Phase 1: Phone Call

The phone felt heavier in my hand than it ever had before, as if the weight of the world had settled upon it. Its cold, lifeless surface contrasted sharply with the turmoil that was boiling inside me, a storm of emotions that seemed ready to burst forth at any moment. The device, once a simple means of communication, now felt like a lifeline to a past I both yearned for and dreaded to revisit.

"Hello, this is Nial," the calm voice on the other end echoed through the line, oblivious to the storm raging within me. His voice, steady and unsuspecting, flowed through the receiver, sounding like a distant echo from a life that once was. How could he sound so serene when my world was on the brink of collapsing?

Despite the residual tremors coursing through my hands from the pain that had mercilessly ripped through my chest moments ago, I summoned a smile. A façade, a feeble attempt to cloak the turmoil churning within. This must be done, I reminded myself sternly, pushing back the tendrils of doubt that threatened to entangle my resolve. My heart pounded in my chest, a relentless drum echoing the fear and desperation that I fought to keep at bay.

"Hi Nial. This is Luke Smith. Not sure if you remember me, but you did a small fencing job for me a few years ago, out in Berriedale." The words hung in the air, suspended between the present reality and the memories I desperately sought to keep at bay. Each syllable felt heavy, loaded with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. I could almost see the sun setting over the fence he had worked on, a fence that marked the boundaries of a life that now felt so far away.

Nial's response was surprisingly prompt, as if he had been expecting my call, anticipating the reunion of our fates. "With the small dog that followed me like a shadow and had to keep poking his nose into everything, yeah?" His voice held a chuckle, a recollection of canine antics that brought a fleeting warmth to the conversation. For a moment, I could picture that small dog, its curious eyes and wagging tail, a stark contrast to the heavy heart I carried.

"That's the one," I replied, mirroring the lightheartedness, though my eyes tightly closed in an effort to banish the memories of my beloved Duke. The image of him, so vivid and heart-wrenching, threatened to overpower my composure. Be brave. Be bold. Do it for Henri. I repeated the mantra in my head, a lifeline in the swirling sea of emotions that threatened to engulf me.

"I remember it well," said Nial, his voice dancing with a light and energetic cadence. It was as if his words were imbued with a liveliness that I desperately yearned for, a reminder of simpler times. "What can I do for you?"

"I have an urgent job that I need done in the next couple of days," I replied, the necessity of the situation pressing against the constraints of time, making each second feel more precious and perilous.

"Hmph," scoffed Nial, a deep sound resonating in my ear. His skepticism was a tangible force, an obstacle that I needed to overcome. "That's not enough lead time. I need at least two weeks." His words were like a cold splash of reality, dousing the flicker of hope that had started to ignite within me.

"You'll be well compensated for it," I lied. As the words left my mouth, a part of me recoiled at the ease with which the lie had surfaced. My brain raced to concoct any reason that might sway Nial's decision, for Henri's sake. The stakes were too high to be hindered by scruples.

"How much?" Nial inquired, a hint of curiosity cutting through the skepticism in his tone. There was a shift in his voice, a subtle but noticeable change that hinted at the potential to sway his decision.

"One hundred thousand dollars," I replied, a figure that hung suspended, briefly questioning its own audacity. The number felt surreal, almost fantastical, yet it was the bait I hoped would clinch the deal. "In cash," I added, the words spilling forth, a commitment made before I could second-guess the weight they carried. The enormity of the promise loomed over me, a towering wave that threatened to crash down at any moment.

"Shit! What sort of job is it?" Nial's curiosity grew, echoing my own internal interrogation. What was I getting myself into?

"It's... uh... it's a pretty big job. Look, why don't you meet me in Collinsvale, and we can go over the rough plans. Tell me what you think before you give your yay or nay." My voice faltered slightly, betraying a hint of the unease that I was desperately trying to mask. The suggestion to meet was a gamble, a play to gain time and perhaps, in some way, validation for this madness.

"Oh, you're not in Berriedale anymore?" The question struck a nerve, a reminder of the intricacies of the web I was weaving. The past and present seemed to collide in that moment, each battling for dominance in my mind. I had to keep my story straight, had to maintain the façade.

"Yeah, I'm still in Berriedale. Just helping a friend out." The lie slipped out smoothly, a practiced deceit that I hoped would cover my tracks. Each word felt like a step further into a maze of my own making, with no clear path back to the truth.

"Cash?" Nial echoed, seeking reassurance. His repetition of the word 'cash' reverberated in my ears, a reminder of the enormity of what I was proposing. It felt like a test, a measure of my commitment to this precarious plan.

"That's right. One hundred thousand of it," I asserted, my confidence belying the turmoil beneath the surface. I forced strength into my voice, projecting an assurance I was far from feeling. "On top of the cost of materials," I added hastily, as if to further justify the exorbitant sum. The words felt like a lifeline, a way to make the deal more palatable, more real.

"I'll meet you there in thirty," declared Nial, his eagerness for an immediate meeting catching me off guard. His quick acceptance and readiness to act sent a jolt through me, a mix of relief and apprehension. Was this really happening?

"Great. I'll text you the address." My response was automatic, a reflex in this rapidly unfolding scenario. I was committed now, the pieces set in motion, a game that I had to see through to the end.

"Okay," said Nial, concluding the call. His words, simple and final, marked the end of our conversation, but the beginning of a path from which there was no return.

As the line went silent, I inhaled deeply, the air thick with the weight of my own deception. It felt heavy, almost suffocating, as if the very act of breathing had become a chore in this new strategy I had crafted. The phone in my hand, once a mere device, now felt like a symbol of the deceit I had woven, its surface cold and impersonal against my increasingly clammy palm.

I clutched the sides of the bench, my knuckles whitening under the strain. The bench, once a place of respite in my kitchen, now felt like a confessional, a witness to the web of lies I had spun. My eyes burned like an uncontrolled bushfire, ready to consume everything in its path. The intensity of my gaze reflected the turmoil raging inside me, a wildfire of emotions that scorched every rational thought.

Thick, black billows of smoky guilt smothered my mind, a relentless reminder of the choices I had made. The guilt was suffocating, a dense fog that clouded my judgement and choked my conscience. It was a stark contrast to the clear, moral guidelines I had once adhered to, now obscured by the complexity of my situation.

"Why!?" I screamed out in agony, the anguished cry escaping the confines of my being. The sound tore through the quiet of the house, shattering the serenity of the morning. It was a raw, primal sound, born from the depths of despair and regret. The cry was not just a question, but a lamentation for the path I had chosen, tortured by the deadly impact of my actions.

Yet still, amidst the tempest of regret, I knew the wheels had been set in motion. There was a bitter acceptance in this realisation, a resignation to the new course I had set.

For Henri, I reminded myself. It was for Henri.

Phase 2: Collection

"For fuck's sake!" I swore, the exclamation escaping my lips as my foot collided with one of the precarious stacks of nature magazines lining the narrow hallway of the Owen's home. The sudden contact sent a jolt through me, a physical manifestation of the turmoil inside. Gravity asserted its dominance, and I found myself tumbling to the floor, the magazines sprawling out in front of me like a mocking reminder of my own clumsiness. They fanned across the floor in a chaotic array, a vivid metaphor for the disarray in my life.

In a fit of frustration, emotions spilled over once more, and I unleashed my anger on the periodicals, tossing every goddamn magazine I could see into the open maw of the Portal against the hallway wall. Each magazine flung felt like a release, a futile attempt to rid myself of the frustration and desperation clawing at my insides.

My pacing did little to ease the ache in my heart or the nervous energy escalating within me. The hallway, now stripped of its paper clutter, felt like a confined space, the walls closing in on me with each passing minute. The bareness of the corridor only served to amplify my sense of isolation and entrapment, a physical echo of the mental prison I had built for myself.

Up and down the now-empty corridor, I retraced the steps of my restless journey, the details of the strategy replaying in my mind like a broken record. It was a simple plan, a precarious dance of deception. I had promised Nial a hundred thousand dollars in cash, but my pockets were barren of such wealth. The lie weighed heavily on me, a deceitful burden that I bore with every step.

The real agenda was to coerce him into Clivilius, where he could contribute to building secure fences for the settlement. In my mind, I could see the fences, a tangible symbol of safety and security in a world that felt anything but. Nial's fencing business would serve as a legitimate source for supplies, minimising the risk of raising any alarms. It was a calculated move, a strategic manipulation of resources and people.

As for his wife, a ruse using Nial's phone would keep her at bay, thinking he had gone away for a few weeks for work. The thought of involving his wife, of weaving her into this web of lies, added another layer of guilt to my conscience. It was a necessary part of the plan, but that did little to ease the weight of it. Every step, every decision, felt like a further descent into a moral abyss from which there was no easy escape.

"It's the perfect plan! I'm certain of it," I muttered to myself, the conviction in my voice wavering beneath the weight of doubt. The words, meant to be a reassurance, felt hollow, echoing in the empty hallway. Each syllable was a feeble attempt to bolster my own crumbling confidence, a mantra that lacked the certainty it desperately tried to convey.

As I grappled with my thoughts, the sound of tires rolling across wet ground cut through my contemplation like a sharp knife slicing through the thick fog of my mind. It was a jarring, yet grounding reminder that the time for action had arrived. Peering through the front screen door, I watched Nial park his ute beside the large gum trees, their leaves glistening with the remnants of a recent rain. The sight of his vehicle, so mundane and yet so pivotal to my plan, sent a fresh wave of anxiety coursing through me.

Wiping my face clear of residual tears, I forced a smile onto my face. The action felt mechanical, a mask put on for the world to see. It was a smile that didn't reach my eyes, which still held the echo of the turmoil I was trying so desperately to suppress. You just need to get him inside. That's all you have to do, I reminded myself. The thought was both a command and a plea, a focus for the swirling storm of thoughts and emotions that threatened to overwhelm me.

My gaze momentarily shifted to the swirling colours on the hallway wall behind me. They were a vivid representation of the turmoil within me, a physical manifestation of the internal disarray. The colours, so bright and jumbled, seemed to mock my feigned composure.

Each step towards the door felt like wading through treacle, my movements slow and deliberate as I tried to maintain the façade of normalcy. The plan, a delicate house of cards, hinged on my ability to persuade Nial, to draw him into the web I had spun.

"Hey Nial," I greeted him as cheerfully as I could muster, stepping onto the front verandah. The words felt like a costume, ill-fitting and uncomfortable, yet necessary for the role I had to play. The pounding of my heart left no room for patience, and I covered the distance between us before he could take a step. Each stride was an effort to appear casual, to mask the urgency that thrummed through my veins like an electric current.

"Hi Luke," replied Nial, accepting my hand with a firm shake. His grip was solid, grounding. His presence, so real and tangible, was a reminder of the stakes at hand.

"I'm glad you came," I told him, dropping my hands to my sides. My fingers commenced a nervous tap against my legs, a rhythm born of anxiety. It was a small, almost imperceptible movement, but to me, it felt like the drumbeat of war.

"No worries," replied Nial. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't more than a little curious about the job.” His words carried a hint of suspicion, an undercurrent that made my stomach clench.

"Good. That's... that's good," I stammered, my words fumbling in their attempt to mask my inner turmoil. My eyes averted from Nial's penetrating gaze, afraid that he might glimpse the deceit lurking within them.

"The Owen's home?" Nial inquired, his voice carrying a subtle nervousness. The question felt like a probe, a test of the ploy I had so carefully constructed.

My eyes raised, determination flickering within, "Oh, I've got the plans lying on the kitchen table. You'll love them!" I said, giving Nial's shoulder a playful slap. The action was a desperate attempt to inject some lightness into the situation, to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters. "Shall we?" I gestured toward the house, my movements overly animated, betraying my eagerness to get him inside.

"So, a hundred thousand?" Nial asked as we walked in step.

"Cash," I replied calmly, projecting a confidence I did not feel.

"Must be a pretty important job then." His tone was casual, but I could hear the underlying curiosity, a probing for more information.

"Probably the most important you'll ever do," I said, my eyes fixed on the front door, a silent plea for focus. The words were a mix of truth and fabrication, a cocktail of desperation and determination.

Nial's heavy work boots made a solid clomp as he ascended the wooden steps leading to the verandah that stretched the length of the modest cottage. The sound was steady and reassuring, a counterpoint to the erratic beat of my own heart. As we approached the door, the reality of what I was about to do settled over me like a heavy cloak, each step forward sealing my commitment to this nefarious plan.

I held the front screen open, ushering Nial inside. The door's familiar creak seemed louder than usual, reverberating through the tense silence between us. The weight of the moment pressed down on me, each second stretched thin with anticipation.

"Thank you," said Nial, stepping into the doorway. His large frame seemed to fill the space. Gripping the doorway, he paused and turned back to me, a rush of panic coursing through me. His hesitation was like a physical barrier, a wall that threatened to block my carefully laid plans.

"Look, Luke, I'm not sure I can do this," he said, shaking his head. The words hit me like a physical blow, a sudden and unexpected obstacle. My heart raced, panic clawing at the edges of my carefully maintained composure.

"Oh?" I asked, attempting to conceal the panic. Just a few more steps. My voice was a mask of calm, belying the turmoil within. "What's wrong?" The question was an attempt to reel him back in.

"I dunno. It's just... it's a lot of money. And in cash," Nial explained, exhaling deeply. His concern was palpable, a mirror to the doubts that gnawed at my own conscience.

"I get it," I said with a short chuckle. "I suppose I have been a little mysterious about it all, haven't I?" It was a gamble, an attempt to disarm his reservations with humour.

"Maybe just a little," agreed Nial, his face softening slightly. The shift in his expression was a small victory, a crack in the wall of his hesitation.

I smiled widely, a show of confidence I was far from feeling. "I promise it's legit. It'll all make sense once you see the plans." My words were a bridge, an offer of understanding and reassurance.

"You sure?"

I nodded eagerly, my movement a bit too quick, a bit too desperate. "And the Owen's? They're not home?" He was probing, looking for assurance, for stability in the shifting sands of this situation.

"Come, let me show you," I replied, sidestepping Nial's question and urging him to continue into the hallway. It was a delicate dance, leading him on while avoiding the pitfalls of his questions.

"Okay." His acquiescence was a relief, a sign that he was still on board, albeit tentatively.

"The kitchen's just down the end of the hallway and to the left," I directed.

A pleased grin spread across my face as Nial's pace slowed, his attention irresistibly drawn to the mesmerising colours of the Portal that still swirled across almost the entire length of the hallway wall. The Portal, a riot of colours and shapes, was like a siren's call, drawing him in with its otherworldly beauty.

"That's a remarkable piece of work," said Nial, unable to pull his eyes away. His fascination was evident, his guard momentarily lowered in the face of such wonder.

"I know. I've seen it a dozen times now, and I still think it's spectacular," I said. My words were a lure, keeping his attention fixed on the Portal, away from the lingering doubts and questions.

Sensing the growing strength of Nial's ease, like a fearless lion, I lunged at him. It was a calculated move, a culmination of strategy and desperation. Having learned from earlier encounters, my shoulder collided forcefully with Nial's side. The impact was a release, a physical manifestation of the pent-up tension and fear.

Unable to stop the inertia, and with nowhere to grab onto, Nial fell into the spectacular artwork and vanished. The sight of his disappearance was surreal, a moment frozen in time, both triumphant and terrifying.

Closing the Portal, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Despite Nial's larger frame, that was much easier than Kain's episode, and as easy as I had hoped for. The relief was short-lived, quickly replaced by the weight of what I had just done.

Now, that's phase two of the plan done. The thought was a cold comfort, a reminder that the path I had chosen was irrevocable, each step forward a further descent into a world where the ends justified the means.

Phase 3: Confirmation

The ute roared to life, a thunderous sound that shattered the serene atmosphere, startling the several geese that had ambled up from the small pond behind the house. Their flapping wings and hurried quacks added a layer of liveliness to the scene. As the engine hummed with power, my eyes performed another three-sixty, absorbing the scene that had once been a sanctuary. The thick native Tasmanian trees encircling the property cocooned it in a shield of protection, warding off the prying eyes of distant neighbours. Their towering forms, stoic and silent, seemed to watch over me, a reminder of the world's beauty that lay just beyond the chaos I had ensnared myself in.

In this moment, amidst the rustling leaves and the occasional quack of the geese, tranquility blanketed the landscape, momentarily eclipsing the weight of the dramas I had initiated and had no idea how to stop. It was a bittersweet solace, a fleeting escape from the relentless advance of my own machinations.

"I love this spot," I whispered to myself, a fleeting attempt to find solace in the familiar surroundings that had become a backdrop to my tangled endeavours. The words were a caress, a soft touch against the harsh reality of my actions. They were a reminder of what I was fighting for, a plea for forgiveness from the land that bore witness to my deceit.

Having meticulously filled Nial's ute to the brim with supplies collected from the Owens' house, a peculiar readiness settled within me. It was a readiness tinged with resignation, a preparation for the next phase of my plan. Ready to face the man I had deceived, yet secretly hoping that time had worked its magic, and someone else had taken Nial to camp. Perhaps, in some twisted way, I could absolve myself of the direct consequences of my actions. Perhaps, I could conveniently leave the ute by the Portal, a silent testament to the deeds done in the shadows.

But the practicalities nagged at me. "But I need him to tell me where his office is," I sighed, acknowledging that avoidance was not an option. The realisation was a weight, a heavy cloak that settled on my shoulders. With the key still nestled in the ignition, I extracted it from its chain. Stuffing the remaining keys into my pocket, I felt the sharp edges against my thigh, a constant reminder of the choices made and the path that lay ahead. Each step, each decision, felt like a further entanglement in a web of my own making, a journey through a landscape that I had altered irrevocably with my actions.

The Clivilian dust erupted into a plume as I drove through the Portal, signalling my arrival in a manner as dramatic as the circumstances that had compelled me here. The landscape of Clivilius, with its rugged terrain and the fine dust that seemed to hang in the air, greeted me like an old friend, albeit one whose embrace was tinged with the complexity of my intentions. And to my surprise, Nial was standing nearby, engaged in conversation with Kain, an unexpected juxtaposition of my old life against the backdrop of my current predicament.

"Why is he here?" Kain demanded the moment I emerged from the ute. His voice, laced with accusation, cut through the air. I could feel the tension, palpable and charged, a silent standoff in the dust.

"He owns a fence construction business," I replied curtly, aiming to truncate the conversation, to shield Nial from the complex intricacies that had woven themselves into the fabric of the last few days. Each word was measured, an attempt to navigate the minefield of questions and implications that Kain's inquiry had unearthed.

Kain nodded, a silent acknowledgment of the necessity to bring another person into Clivilius. It was a gesture that carried the weight of acceptance, albeit reluctantly, a concession to the dire needs of our community.

"These include your office keys?" I turned to Nial, presenting the keys I had retrieved from my pocket.

"Yeah," Nial replied, his expression a canvas of confusion. His voice, tinged with uncertainty, echoed the tumultuous thoughts that I imagined were racing through his mind. The situation, so far removed from the ordinary, must have seemed like an unfathomable puzzle to him.

Kain can deal with Nial’s introduction to the camp, I reassured myself, resisting the urge to unravel the convoluted events of the past few days to bring Nial up to speed. It was a decision born of necessity, a way to distance myself from the immediate fallout, to preserve what little integrity remained in the web of lies I had spun.

"Where's your office?" I inquired, cutting to the chase. The question, direct and devoid of any prelude, was my attempt to steer the conversation towards practicalities, away from the moral quagmire that threatened to consume my mind.

"It's a home office. Why?" Nial questioned, his brows furrowed in a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Great. The key is still in the ignition," I informed the two men, the words hanging in the air as a precursor to my departure. It was a statement of finality, a closing chapter on this phase of the plan, leaving the intricacies of what came next for Nial, in their hands.

Without further ado, I walked through the Portal, the threshold between worlds swallowing me whole. Stepping back into the familiar yet now alien landscape of my own world, I was acutely aware of the bridge I had just crossed, a bridge that spanned not just worlds but the vast expanse of my own moral compass. The journey back was a solitary one, filled with the echoes of my actions and the unyielding path that lay ahead.

Phase 4: The Office

The day already felt like it was slipping through my fingers, a realisation that weighed on me as heavily as the morning dew clinging to the blades of grass along the driveway of Nial Triffett's house. The visit to his home had taken longer than I anticipated, an unfortunate reminder of the unforeseen challenges that seemed to proliferate with each step I took deeper into this tangled web of responsibility. I had naively expected to find his address plastered all over the internet, but reality, as it often does, had different plans. An old invoice from a small job Nial did for me years ago became my unexpected saviour, its fine print holding the key, quite literally, to his whereabouts. His business address, assumed to be his home address, was a treasure buried at the bottom of the invoice, a breadcrumb in my quest that I had almost overlooked.

Parking discreetly a few doors down, I found myself now striding somewhat confidently down the driveway, keys to Nial's home and office clutched in my hand like talismans. The plan, in theory, was straightforward: let myself in and transport Nial's entire office to Clivilius. There was no need for covert break-ins this time. With Nial's office situated in Clivilius, he could assist in ordering supplies to fortify the settlement with much-needed fencing. The practicalities of executing such a plan, however, danced on the edge of my consciousness, a ballet of moral and logistical dilemmas.

After a series of knocks to confirm the absence of occupants, the first key I tried slid into the front door, turning with a reassuring clunk. The sound was a symphony of progress, a promising, yet fleeting moment of things going according to plan. The ease of entry brought a rare smile to my face—a welcome departure from the complications that seemed to haunt every Guardian task.

The last time I had ventured into someone's home under such circumstances was to collect clothing for Glenda, Kain, and Joel, a task that should have been simple but proved otherwise. The memory served as a poignant reminder that nothing is straightforward about being a Guardian. Each step taken, each decision made, seemed to unravel in unexpected ways, weaving a fabric of complexity that I was constantly struggling to keep from fraying.

As I stepped into Nial's home, the air heavy with the silent stories of its inhabitants, I couldn't shake the feeling of intrusion, a violation of privacy that weighed heavily on my conscience. Yet, the urgency of our situation in Clivilius, the lives depending on these actions, propelled me forward. It was a delicate balance, navigating the thin line between right and wrong, each action a testament to the sacrifices demanded by the role of a Guardian.

Once inside, closing the front door behind me, a deep growl pierced the air, shattering the silence with its menacing promise. I turned to face a lanky Dalmatian, teeth bared in a warning that left little room for misunderstanding. My heart leaped into my throat. Swallowing an initial surge of panic, I addressed the dog with calm authority, an attempt to mask my inner turmoil. "Sit," I instructed, my voice steady, projecting a confidence I scarcely felt. To my surprise, the dog obeyed, its posture shifting from aggression to cautious obedience.

"Stay," I commanded, my voice imbued with a hope that its trained obedience would grant me passage through this unexpected obstacle. My gaze then shifted to the closed door off the hallway, which I assumed led to Nial's home office. Carefully, I slid another key into the lock, my attention divided between the task at hand and the watchful eyes of the Dalmatian.

As the dog darted past me, a sudden chiming from my phone caused me to startle, the abrupt sound jarring in the quiet of the house. Retrieving it from my pocket, I read the message.

14.17PM Jane: Luke, Thelma is with me. We need the key back that she gave you.

"Shit," I muttered under my breath, the timing of the message adding another layer of complication to an already precarious situation. "They'll just have to wait," I whispered to the dog at my feet, trying to convince myself more than the animal. My gaze then settled on what I presumed to be Nial's cluttered work desk. The mahogany surface, polished to a sheen, hinted at craftsmanship that could only be Nial's—a testament to his attention to detail and skill.

My fingers traced the smooth surface, inadvertently displacing several papers that drifted to the floor in a gentle cascade. The dog emitted a quick bark as the papers fell, a sound that seemed more curious than threatening now. A closed laptop occupied a central position on the desk, its presence a beacon of hope amidst the clutter. Finally, the universe is on my side, I thought, a rare flicker of optimism surfacing amidst the layers of challenges and moral quandaries.

My phone chimed again, a shrill sound that seemed to echo the urgency of the situation.

14.23 Jane: It's urgent. Come now.

"For fuck's sake," I hissed under my breath, my frustration mounting with each passing second. The words on the screen felt like a tether, pulling me back to a reality I was desperately trying to navigate. Torn between aiding my newfound grandmother, Jane, and bolstering the settlement's security, I found myself at a crossroads, each path laden with its own set of implications. My gaze returned to the desk, a symbol of the task I had set out to accomplish. A few more hours' delay won't make any difference, I reasoned with myself, trying to find justification in my decision. They can't order materials and build a fence in that time anyway, I continued, my mind seeking solace in the logic of my own argument.

"Nial, are you home?" a woman's voice echoed from the direction of the front door, slicing through the silence of the house like a cold draft. My heart skipped a beat, the sudden intrusion of another human voice igniting a spark of panic within me. The Dalmatian, previously my reluctant ally, trotted out, betraying my presence with its movements. The loyalty of pets, it seemed, was not to be underestimated.

The pounding of my heart felt as if it might burst through my ribcage, each beat a thunderous reminder of the precariousness of my situation. Realising the decision had been made for me, I hastily seized the laptop. The device, so central to my plans, now felt like a heavy weight in my hands.

With no time to spare, I made my exit through the swirling colours of the Portal, activated inconspicuously on the side of a tall filing cabinet. The transition between worlds, normally a moment of awe and wonder, now felt like a desperate escape, a leap into the unknown driven by necessity. As the familiar yet always unsettling sensation of crossing through the Portal enveloped me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of loss, a poignant reminder of the world and responsibilities I was momentarily leaving behind.