chapter 12 Mina and Mark

Chapter 12: The Trouble With Knowing

Morning came thin and pale, as if it hadn’t slept either.

Mina woke first. Her body felt heavy, stitched together by fatigue and adrenaline that had nowhere left to go. She lay still, listening to the room. The hum of the air conditioner. A distant car. Mark’s breathing.

That mattered.

He lay on his back, eyes closed, one arm across his ribs, his face drawn but calm in a way that felt borrowed.

Mina stayed where she was, afraid that if she moved, the night would rush back in to claim him again. She slipped from the bed and crossed to the window .Daylight made the olive groves look almost gentle. Silver-green leaves, neat rows, birds darting low. The sort of landscape that promised order. The sort that could hide a body just as easily.Behind her, Mark stirred.He woke fast, fear arriving before memory. It took a second for his eyes to settle on her, another for his shoulders to loosen.“You’re here,” he said quietly.“I am.”He nodded, pressed his hand to his ribs, winced. Pain grounded him. She could see that.They sat with coffee that tasted like regret and biscuits that turned to dust in the mouth. Neither of them mentioned the night at first.It was Mark who broke.“There was someone in your kitchen,” he said suddenly.Mina looked up. “I know.”“No,” he said. “I mean… I saw him. With the whisky glass. Sitting like he belonged there.”Her stomach tightened. “You told me that.”Mark shook his head slowly. “But what if that was me?”Mina didn’t speak.“What if I went in there and didn’t remember?” he went on. “What if my head filled in the rest?”She held his gaze. “The glass was moved.”He flinched. “That doesn’t mean anything. I’ve done worse things and convinced myself I hadn’t.”The room felt smaller.“If it was real,” Mark said, his voice thinning, “then they’re already inside our lives. Watching. Touching things. Leaving messages.”“And if it wasn’t?”“Then I don’t know when to trust myself anymore.”That was the danger. Not the men. Not the chase. The erosion.Mina leaned forward. “Mark, I didn’t imagine it. I smelt the whisky. I felt the air change. That wasn’t just you.”He searched her face like he was looking for cracks.“You’re sure?” he asked.“As sure as I can be about anything right now.”He nodded, but the doubt didn’t leave. It had already made itself comfortable.Psychosis had never announced itself politely. It crept in through reasonable questions. Through maybes.

They packed again. Slower. More careful. Mina checked drawers. Mark checked corners. Both of them checking different threats.In the car park, the day was bright enough to feel exposed

.“We need distance,” Mina said as they got into the van. “Real distance.”Mark started the engine. “Spain.”She glanced at him. “You sure?”

“No,” he said. “

But south makes sense.”

He’d looked it up in the night. She knew he had. His phone lay open between them now, battery bleeding out, maps half-loaded.“Blanes?” Mina said, reading over his shoulder.“Or L’Estartit,” he replied. “Smaller. Quieter.”“Or easier to vanish in,” she said.“Or easier to get trapped,” he countered.They pulled out onto the road heading south, France stretching wide and indifferent around them.As the hours passed, Mark grew quieter. His thoughts didn’t spill now. They folded inward, which was worse. He checked the mirrors too often. Jumped at ordinary things. A sudden brake light. A motorbike passing too close.“You’re not broken,” Mina said at one point, not looking at him.“I don’t know that,” he replied.She wanted to argue. She didn’t. This wasn’t logic territory.By late afternoon, the signs began to change again. Catalan crept in alongside French. Place names that sounded like water and stone.Spain felt close enough to imagine. Close enough to hope for.Mark gripped the wheel harder.“If I lose it,” he said quietly, “you need to go without me.”Mina turned then. “No.”“I mean it.”“I know you do,” she said. “And the answer’s still no.” He didn’t push. He didn’t trust himself to. They drove on, the road narrowing, the light shifting gold.Behind them, nothing followed.Ahead of them, nothing promised safety .And Mark, caught between memory and fear, could no longer tell which enemy would reach him first.