By Encounter Seventy, Elias stopped pretending his body was on his side.
It wasn't a dramatic betrayal. No collapsing in public. No urgent sirens. Just small, stubborn reminders that something inside him was quietly rearranging the rules.
His hands shook more often now. Not enough for strangers to notice, but enough that he noticed. His appetite came and went like an unreliable friend. Sleep arrived late and left early, slipping out before he could ask it to stay.
The worst part was the fatigue. Not the kind that begged for rest, but the kind that made everything feel slightly heavier than it should have been. As if gravity had decided to personalize itself.
He started carrying a water bottle everywhere, like hydration might solve existential decay. If nothing else, it gave him something to hold when his hands needed convincing they still had purpose.
Encounter Seventy-One happened on a bench outside the hospital cafeteria.
He wasn't there for an appointment. He told himself that mattered.
She emerged through the sliding doors with a paper cup in one hand and her phone in the other, shoulders slumped in a way that suggested the day had already asked too much of her.
She spotted him before he could look away.
This time, there was no confusion in her eyes. No almost-recognition.
She knew him.
"Hey," she said, slowing her steps. "You're the croissant guy."
Elias blinked. Then smiled. "I've peaked early."
She laughed, a real one this time, brief but unguarded. "You always show up in the most random places."
"So do you," he said, then winced internally. Too familiar. Too close to admitting something.
She gestured to the bench. "Mind if I sit?"
He shook his head. "Please. It's not exactly reserved seating."
She sat, leaving a polite gap between them that felt both considerate and cruel.
For a moment, they watched people come and go. Nurses. Visitors. Patients moving carefully, like each step needed permission.
"Do you work here?" Elias asked, though he already knew the answer.
She nodded. "Yeah. I'm a nurse."
"Thought so," he said.
She glanced at him, curious. "You did?"
"You have the walk," he said. "Like you're always heading somewhere important."
She smiled softly. "Or like I'm always running late."
He wanted to tell her that lateness was relative. That some people would give anything to be late for ordinary things.
Instead, he said, "Still. It suits you."
She looked down at her cup. "You're kind."
He shrugged. "I'm observant. There's a difference."
She tilted her head. "You say that like it's a defense."
He almost laughed. Almost.
"What about you?" she asked. "Do you come here often? The hospital, I mean."
The question was casual. Dangerous in its simplicity.
Elias hesitated. "Sometimes."
"For work?" she asked.
"No," he said. "For… maintenance."
She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds ominous."
"Trust me," he said lightly, "I'm not that interesting."
She studied him, eyes lingering a second too long. "People usually say that when they are."
A silence settled between them. Not awkward. Just full.
Elias felt something shift inside him, a subtle but irreversible adjustment. Like a clock hand moving forward without permission.
"What's your name?" she asked.
His heart stuttered.
This was it. Or close enough to matter.
"Elias," he said.
She smiled. "I'm Mara."
The name fit her. Simple. Grounded. Like something that didn't need explanation.
"Mara," he repeated, testing the weight of it.
She stood after a moment, slipping her phone into her pocket. "I should get back."
"Of course," Elias said. "People to save."
She smiled at that. "Something like that."
She took a step away, then paused. "You know… if you're ever waiting around here for maintenance again, you don't have to do it alone."
Elias nodded, throat tight. "I'll keep that in mind."
As she walked back inside, he felt the unmistakable sense that something had crossed a line.
Encounter Seventy-One.
He didn't write anything that night.