The morning sun broke through the bedroom blinds, bathing my face in a warm, gentle light, coaxing me awake. I felt a small, persistent nudge against my cheek. "Morning, Snowflake," I greeted, my voice soft and drowsy. I reached out to rub the cat's soft, furry head, feeling the familiar comfort of her presence. "Where's your sister?" I asked her playfully.

"Meow," Snowflake responded, her tone direct and matter-of-fact.

"Is that so?" I queried, amused by our little morning ritual.

"Meow," she replied again, insistently this time.

"I don't blame you," I continued our one-sided conversation. "I would have bit Chloe's face too if she wouldn't leave my tail alone."

"Meow. Meow," Snowflake vocalised, as if urging me to get out of bed.

"Yeah, alright. I'm up," I conceded, pushing back the floral doona and slipping my feet into the cozy cat-faced slippers waiting beside the bed. Snowflake meowed in approval, her tail flicking contentedly as she followed me into the kitchen, rubbing her head against my leg whenever she was close enough to nudge me.

The sound of cat biscuits tumbling into their pink bowls immediately caught Chloe's attention. She emerged from her hiding spot, giving me a cursory glance before focusing on her sister. The two exchanged a quick, careful stare before Chloe crouched beside her bowl, meticulously selecting each biscuit with a discerning eye.

Watching Chloe and Snowflake, who would turn five next month, always amazed me. Despite being from the same litter, their personalities couldn’t be more different. Chloe was cautious and selective, while Snowflake was more direct and assertive. I chuckled softly to myself, realising how much they reminded me of my own relationship with Beatrix. Just like my cats, Beatrix and I shared a common origin but had grown into distinctly different individuals. The comparison brought a smile to my face, a brief respite from the weight of the secrets of the previous night.

"Thinking of Beatrix," I mused aloud to Snowflake and Chloe, who seemed content with their breakfast. "If we're up, she can get up too." It was only fair, I thought, considering the late night we had spent unraveling the secrets and shock of Clivilius and the message on the bottle.

With a playful sense of mischief, I approached the guest bedroom door. "Beatrix?" I called out gently, trying to mask my impish intent. "Are you awake yet?"

A quiet moan responded from inside the room, and I couldn’t help but smile. This was one of those small, sisterly moments that I savoured - the harmless, teasing rituals that had woven themselves into the fabric of our relationship.

I slowly pushed the door open, deliberately prolonging the process. The door creaked loudly, a drawn-out, grating noise that I knew would annoy Beatrix. Oh, how I enjoyed these little moments of sibling mischief.

As soon as the creaking ceased, I made my way quickly to Beatrix's side. "Come on, Beatrix. Get up," I insisted, shaking her with more vigour than necessary. For a moment, it felt good to revert to our more playful, lighthearted interactions - a brief escape from the heavy reality that had recently enveloped us.

Beatrix, turning over to face me, squinted as she came to grips with the morning light. "How the hell are you even functioning this early?" she asked with annoyance. But without waiting for my response, she answered her own question. "Oh wait," she said dismissively. "I forgot. Of course you'd be fine."

Her words stung, carrying an insinuation I didn't appreciate. "What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped back, feeling a flare of defensiveness.

Beatrix raised her eyebrows, a knowing look in her eyes. "Do you really need me to explain that?" she retorted. "I swear, sometimes you are more messed up by Brody's death than I am."

Her accusation made my lips purse into a tight pout. "That's not fair, Beatrix," I shot back, the hurt evident in my voice. It was an unfair comparison, a low blow that hit closer to home than I was willing to admit.

"Well, it's true," Beatrix insisted, her tone unyielding.

Feeling a rush of anger, my face turned red hot. How dare she be so callous, so blunt about something so personal and painful. "You're not the one who found him lying in his own blood!" I shouted, my voice cracking under the weight of the memory and emotion.

Regretting my outburst and wishing I didn't let my sister get under my skin so easily, I looked down at my slippers, a deep frown etching my face. The pain of Brody's death was something that haunted both of us, albeit in different ways. For me, the trauma was intertwined with the horrific memory of finding him, an image that lingered in my mind like a persistent shadow.

Beatrix took a deep breath. "So why do you want me up so early?" she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

My frown quickly gave way to a more neutral expression. "I thought you might like to come and visit Luke with me," I said with a casual shrug. "I have to go around and collect the truck I left there yesterday."

"Oh," Beatrix responded, still waking up, as she wiped away a small crust of sleep from the corner of her eye. "Sure. But I need a shower first. And coffee."

I couldn't help but laugh softly at her response. It was so quintessentially Beatrix – practical and to the point. "I'll take you home first," I offered, trying to accommodate her needs. I patted the bed encouragingly. "Come on, get up."

Beatrix closed her eyes tightly, rubbing them with her fists in an attempt to dispel the last vestiges of sleep. "Okay, I'm coming," she said, finally opening her eyes again.

Feeling somewhat relieved that she agreed to accompany me, I left the bedroom door open as I exited. The encounter with Cody in the middle of the night was still playing on my mind, leaving me feeling unsettled and on edge. How did Cody know about Clivilius? How was he connected to Luke? And why should I really care about any this?

As I pulled into our parents' driveway, I found myself questioning the decision. Beatrix's home was just a short walk around the corner, and frankly, I wasn't in the mood for a family visit. Especially with my mind so preoccupied. I glanced at the dashboard clock and mused that my father would probably be at work already. A twinge of guilt washed over me, wishing I spoke to him more often. Both my parents were ageing; my mother had retired several years ago, and my father, during our last conversation, had hinted at his own impending retirement.

Caught up in these thoughts, I was jolted back to reality as Beatrix opened the car door, breaking my train of thought. She slid out of the passenger seat with an efficiency that belied the heaviness of last night.

"I'll be back to collect you in an hour," I called out as Beatrix walked away. There was a part of me that hoped for a bit more interaction, maybe even a thank you, but she just waved her hand dismissively without turning back and continued towards the front door.

"Typical," I muttered to the cool morning air that rushed in through the open car door, bringing with it a slight chill. Suppressing a shiver, I reached across the passenger seat and pulled the door shut with a definitive click.

Showered, dressed, and having enjoyed a quick breakfast, I found myself feeling unusually energised as I sat at the kitchen table. It was a refreshing change. Lately, it had been a struggle to find motivation in the mornings, particularly after indulging in a few extra glasses of wine. If it weren't for Snowflake's insistent meowing for food and my current fixation with Luke and the mysteries surrounding Clivilius, I probably would have succumbed to the lure of staying in bed this morning as well.

But there was a pressing need that propelled me forward – a need for answers. Does Luke know Cody? What's their connection to Clivilius? And the most unsettling question of all – is Jamie truly never coming back?

"Jamie," I whispered to myself, a hint of worry lacing my voice as I reached for my phone on the kitchen bench. I dialled his number with a mix of hope and apprehension.

My heart sank as the call went straight to voicemail. The frown that I had managed to keep at bay returned, casting a shadow over my brief moment of motivation. A dark cloud of concern and frustration enveloped my thoughts.

Not willing to give up, I glanced at the time on my phone. I still had nearly thirty minutes before I needed to pick up Beatrix. That's plenty of time, I reassured myself.

Resolute in my desire to reach out to Jamie, I found a pen and paper. Settling back into my favourite dining chair – the one that had borne witness to countless meals and conversations, both joyful and sombre – I began to write. The act of putting pen to paper felt therapeutic, a way to channel my swirling thoughts and emotions into something tangible.

Jamie,

I really hope you get this!

Luke tells me that you have gone through a Portal into a new world. He is calling it Clivilius. I wasn't sure whether to believe him, but then he pulled out an odd-looking device and showed the portal to me. It's colours are simply stunning! Unless I choose to believe that I have finally gone mad, which we knew was always a possibility, I have no choice but to believe what he tells me.

As you know, Cody and I have been seeing each other for over three months now. I think I really like him. And I am pretty sure he likes me too. I know you said you thought he was trustworthy, but things have been getting just a little strange.

He snuck into my room last night. After midnight! I have no idea how he got into my house. I was terrified! But he told me to trust Luke. To help him. To do whatever he asks me to do. I didn't even know he knew Luke. This is all getting too weird for me.

And that message of yours on the bottle. Is that really true? Was Brody really murdered? Why didn't you tell me?

I wish you were here. I really miss talking to you already. You're my best friend.

I drank too much last night. I liked it. It's the only thing that keeps my head from spinning out of control. Brody's face haunts me. Almost. Every. Night.

I haven't told anyone else yet, but work fired me last week. I didn't mean for it to happen. They made me give a urine sample for a random alcohol test and I failed.

Jamie, I don't know what to do. Please just come home.

I need you.

G.

The impatience bubbled within me as I pressed my palm down firmly on the car horn. Waiting for Beatrix, especially today, felt like an unnecessary delay, a hindrance to the urgency I felt. The envelope containing my letter to Jamie, peeking out from my handbag in the backseat, was a constant reminder of the pressing need to reach out, to find answers. I caught glimpses of it in the rearview mirror, its presence amplifying my eagerness, my frustration. I needed to get it to Jamie, or Luke, or... I sighed heavily, my thoughts tangled in uncertainty.

"You took your time," I said, not bothering to mask my irritation, as Beatrix finally settled into the passenger seat.

"I had to put on my shoes," Beatrix retorted, her tone matching the coldness in her glare. She bent down to fuss with a shoelace.

"Doesn't look like you've even finished that yet," I commented dryly, starting the car's engine with a sense of resolve.

"Why do you have a bottle of wine in the car, again?" Beatrix's question pulled me from my thoughts as she looked up at me.

The car jostled over the lip of the driveway, and I could see Beatrix sway slightly, the wine bottle clinking against her foot. "It's good to have one nearby," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "You never know when a good bottle will come in handy." My response was partly truth, partly a deflection. The presence of the wine bottle was a comfort, a familiar coping mechanism, even if I didn't intend to open it.

Beatrix let out a sigh, a sound that carried a weight of unspoken judgment.

I glanced over at her, still fumbling with her shoelace. "I know what you're thinking, Beatrix. Stop it," I warned.

"Stop what?" Beatrix's question was innocent on the surface, but I could detect the underlying accusation.

"You know what," I shot back, feeling a bit irritated. "We got a little carried away last night." I wanted to leave it at that, not wanting to delve into the nuances of my drinking habits.

Beatrix scoffed lightly, and I felt a familiar frustration bubble up. Why does Beatrix always have to be so difficult? Why can’t she just leave me alone?

"I've only had one or two glasses a week for the last three months," I stated defensively, feeling the need to justify myself.

"Really?" Beatrix raised an eyebrow, her tone laced with disbelief.

"Yes, really." I affirmed, my voice firm.

Beatrix chuckled, and I felt my face tighten in response. "What?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"It's nothing," she replied casually, but her tone suggested otherwise.

The silence in the car stretched on, becoming a tangible entity of its own. I focused my gaze on the road ahead, deliberately tuning out the odd, involuntary sounds that Beatrix made. Over the years, I had come to notice this idiosyncrasy of hers. When deep in thought or concentration, she would unconsciously give voice to her internal process. It was a quirk that she seemed blissfully unaware of, but one that I had grown accustomed to over time.

As I drove, my mind wandered to Jamie. You'd better be home when I get there, Jamie Greyson, I thought sternly, sending the message out into the ether with a mix of hope and anxiety.

The seven-minute drive to Luke and Jamie's house was spent in this weighted silence. Each minute seemed to drag on, elongating the distance between Beatrix and me. It was more than just a physical silence; it was a reflection of the emotional space that had grown between us. The once easy and playful banter that we shared had given way to a strained quiet, filled with unspoken thoughts and feelings.

The familiar streets and houses passed by in a blur, and as we approached our destination, I felt a mix of apprehension and determination. The anticipation of confronting Luke, the possibility of encountering Jamie, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead created a knot of nerves in my stomach.