Rubbing my tired eyes, I stretched my arms heavenward, a silent goodbye to the early morning blue skies of Clivilius, cradling the day's nascent light like a tender secret. The skies here always held a different kind of serenity, a calmness that Earth's horizon seldom matched. I stepped forward, my body moving instinctively toward the Portal's ever-welcoming glow, a kaleidoscope of rainbow energy that shimmered and danced like an aurora borealis on steroids. The air around it hummed, charged with an unseen power, and I could feel the hair on my arms stand on end as I approached.
Entering the Portal felt like diving into a cool, vibrant ocean of light. For a moment, everything was an explosion of colours, a sensory overload that never failed to leave me awestruck. It was like being at the heart of a star, witnessing the birth of light itself. Despite the countless times I'd made this journey, the wonder of it never dulled. It was a reminder of the vastness of our universe, the endless possibilities that lay stretched out before us, a tapestry woven from the very fabric of space and time.
But today, my mind was preoccupied, tinged with a hint of frustration. I was in Clivilius for a visit that lasted less than a minute, a brief interlude in a journey that should have been more straightforward. I transitioned from my bedroom, a cozy, familiar space filled with the remnants of my dreams, into Luke's living room, a stark contrast with its own unique ambiance—warm, inviting, a testament to his personality.
The Portal and our Portal Keys, these marvels of technology and magic, continued to fascinate me. They allowed Luke and me to share and use locations on Earth, wherever either of us used our Portal Keys. The concept was groundbreaking, revolutionary even. It had changed the way we interacted with space, turning what was once a vast expanse into a mere step away.
Yet, despite its convenience, a part of me found the whole process odd, even annoying. Why did I have to pass through Clivilius every time I wanted to transfer to a different location on Earth? The detour felt unnecessary, a redundant step in what should have been a seamless journey. It would have been much easier, much more logical, to step out of my bedroom and arrive directly at Luke's house. Why the extra step? Was it a flaw in the technology, or perhaps a safety measure we weren’t aware of yet?
"Hello?" Luke's voice echoed down the hallway, slicing through the fog of my discomfort.
"Hey, Luke," I managed, my voice carrying a mix of relief and curiosity. I had barely taken a few stealthy steps into his domain, yet here he was, aware of my arrival as if alerted by some invisible signal.
"You're up early," he remarked, his voice carrying a hint of surprise as he emerged into the shared kitchen and living area.
"I didn't sleep very well," I confessed, suppressing a yawn that fought its way out, revealing my unrested state. My arms reached for the ceiling in a futile attempt to stretch away the lingering shadows of a restless night. "I've already taken more pain killers than I probably should, and my head is still pounding." The words tumbled out, a testament to my frayed edges and the persistent ache that throbbed behind my eyes.
"Tell me about it," Luke sympathised, his voice carrying a note of understanding that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. It was comforting, knowing I wasn't alone in my discomfort, that shared pain could be a bridge rather than a barrier.
Compelled by a sudden, gnawing hunger, I turned toward the fridge. My hand wrapped around the cold metal handle, pulling it with a hope of finding something to quell the hunger pangs. The door swung open, revealing an interior as barren as my hopes. A few lonely items stared back at me, a silent testament to neglect or perhaps a Guardian lifestyle too busy for grocery shopping.
"Alcohol already?" Luke's voice laced with humour, his smirk a playful challenge in the soft morning light. The comment, meant to tease, struck a chord, igniting a spark of irritation within me.
"Fuck off. I'm not Gladys," I retorted sharply, the words slicing through the air, a knee-jerk defence against a comparison I found less than flattering.
"Sorry," he offered, his apology tinged with a residual chuckle, unable to fully mask the amusement that twinkled in his eyes. His mirth felt like salt in an open wound, though I knew his intentions were far from malicious.
"We have muesli bars," he said, shifting the topic with an ease that spoke of familiarity, opening the pantry to reveal a box of what he must have considered a suitable breakfast substitute. The sight of the unopened box, its contents so starkly at odds with my growling stomach, did little to improve my mood.
My frown deepened, a silent scream of frustration. Seriously!? A muesli bar for breakfast? I'm starving! The thought echoed in my head, a chorus of discontent at the meagre offering.
"They're choc-chip," he added, a chuckle lacing his voice, as if the mere mention of chocolate could somehow sweeten the deal.
Despite my irritation, the persistent growling of my stomach betrayed my hunger, forcing a slight relaxation of the tension etched into my face. "Fine," I conceded, a reluctant surrender, gesturing for him to toss me the box.
Catching the bars with a practiced ease, my hands moved with the precision and grace of a seasoned thief, a nod to skills honed in a past that seemed both distant and vividly close. Tearing open the package with a haste born of hunger, I shoved half the bar into my mouth, the rough texture of the muesli contrasting with the smooth, melting chocolate chips.
Walking across the living room, the familiar surroundings a backdrop to the morning's minor drama, I chewed thoughtfully, the initial rush of frustration giving way to a begrudging acceptance. "Any plans for today?" I inquired, my voice muffled by a mouthful of muesli, seeking to bridge the gap that the morning's exchanges had widened, even if just a little. The stray chocolate chip on my tongue, a sweet interloper, offered a small, tactile reminder that not all was amiss.
"You're going to visit Grant Ironbach and bring him to Clivilius," Luke stated, his tone casual as he tore into a muesli bar, seemingly oblivious to the weight his words carried.
I halted mid-stride, the remnants of the muesli bar in my mouth turning to sawdust. Swivelling to face him, my expression darkened into a scowl. The simplicity of his statement belied the complexity of the task, a complexity he knew all too well.
"It'll be good practice for you," he added, as if sensing my hesitation, trying to package the mission as a beneficial exercise.
My eyebrow arched, skepticism painting my features. Did Luke really think that response would mollify me? "People aren't my thing," I declared, my voice flat. It was a well-known fact, an unspoken agreement among those who knew me—I preferred the silent companionship of animals to the unpredictable nature of people.
Luke's demeanour shifted, the levity draining away. "I already have to get Adrian," he explained, his voice laced with a seriousness that commanded attention.
"Who's Adrian?" My curiosity piqued, I probed for more information, eager to divert the conversation from my apparent impending task.
"He's a construction engineer. Runs his own company," Luke elaborated, a hint of respect creeping into his tone as he spoke of Adrian's credentials. "He did the building inspection for this place when Jamie and I bought it. Nial is great with fences, but I think the group needs more... professional help."
Chewing thoughtfully on the muesli bar, the chocolate chips offering a faint consolation, I conceded, "I suspect you're right there." Acknowledging the necessity didn't ease the discomfort of the assignment, but it lent perspective to Luke's request.
Luke, seemingly emboldened by my acknowledgment, continued to outline his plan. "I'm going to arrange to meet with him at the Collinsvale property tomorrow morning."
A long and loud honk shattered the morning tranquility, its discordant note slicing through the calm of Luke's house. Instinctively, I moved towards the large window, my steps quick and silent, a remnant of a past where stealth was often a necessity. The venetian blinds, their slats like the bars of a cage, offered a narrow view of the world outside. My fingers, deft and precise, parted them just enough to allow my eyes to scout the source of the intrusion.
A surge of panic shot through me as my gaze landed on the familiar vehicle parked across the road. The driver, a ghost from a chapter of my life I hoped was closed, sat unaware of my scrutiny. I recoiled from the window as if burned, the blinds snapping back into place with a soft clatter.
"I wouldn't worry about it," Luke's voice, calm and reassuring, reached me. "There are always hoons on that road." His casual dismissal of the situation was meant to comfort, but my heart raced with a different truth.
"No," I countered, my voice firm, my head shaking with more vigour than I intended. "I think the house is being watched." The words hung in the air between us, heavy with implications I wasn't sure I wanted to fully explore.
Luke's brow furrowed, a visible sign of his concern. He rubbed his forehead, a gesture I'd come to recognise as his way of processing unwelcome news. I stood there, caught in an internal tug-of-war, debating how much of my suspicion to share, how much of my past I could allow to bleed into our present.
"Did you recognise the person?" His question was direct, his gaze intent on mine.
"No," the lie slipped out smoothly, a practiced deceit. "It was too quick." I maintained the charade, my head shaking in feigned uncertainty.
"Have another look then," he suggested, his hand gesturing towards the window, an invitation to confirm or dispel my fears.
With a reluctance that I hoped appeared genuine, I approached the window again. My fingers, now trembling slightly, parted the blinds for a second glimpse. "He's gone!" The words heightened my anxiety, the blinds fluttering back into place as I stepped away.
"Gone?" Luke echoed, his voice steady, a stark contrast to the storm of adrenaline coursing through me.
Why the hell is Karl parked across the road? The thought screamed in my mind, a torrent of worry and suspicion. It can't be good, whatever the reason. "We'd better get out of here for a while," I announced, more to myself than to Luke, the decision made in the grip of my escalating fears.
Without waiting for a response, I acted on instinct, my Portal Key in hand. Its familiar weight was a small comfort as I aimed it at the living room wall. A press of a button, a flicker of light, and I stepped through the portal, leaving Luke's house—and the threat lurking outside—behind. My heart still raced, the echo of the car horn mingling with the myriad of possibilities and dangers that Karl's presence implied.
The moment I stepped through the Portal, the Clivilius sun greeted me with its unrelenting brilliance, forcing my eyes to squint as they adapted from the gloomy Tasmanian morning to the vibrant intensity of this alien world.
"Hey, Beatrix," Paul's voice, unexpectedly close, jolted me from my transitional reverie. I spun towards the sound, my heart skipping a beat, not yet accustomed to the immediate shift in surroundings that portal travel entailed.
Paul wasn't alone. Beside him stood the new guy, the one with the expertise in fences. Despite our introduction the previous night, his name danced just beyond my grasp, an elusive detail amidst the whirlwind of names and faces I'd encountered since my arrival in Clivilius.
"We're glad you're here. We've been waiting for either you or Luke. Nial has come up with this amazing theory about how we might be able to establish a connection with Earth and communicate–" Paul's enthusiasm was palpable, his words tumbling out in a rush of excitement and anticipation. Yet, despite the potential significance of his news, my focus wavered, pulled away by a nagging concern.
As Paul's voice became a distant buzz, my gaze drifted back to the Portal. A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. Where the hell is Luke? The question echoed in my mind, a persistent drumbeat of anxiety. He should have been right behind me, stepping through the portal in his usual, unflappable manner.
But the Portal remained silent, its translucence undisturbed by any further arrivals. The absence of Luke, unexpected and unnerving, cast a shadow over the Clivilius sun, the bright day suddenly tinged with an undercurrent of unease.
"Beatrix?" Paul's voice cut through my worrisome thoughts, louder this time, tinged with a hint of urgency as he tried to reel me back to the present.
Whipping around to face him, my frustration bubbled to the surface. "What!?" The word came out sharper than I intended, a reflection of the tension gnawing at me.
Paul recoiled slightly, his arms lifting in a gesture of peace. "You're not even listening, are you?" His accusation stung, the earlier vibrancy in his expression dissolving into a look of disappointment.
"I was with Luke. He should have been–" My voice trailed off as my gaze drifted back to the Portal, its surface a silent testament to my unease. The smooth, shimmering expanse offered no answers, only reflecting back my own worried expression.
Paul interrupted, his voice a mix of reassurance and mild frustration. "I'm sure Luke's fine. He's always getting himself into and out of trouble." His attempt to lighten the mood felt hollow, missing the mark.
"Yeah, but–" I countered, the words heavy with a mix of concern and fatigue. Arguing seemed futile, yet I couldn't shake the feeling of discontent.
"We need your help with our experiment," Nial chimed in, his voice a new element in the conversation, pulling my attention towards him.
Though I acknowledged Paul's point about Luke's knack for navigating danger, my instincts screamed otherwise. "Maybe I should go check on him," I suggested, the need to ensure Luke's safety outweighing my curiosity about their experiment.
"As long as Luke has his Portal Key, he'll be fine," Paul tried to reassure me again, seeking validation from Nial with a quick glance.
Nial's response was a noncommittal shrug, not quite the solid reassurance he sought.
"Come on, Beatrix," Paul pressed, his demeanour shifting to one of earnest persuasion. "Help us. It's for the safety of our community."
I sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Is Paul right? The question echoed in my mind, mingling with a cocktail of concern and skepticism. As long as Luke hasn't lost his Portal Key, he would never get caught, right? The thought was meant to be reassuring, yet it fluttered in my chest like a trapped bird, its wings beating against the confines of uncertainty.
"Fine," I relented, the word tasting of resignation on my tongue.
Paul's demeanour transformed instantly, his face alight with the kind of delight that one might exhibit upon solving a perplexing puzzle. His enthusiasm, although infectious, couldn't fully penetrate the shroud of my worries.
"What do you need me to do?" I inquired, my voice laced with a reluctant curiosity.
His grin widened, as if he had been eagerly awaiting this very question. "We're going to try to establish an internet connection." The simplicity with which he stated this goal belied the complexity of the task at hand, especially here, in Clivilius.
My eyebrows furrowed, skepticism creeping into my gaze as I echoed his words internally. Internet connection? What do they want that for? The idea seemed out of place in our current setting, an odd blend of our past life on Earth with the vastly different reality of Clivilius.
Paul, perhaps sensing my confusion, hastened to elaborate, his words tumbling out in a rush to fill the silence. "Luke gave us Nial's laptop," he paused, allowing Nial to lift the laptop, its familiar yet out-of-place presence a silent confirmation of their intent. "But we can't really do much with it without an internet connection."
I shrugged, a gesture of bemusement mixed with a tinge of helplessness. "What do you want me to do about it?" My expertise did not lie in the realms of digital connectivity, especially not here, far from the infrastructure and resources we took for granted on Earth.
Paul opened his mouth, presumably to lay out their plan, but Nial interjected, his voice carrying a mix of determination and frustration. "The idea was for me to use the business accounts to order some fencing supplies so we can secure the property. The business doesn't have much money, but I have enough credit to get the basic supplies we need." His explanation painted a picture of their struggles, a pragmatic approach to fortifying our new haven.
He sighed, a mirror to my own earlier exhalation, his gaze falling to the laptop in his hands. "I've tried to put the order together, but everything is web-based. There's not much I can do without an internet connection." His words highlighted the irony of our situation—stranded on an alien world, yet hindered by the absence of a tool as earthly and mundane as the internet.
The absurdity of it all tugged at the corners of my mind, a bizarre blend of past and present, of Earthly concerns in an unearthly locale.
"Which is why we need you, Beatrix," Paul's words broke through my thoughts, his tone laced with a mix of urgency and hope.
My confusion only deepened. "How can I help?" I questioned, my voice a blend of curiosity and skepticism. I'm not a walking Wi-Fi router, after all. The peculiarities of our situation seemed to be pushing us toward increasingly bizarre solutions.
"It's simple," Paul said, a spark of optimism in his eyes as he moved towards the Portal's screen. "Do you have Wi-Fi at home?" he inquired, as if the answer might unlock the next step in their ambitious plan.
"Of course," I responded, a touch of incredulity in my voice. “Who doesn't these days?”
"Go to your house and leave the Portal open. We'll get the laptop as close as we can and see if we can pick up the Wi-Fi signal," Paul laid out the strategy, his words painting a picture of a makeshift bridge between worlds.
The plan, while unconventional, sparked a glimmer of possibility within me. "I can do it from my room. That should give me enough privacy," I conceded, finding myself drawn into their experiment, the chance to contribute to our collective well-being outweighing my initial reservations.
"Let's do it," Paul's enthusiasm was infectious, his words a clarion call to action.
Minutes later, the familiar surroundings of my bedroom were bathed in the prismatic hues of the Portal. Impatience nibbling at my composure, I leaned through the bedroom wall, the boundary between worlds blurring around me. "Any luck?" I called out, my voice tinged with a mix of hope and anxiety.
I found Paul and Nial crouched in the Clivilius dust, the stark, orange terrain a vivid backdrop to our technological endeavour. Paul looked up, his expression mirroring my own concern, while Nial's voice, tinged with disappointment, delivered the unwelcome news.
"It's not detecting any signal at all," he admitted, the lines on his forehead deepening with the weight of his words.
The ripple of disappointment that coursed through me was unexpected, a testament to how Paul's fervour had subtly woven its way into my own sentiments. Paul's enthusiasm really is infectious, I mused internally, a grudging respect for his relentless optimism dawning within me. I hadn't realised until that moment just how much I had been pulled into the tide of their excitement, how much I wanted their experiment to succeed.
"Can you get the Portal closer to the router?" Paul's question sliced through my reverie, his eyes alight with the kind of determination that refused to acknowledge defeat.
My brow furrowed in concentration as I visualised my home, trying to pinpoint the router's exact location. Living room? The image of the small black device, unassumingly perched on a coffee table near the couch, came to mind, its mundane appearance belying its significance to our current endeavour.
"I can try. I don't think I'm alone," I confessed to the men, the potential complication of my family's presence casting a shadow over the plan.
With a swift movement, I retreated into the room and shut the Portal, severing the connection to Clivilius momentarily. I checked the time, my mind racing through the likely whereabouts of my family members. My father should be at work by now, assuming his punctuality held. The sudden crash and a frustrated expletive from the ensuite confirmed my mother's presence—and her usual battle with the overburdened towel rail.
Her misstep, albeit minor, was a stroke of luck for me, granting a narrow window of opportunity. I hastened to the living room, my steps quick but silent, mindful of not drawing attention. Standing beside the router, I extracted my Portal Key, its familiar weight a comfort in my hand. I aimed it at the wall adjacent to the router, the potential gateway to bridging our worlds with a sliver of Earthly normality.
With a deep breath, I slid my finger across the activation button, a flicker of hope kindling within me. The Portal sprung to life, its colours swirling, a silent yet vibrant beacon of our efforts to tether these two worlds together.
"Shit," escaped from my lips in a hushed exhale, my eyes widening in horror as the large picture, which had adorned the wall moments before, vanished into the Clivilius landscape.
Tentatively, I pushed my head through the Portal, my heart sinking at the sight that greeted me. Paul and Nial were engulfed in a cloud of displeasure, their forms dusted with fragments of what used to be the picture's glass frame.
"What the hell, Beatrix!" Paul's voice pierced the tense air, his frustration palpable as he stripped off his shirt in a frantic motion, rushing towards Nial. The latter sat in the ochre dust, his posture one of resigned pain, his left hand awkwardly trying to stem the flow of blood from the small lacerations on his right.
"Sorry, I didn't think—" My words faltered, guilt knotting my stomach. The sentence hung unfinished, a feeble attempt at an apology for a mishap I hadn't foreseen.
"There's still no Wi-Fi signal," Nial interjected, his tone a mix of pain and irritation. He brushed off Paul's offered shirt, his bloodied hand leaving a stark imprint on Paul's chest as he pushed the help away.
Paul's expression darkened, a frown etching deeper into his features. "Bring the router through," he instructed, his focus shifting back to Nial's wounds in a renewed effort to provide some semblance of first aid.
Doubts clouded my mind, skepticism about the effectiveness of their plan mingling with the guilt of the accident. Yet, feeling responsible for the disturbance, I complied with Paul's request. Unplugging the router, I clutched it in my hands, as I returned to Clivilius.
Handing the router to Paul, I watched as his expression morphed into one of perplexity. "What the heck am I supposed to do with this?" he blurted out, frustration lining his words as he pushed the device back toward me.
"But you just asked me for it," I retorted, my confusion mirroring his. The abrupt change in his attitude caught me off guard, throwing a wrench into the already tense atmosphere.
"You need to keep it plugged in," he stated, his teeth clenched, conveying a mix of urgency and impatience.
With a heavy sigh, I retreated to the living room, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Plugging in the router, I watched the lights blink in their mechanical dance, a silent countdown to another attempt at bridging worlds.
Just then, a sharp cry of frustration from the ensuite sliced through the silence. "She's still distracted," I murmured to myself, a sliver of relief cutting through the tension as I acknowledged my mother's continued preoccupation.
Finally, the router's light steadied, signalling readiness. Clutching the device, now a lifeline of sorts, I made my way back to Paul, ensuring it remained connected to the power source.
Back in Clivilius, Nial and I huddled around Paul, our eyes glued to the laptop's screen as he navigated the unfamiliar territory of inter-dimensional Wi-Fi. The air was thick with anticipation, each click and scroll magnified by our collective breath-holding.
"We've got something!" Paul's exclamation shattered the silence, a beacon of hope as he pointed to the sole Wi-Fi network listed on the screen.
My heart skipped a beat. Are we really about to connect Earth and Clivilius? The enormity of the moment wasn't lost on me. A cocktail of excitement, anxiety, and disbelief churned within me as we stood on the brink of achieving something that felt akin to a miracle, a testament to human ingenuity and the relentless pursuit of connection, no matter the realm.
"We're connected!" Paul's voice was a mix of triumph and urgency as he passed the laptop to Nial.
"Shit," came Nial's strained exclamation, the device nearly slipping from his grasp, his bloodied fingers struggling against the laptop's smooth surface.
"You really need to get that cut looked at," I insisted, concern etching my voice as I eyed the makeshift bandage, now soaked through and ineffectual.
Paul glanced at me, a mix of gratitude and determination in his eyes. "He will once we get this order through." His tone brokered no argument, the weight of our situation anchoring his words.
I rolled my eyes, a gesture more out of habit than true annoyance. Deep down, I knew the stakes. Despite the absence of shadow panthers lately, the unknown threats lurking beyond our makeshift sanctuary sent a shiver through me. The potential of unseen dangers, perhaps even more menacing than those we had encountered, loomed large in my mind.
"How much longer do you need?" I asked, my voice tinged with a growing edge of impatience, the silence stretching too thin over the undercurrent of our collective anxiety.
"Nearly done," Nial muttered, his focus unwavering as his fingers danced over the keyboard, the screen reflecting in his intense gaze. "I'm using a previous order as a base."
"Think you can get us enough to at least make a small perimeter fence?" Paul's question hung in the air, his eyes locking with Nial's in a silent exchange of hope and determination.
"Yeah. If we can get it all, should be enough to give us room to expand," Nial's response carried a weight of intent and determination that filled the space between us.
"Expand?" The word echoed in my head as I repeated it aloud, surprise lacing my voice. The concept of growing our little enclave in such a hostile environment hadn't fully occurred to me until now.
Nial paused, his fingers halting their frenzied dance over the keyboard. Lifting his gaze to meet mine, the intensity in his eyes was startling. "I don't want to be here alone forever," he stated, a stark flatness in his tone that belied the depth of his sentiment.
A wave of unease washed over me, the idea of dragging more souls into this uncertain and dangerous world causing my stomach to churn. "He's not serious, is he?" I whispered to Paul, seeking some semblance of reassurance.
"We've all left family we love behind," Paul's voice was soft, a thread of shared sorrow woven through his words. The hint of moisture in his eyes spoke volumes of the sacrifices each of them were making to be here, even if it hadn’t been entirely their own choice.
Interrupted by Nial's practical inquiry, "Where am I getting all of this delivered to?" the moment of shared vulnerability passed.
Paul's reaction, a mix of alarm and realisation, was almost comical, pulling an involuntary chuckle from me amidst the tension. "We can use the Owens' Collinsvale property," I offered, a semblance of a plan beginning to form.
"What timeframe are we looking at?" I pivoted the conversation toward logistics, kneeling beside Nial to input the delivery details into the system he had accessed.
"I've selected all local materials and put a priority flag on it. There will likely be multiple deliveries, the first one arriving tomorrow," Nial announced, a hint of pride in his voice as he leaned back slightly, the glow of success on his face.
As Nial reclaimed the laptop, a semblance of normality returned, though it was short-lived. "I'll let Luke know and we'll keep an eye out for the delivery," I asserted, pushing myself up and shaking off the dust that clung to my clothing. The mention of the urgent order Luke and I had placed felt like a necessary interjection, a contribution to our collective efforts. "Oh, and I don't know how I forgot, but last night Luke and I also placed an urgent order for temporary fencing. It should arrive tomorrow."
"That's awesome! Thanks Bea—" But his words were swallowed by the sudden chaos that erupted.
"Shit! We've lost it!" Nial's alarmed shout sent a jolt of panic through me as I watched the laptop skid into the dust, an ominous prelude to his next words.
"Lost what? The order?" Paul's question pierced the mounting tension as he lunged for the laptop, his movements a blend of desperation and hope.
"The internet con—" Nial's explanation was brutally interrupted by the abrupt entrance of the router's power cable, whipping through the Portal like a malicious serpent, narrowly missing us before thudding into the ground.
"Beatrix, close the—" Paul's command was half-formed, his voice tinged with urgency, but my reactions had already kicked in.
With a swift, decisive movement, I manipulated the Portal, its vibrant display shifting to a translucent veil. My heart pounded, a frantic drum in my chest, echoing the tumult of the moment.
"What the hell just happened?" Nial's voice trembled slightly, his eyes locking onto mine, searching for an explanation in the tumult.
"I'm not sure," I admitted, my own voice tinged with a blend of fear and disbelief. The thought that my mother could inadvertently be involved flitted through my mind, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Your parents?" Paul's question, echoing my internal fears, made me pause. The idea of my mother, curious and unwitting, meddling with the Portal and inadvertently hurling the power cable through, was plausible yet terrifying.
She'd more likely be stupid enough to touch the Portal and then be forced to come here. Whomever did this, assuming it was a person, knows...
"No," I asserted, my voice stronger as conviction took hold. "It must be someone familiar with Portals." The realisation that we might not be alone, that someone else knew of and could manipulate the Portal, sent a chill through me.
The gasps from the men punctuated the implications of the situation. Paul, ever practical, shifted focus. "But you got the order through?" His eyes were on Nial, seeking some sliver of positive news amidst the mayhem.
Nial, still grappling with his minor wounds, managed a nod. "Yeah... I… think so," he stammered, his uncertainty mirroring our collective unease.
A surge of resolve washed over me. Clarity cut through the confusion. I needed answers. If my mother wasn't responsible, then who was in my house? Was it safe? The questions spiralled, each one fuelling a growing determination to uncover the truth.
The soft whisper of Clivilius, delicate and haunting, echoed in my mind: You have no choice.
"When Luke returns," I instructed Paul, my hand gripping his shoulder in a gesture meant to convey both comfort and resolve. "Send him straight to my bedroom." The urgency in my voice was unmistakable.
"Of course," Paul replied, his nod conveying understanding and agreement.
With no time to spare, I turned away from them, stepping forward, determined to confront whatever—or whoever—awaited me.
