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Jon hadn’t meant to let it happen.
In the beginning, he hated Elias.
He had every reason to. The man had manipulated them all, had pulled the strings from the shadows, had taken control of Jon’s entire life without so much as a second thought.
And yet—when Jon had returned, exhausted, changed, barely able to sleep through the nightmares—Elias had been the only one there.
Not Martin.
Not Basira.
Not even Georgie, not really.
They had all tried, in their own ways, but they hadn’t understood. They hadn’t seen what the Eye had made of him. Not like Elias had.
Jon hated it. Hated that Elias was right when he said that only he could understand.
And yet—he had let Elias talk him through the worst of it.
He had let Elias teach him how to breathe again when the knowledge in his mind was too much to bear.
He had let Elias hold him, let himself sink into that cold, steady presence because at least Elias never flinched from him.
Jon had never been wanted before. Not like this.
Not as he was now.
And it was safe, in its own way.
Because Elias never demanded anything from him. Never tried to make him be anything other than what he already was.
And somewhere along the way, Jon had fallen for him.
It was slow, insidious. Like creeping ivy wrapping around an abandoned building.
By the time Jon realized what had happened, it was already too late.
And Martin knew it.
Martin, who had tried so hard to stay at Jon’s side, to offer him something human to hold onto.
Martin, who had watched Jon slip further and further away—into Elias’ waiting hands.
Martin, who couldn’t understand how Jon could ever let himself feel anything for him.
Because Elias had destroyed them.
Had taken everything. Had ruined their lives.
And yet Jon had chosen him.
Martin wanted to scream.
Wanted to shake Jon, make him see what he was doing.
But Jon wasn’t looking at him anymore.
He was looking at Elias.
And Elias, that smug bastard, was looking back.