Chapter 50: FIFTY

J A D E

After my small walk, I returned back to the apartment. As I approached the living room, I saw a man sitting on the couch, chatting with Markov. He was dressed in a tailored black suit, his dark hair slicked back. He had an air of confidence, of power, that was both intimidating and intriguing.

He looked up as I entered, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. "You must be Jade," he said, his voice smooth as silk. "I've heard so much about you."

"Who are you?" I asked, my guard instantly up.

"A friend," he said, rising to his feet. He extended a hand. "I’ll be taking my leave now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Jade."

I didn't take his hand. I just stood there, my arms crossed, my expression wary.

He chuckled, a low, amused sound. "Feisty. I like it."

He turned to Markov, a look of understanding passing between them. "We'll talk later."

Markov nodded, his expression grim. "Be careful."

"Always," he said, and with a final, lingering glance in my direction, he was gone.

I watched him go, a million questions racing through my mind. Who was he? What was he doing here? And what did he mean, 'taking my leave'? It sounded like he had been here for a while.

I turned to Markov, my eyes narrowed.

"Since when did I give you the permission to bring in strangers into my home?"

Markov sighed, running a hand through his hair. "He's not a stranger. He's a friend of mine. He came to discuss… business. You were out on your walk, I didn't know when you'd be back. I am sorry."

"He's still a stranger to me," I insisted, my anger rising. "This is my apartment, Markov. You can't just invite people over without my permission."

"You're right," he said, his voice tired. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

But I could see the frustration in his eyes, the barely contained anger. He was humoring me, placating me. And it pissed me off.

"I want to know what kind of 'business' you two were discussing," I demanded, my tone challenging.

"Jade, please," he pleaded, his expression weary. "Not now."

"No, now," I insisted, my resolve hardening. "If you’re staying in my house, the least you could do is be transparent with me. You owe me that much."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, a telltale sign of his rising frustration. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me," I shot back, my chin held high.

"I’m not in the best of moods, Jade," he said, a low growl starting to build in his chest. "Don't push me."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down. I was tired of being kept in the dark, of being treated like a fragile, ignorant child who couldn't handle the truth.

"Fine," he finally snapped, his patience worn thin. "You want to know? We were discussing you. About the threat Saffra poses. About the best way to keep you alive. Happy now?"

He sat on the bed, cradling his head like he was having a migraine. As much as I wanted to act like I didn’t care, I couldn't help but notice the pain in his voice. He looked so vulnerable, so broken.

I felt a pang of guilt, but I quickly pushed it away. He had no right to talk to me like that. He had no right to keep secrets from me.

"What was that about?" I asked, pointing at the space where the man had been. "Was he a…?"

"He was a friend. He’s a wizard. He's been helping me track Saffra's movements. He just came to update me."

My blood ran cold. A wizard. So it was true. This world, this hidden world of magic and monsters, was real. They weren’tjust stories. They were right here, in my living room.

I sat down on the couch, my legs suddenly feeling weak. I felt like I was in a dream, a weird, twisted dream I couldn't wake up from.

"Wizards?" I finally managed to say, my voice barely a whisper. "Like… with wands and pointy hats?"

He almost laughed. A small, tired smile ghosted across his lips. "Not quite. They don't use wands. Their power comes from within. From their connection to the natural world."

I stared at him, my mind struggling to process the information. It was too much. Too fast.

"So… that man… he's a wizard? And he's been helping you?"

"Yes," he said, his expression serious. "He's one of the good guys. He's on our side."

"And what about Amy?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Is she… one of them? A witch?"

"I don't know for sure," he admitted, his honesty catching me off guard. "But it's likely. The potion she gave you… it's a powerful piece of magic. Not something a novice could create."

I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. My friend. My kind, sweet friend. Was she a witch? Was she one of the bad guys?

"I don't believe it," I said, shaking my head. "She's my friend. She wouldn't do that to me."

"Okay. I’m not trying to fight you on that, Jade." He laid on the couch. "I’m having a migraine." He was massaging the sides of his head. "Let’s just drop this subject. Please."

The plea in his voice was so raw, so vulnerable, it made my heart ache. I wanted to hold him, to comfort him, but I couldn't. I was still too angry, too hurt.

I stood up and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights. The world outside seemed so normal, so mundane. People were walking their dogs, couples were holding hands, kids were playing in the park. They were living their lives, oblivious to the hidden war that was raging all around them.

I felt a strange sense of detachment, of unreality. I was no longer a part of that world. I was something else. Something… other.

I went to the drawer and opened the first aid kit I had. I rummaged through it for a bit, until I found what I was looking for. I walked to the kitchen, got a glass of water and returned to the living room, sitting next to him on the couch.

I placed the pills and the glass on the table in front of him.

"What's this?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

"Something for your migraine," I said, my voice soft.

He opened his eyes, a look of surprise on his face. "You're still angry with me."

"I am," I said, my expression unreadable. "But I'm not a monster. I don't like seeing you in pain."

He stared at me for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Then, he slowly sat up, a wince of pain crossing his face. He took the pills, swallowing them with the water.

"Thank you," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

"You're welcome," I said, my gaze dropping to my hands. An awkward silence filled the room, thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.

I wanted to ask him more questions, to probe deeper into this hidden world he was a part of. But I was afraid. Afraid of the answers. Afraid of what I might find.

I rose my shaky hand, touching his neck to feel his temperature. I immediately retreated my hand when the heat started to burn my fingertips. He was really burning up.

"You're getting worse," I noted, worry creeping into my voice. "Do you think you should go see a doctor?"

"I'll be fine," he said, his tone dismissive. "It's just a migraine. I've had worse."

I didn't like the sound of that, but I knew better than to push him. I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

"Well, if you need anything, let me know. I'm going to bed. You should get some rest too."

"I will," he promised, his voice weak.

I walked to the bedroom, deciding I was going to take a warm shower, then hit the sack. As I was walking to the bathroom, a thought struck me.

Why was I helping him? After all he had put me through, why did I care?

It was the same question that had been haunting me since the day I met him. And just like before, I had no answer. All I knew was that, despite everything, I couldn't bear to see him suffer.

Maybe that made me a fool. Maybe it made me a fool. Or maybe, just maybe, it made me a good person.

As I stepped into the shower, the warm water washing over me, I decided it was probably a little bit of both.

I got out, dried myself, and threw on my pajamas.

I walked out of the bathroom, feeling better. Markov was asleep on the couch, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His face was peaceful, his brow no longer furrowed in pain.

I sat on the couch and stared at him, unable to tear my eyes away. He was so beautiful, so perfect, it made my heart ache. Even as he slept, he exuded an aura of strength, of power. But beneath that, I could see the vulnerability, the loneliness. He had carried the burden of his past for so long, it had become a part of him.

I wanted to help him. I wanted to ease his pain. But how could I, when I was still struggling to deal with my own? When I was still healing from the pain he has caused me?

I sighed, shaking my head. We were both a mess. A mess that seemed to be getting worse, not better.

I turned off the TV and the lights, and went to my bed, sliding under the covers. I closed my eyes, exhaustion taking over.

Just before I fell asleep, a thought flashed through my mind.

Maybe that was what drew us together. Our shared pain, our broken souls. Maybe we were destined to heal each other. Or maybe, we were destined to destroy each other.

I didn't know.

I woke up in the middle of the night, my throat dry and patchy. I reached for the glass of water I usually had on the nightstand, only to find it wasn't there.

"Shit," I mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I got out of bed and went to the kitchen, filling up a glass from the sink. I took a sip, the cool water soothing my parched throat.

As I was making my way back to bed, a noise caught my attention.

I stopped, straining my ears. Then I slowly walked into the living room. It was Markov. His teeth were chattering and he looked super uncomfortable on the couch. He was sweating profusely, a pained look on his face.

"Markov?" I whispered, putting my glass on the coffee table.

"J-Jade," he muttered, his eyes fluttering open.

I put my palm on his forehead. He was burning up, his skin hot to the touch.

"You have a fever," I said, worried.

"I-I'm fine," he said, but the stutter in his voice told me otherwise.

"No, you're not," I insisted. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

"I c-can't," he protested, but I was already helping him up.

"It's okay," I said, draping his arm around my shoulder. "I've got you."

We slowly made our way to the bedroom, his weight leaning against me.

Once we got there, I helped him into bed.

"There," I said, pulling the covers up to his chest. "Comfortable?"

"Y-Yes," he stuttered, his eyes already closing.

I grabbed the wet towel from the nightstand and started patting his face, trying to bring down his fever.

"Shhhh," I whispered. "Just rest. You'll be okay."

His breathing was shallow, his face pale. I wondered if I should call a doctor, but I didn't want to risk exposing him. If the authorities found out what he was, he'd be locked up in some secret government facility. Humans were that terrified of monsters.

So I did the only thing I could. I kept him comfortable and prayed his fever would break.

It was a long, sleepless night. I kept watch by his side, making sure his fever didn't get worse. It didn't, thank God, but he was still in a bad way.