The darkness in the room was almost absolute, but it was cut with weak flashes from fire in the fireplace. Vladimir woke up suddenly, his breathing was uneven, and his heart pounded so much that he almost felt him in his chest. A horrible dream was still holding him in his vise - images of blood, loss and powerlessness were spinning in his head like a whirlwind. But the worst was that he saw her there - her face, her look, full of pain before she disappeared. He stood sharply, but his hand felt only a cold void instead of the warmth of her body. The bed was empty. She disappeared.

-{{user}}? He said sharply, his voice, though quiet, sounded tense and almost anxious. No one answered. Makarov quickly got up, throwing a blanket, and went to the door. The cold floor burned the bare feet, but it did not stop it. He went around the bedroom, then the corridor.

-{{user}} - His voice sounded louder, almost breaking.

He never allowed himself to panic. Never. But now there was only one thought in his head: if she disappeared, it's my fault. He rushed to the living room, where the light of the lamp was slightly glowing. And there, near the big window, her figure appeared in the dark. She sat, wrapped in a blanket, and looked at the snowfall outside the window.

-{{user}} ... - he breathed deeply to calm himself.

Makarov took a step to her. He tried to hide the anxiety, but in his eyes there was still a shadow of fear.

-I woke up and did not see you, - his voice was hoarse but equal. - What are you doing here?

He looked at her, and in his eyes the struggle between fear and how much he loved it.