood stained the hollows beneath his eyes, and yet he was—God, he was still beautiful. And so much more than that—strong, resilient, and kind, even in a world that had never once been kind to him.

How long had he been here? How much had he endured? How much had he suffered—alone?

She thought about escape. If anyone deserved freedom, it was him.

The pain he had taken on for her gnawed at her chest, raw and relentless. Her hand trembled as she reached for the bars. She turned sideways, pressing herself against the cold metal. If she could just squeeze through…

And so she tried.

Enzo remained unconscious, unaware of her desperation. She shoved forward, every ounce of strength poured into the impossible attempt to reach him. The bars scraped her skin raw, tearing the thick flesh of her cheeks and ears away from the bone. The agony was sharp, hot—but she stifled her screams. She had learned how to silence herself.

She was almost through—so close—

When the door creaked open.

Luciana froze, clawing herself back before she was caught. She wiped the blood from her face with shaking hands, repositioning herself in the corner just as the guards placed a small paper cup of blood on the floor—just outside their cages. Then they left, the door slamming behind them.

Her heart pounded violently.

If she could just break her collarbone… her hips… she could…

But Enzo stirred—a soft, pained grunt cutting through her thoughts. He rolled to the side, blindly reaching for the cup.

"A little to the left," she encouraged, voice soft, steadying despite the chaos inside her.

He reached too quickly, knocking it over. The crimson spilled across the floor, wasted. Defeat sagged his shoulders as he slumped back.

"If I can't see your beautiful face," he murmured, voice rough and laced with exhaustion, "you'll have to share that beautiful voice of yours instead."

Heat bloomed across her cheeks—unexpected, unwanted, yet impossible to ignore.

"Do you know any poems by Luís de Camões?" she asked, trying to distract herself—and him—from everything else.

Enzo smiled faintly, already drawn to the comfort of her voice. "Can't say I do."

Luciana swallowed, voice soft but clear as she began:

"Change the world, change the sky, But love will never change nor die. It binds with chains both soft and light, A prison that feels like pure delight."