Mark took a long time to recover. Not surprising for someone whose mind could always inflate the faintest rumble of distant thunder into an impending apocalypse. I thought his therapy was helping, and Mark himself claimed he was making progress—but what had happened today seemed to have pushed him too far. I had noticed before that something wasn't quite right with him, though he always insisted otherwise.
There were moments when he would freeze in place, and I knew that in those moments his mind was flooded with visions of countless disasters, each one worse than the last. That was how his psyche worked. He calculated ahead, running hundreds of possible negative scenarios, and each one he felt so vividly that it was as if the worst had already happened.
He became gentler, more attentive toward me when I returned home covered in the blood of that wretched man from the parking lot. More attentive, even artificially cheerful at times. The hellish volcano I knew still raged in his mind, scorching the tender green shoots of peaceful happiness with its molten lava, but Mark had simply learned to speak of it less, worrying more about my well-being.
He probably hadn't noticed much while the bus had barreled toward him, and Yesenia had pulled him back just in time, diverting his attention from my impromptu feeding. I felt immense gratitude toward them both—without their intervention, I would have been forced to reveal myself. Ildar had far more options and fewer risks. I could swear that none of the elderly passengers even noticed what had happened.
I wondered how long Yesenia had known about Ildar's true nature. Could she have accepted him instantly for what he was: a vampire whose survival came at the cost of others' lives? Was she like the women my father had loved—women whose passion burned out overnight, leaving behind only a selfish desire to touch eternity, then vanish into the sunset, living their best lives without the man they had once wanted nothing from but immortality?
More than anything, I wanted to protect Mark. To shield him from himself and from the dangerous world that seemed to forecast death after death for him.
I would not let a single prediction come true, even if I had to chain myself to Mark with iron, weld every manhole in the vicinity, and add extra handrails to every staircase so he could grip them with both hands and never slip again. Locking him in four walls seemed a tempting solution too—at least until I found the main source of danger: the trickster who had been slipping prophecy-laden pages into my laptop. I didn't rule out the possibility that he had been setting traps in advance, taking pleasure in watching me unravel. Because of him, I had to stay on high alert, and after the bus incident, I resolved not to leave Mark's side for even a step.
It took him some time to straighten up and take in his surroundings. He still looked downcast, but that would pass, I knew, if I could redirect his thoughts—because as long as the vivid reminder of what had happened remained before his eyes, he was sure to get caught in new hypothetical scenarios.
Afraid to leave him alone, I called out to Ildar, who was still hovering near the bus driver with his phone pressed to his ear. I gestured toward Mark and myself, and then toward my car. Ildar nodded, and I hoped he had understood my silent message: "We'll be waiting for you in the car."
Either way, I led Mark to the parking lot. After a moment's hesitation, he sat down inside the car, and an unfamiliar, heavy silence settled over the space. All the chaos was left behind.
Yet I felt it—something had shifted. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but Mark seemed tense, his posture reminding me eerily of Svetozar, who had once huddled in the back seat as if trying to keep as far away from me as possible.
I shook my head, driving the intrusive thought away. Mark must have been shaken by how close he had come to dying—and by an outcome no human mind could reasonably explain. That was the only rational explanation; everything else was speculation.
After all, I was on edge myself. The absurd story with the prophetic pages on my laptop refused to leave my thoughts—and how could it, when words kept turning into ominous predictions, threatening not just anyone, but the person dearest to me?
I gently rested my fingers on Mark's knee and began to stroke it in what I hoped was a soothing gesture, but his body tensed even more.
"Mark…" I began softly. "It's over now. You're not in danger anymore."
He slowly lifted his gaze from my hand to my face and froze, as if seeing me for the first time. A thin crease appeared between his brows.
"You think so?" he asked, his voice heavy with unspoken doubt.
I should have understood even then that our shared fairy tale had reached its end—but I was blind. Reality crept up on us, already raising its hand to shatter the carefully constructed idyll of our relationship. Hand in hand, we began our descent into hell, and there was no way back.