Glass Houses

"There's a particular satisfaction in watching someone's righteousness collapse the moment you remind them they're standing in the same moral rubble you are."

"What are you two creeping about for?" My voice cut through the early morning stillness as I neared the Drop Zone, where Paul and Kain were huddled in conversation with the particular body language of people sharing secrets.

Paul and Kain spun at my approach, their reactions swift and guilty in that way that immediately triggered suspicion. Whatever they'd been discussing, they hadn't expected interruption.

"Hey, Luke!" Paul's greeting sliced through the air with an edge that set my teeth on edge. I knew my brother's tones the way I knew the particular aches that announced weather changes in old injuries. This one carried angst, accusation, and the particular flavour of righteousness that preceded lecture.

What have I done now? The question surfaced with weary familiarity. The list of things I'd done wrong recently was long enough that Paul could take his pick from a buffet of failures.

"When did you drop off the sleeping bags?" Paul's inquiry wore a mask of casualness, but the tension beneath was as subtle as a sledgehammer.

I hesitated, my hungover brain struggling to pin down specifics in the blur of yesterday's chaos. Camping store. Portal transport. The brochure in my kitchen. Jen's messages. The phone call with Karen. Cody's blood on my tongue—

I shoved that last memory down before it could surface fully.

"Umm, would have been sometime late yesterday afternoon or early evening," I answered, the vagueness reflecting genuine uncertainty. "Why?"

"Didn't you think it might be a good idea to let someone know?" The words arrived sharp, laced with criticism I could feel like barbs catching skin.

"I... uh..." I stammered, reaching for defence and finding only empty air.

"If Glenda hadn't sent Kain over to collect the box of tent pegs, we wouldn't have had them for sleeping last night," Paul continued, his frustration building momentum. His gaze shifted to Kain, seeking alliance in his grievance, recruiting support for the prosecution.

Kain, apparently wiser than his twenty-three years suggested, opted for neutrality. With theatrical emphasis, he raised his hands and shook his head slowly, backing away from the brewing storm with the particular caution of someone who'd learned to avoid crossfire. The gesture would have been comical if I'd been in any mood to appreciate humour.

I struggled to contain the smirk that wanted to break across my face at their startled guilt. My mind supplied sarcastic commentary that I barely managed not to voice aloud. My brother clearly has everyone under control already. Paul had slipped into his natural role of organiser and critic with the speed of someone who'd been waiting for the opportunity.

"I have a lot planned to bring through the Portal for you, and I don't have the time to take it further than the Drop Zone," I retorted, defensiveness sharpening my voice more than I'd intended. The hangover was making everything feel more abrasive than it needed to be. "Besides, wasn't the Drop Zone your idea? You're the one who told me to leave stuff there."

"Yeah, but you need to at least tell someone," Paul fired back, his insistence unwavering.

"I don't have time for that crap, Paul!" The response emerged sharper than I'd planned, frustration spilling over the walls I usually maintained. My head was pounding, my mouth still tasted like regret, and I had a ute sitting in my driveway that needed to disappear before Louise came looking for it. "You, or someone else, will just have to check frequently."

The statement landed with more finality than I'd intended, a declaration of boundaries I wasn't willing to negotiate. Something in my tone must have registered, because Paul's posture shifted—shoulders dropping slightly, the aggressive lean softening into something approaching retreat.

It was unusual for him to back down so readily. Paul had always possessed the particular talent for pushing precisely the buttons that triggered my worst reactions, maintaining his position with the stubbornness of someone convinced of their own righteousness. Seeing him relent felt like victory, though a petty one that brought no real satisfaction.

Assuming the clash was settled, I shifted my attention to Kain, who had strategically positioned himself several metres away during our exchange. He stood with calculated casualness, affecting disengagement whilst clearly monitoring every word. Kain's quite wise, I acknowledged internally. He'd figured out how to remain present without getting caught in the undertow of conflict—a skill that probably served him well in construction sites and family gatherings alike.

"Hey, Kain," I called out, my voice bridging the distance he'd created. "Do you still have the keys to your ute?"

The question was the entire reason I'd come through the Portal this morning instead of driving straight to Karen's. The ute sitting in my driveway was evidence I couldn't afford to leave visible, and the keys were somewhere in this dimension with their owner.

Kain's hands moved instinctively to his jeans, patting the front pockets before slipping into the back. "Actually, I do," he confirmed, something like surprise crossing his features as he produced the keys and brandished them in the air.

Relief washed through me, cooling the residual heat from my exchange with Paul. One problem about to be solved. One piece of evidence about to be removed. "If you give them to me, I'll bring your ute through," I offered, extending the practical solution as something approaching an olive branch.

"Really?" Kain's reaction blended surprise with a burst of genuine excitement. He approached with an eagerness that seemed almost boyish, a stark contrast to Paul's expression—eyes widening with the particular disbelief of someone watching plans he hadn't approved being enacted.

I nodded, confirming the offer with a gesture that sealed our silent agreement.

"That's mad!" Kain exclaimed as he trotted over and deposited the keys into my outstretched hand. The metal was warm from his body heat, and I closed my fingers around them with the satisfaction of a task about to be accomplished. The ute would be through the Portal within minutes. Louise would have nothing to find even if she came looking.

"But what happens when it runs out of fuel?" Paul's question cut through the moment with his characteristic practicality, finding the flaw in the plan before I'd even begun executing it.

I scoffed, caught between annoyance and grudging respect for his ability to identify problems I hadn't fully considered. Of all the things to fixate on—not the impossibility of driving a vehicle through a dimensional portal, not the implications of removing it from Earth entirely—his mind had jumped straight to petrol consumption.

"I'm working on a solution for that," I replied, irritation and false confidence competing for dominance in my tone.

"Like what?" Paul wasn't going to let it go. He never let anything go.

I shrugged, the gesture buying time my brain desperately needed to improvise something plausible. "I'm not a hundred percent sure yet, but I'm getting close." The words were stalling tactics dressed as progress reports. The truth was I had no solution at all—hadn't even properly considered the fuel question until Paul had shoved it into my awareness.

"That's very vague of you," Paul retorted, scepticism dripping from every syllable.

"Have you spoken to my mother?" Kain's question sliced through the tension between Paul and me, redirecting the conversation to territory that felt somehow worse.

"Umm, nope," I admitted.

"So, she has no idea where I am?" The concern in Kain's voice was unmistakable—a young man suddenly confronting the reality that his disappearance had consequences beyond himself. He had a pregnant fiancée, a mother who presumably expected him to come home, a life that had been interrupted without warning or explanation.

Because I'd pushed him through a Portal without asking.

The guilt tried to surface, and I shoved it back down with the rest of the things I wasn't examining this morning.

I shook my head. "Not that I know of."

"Don't you think you should tell her?" Paul inserted himself back into the conversation, assuming his preferred role of moral advocate. "You did know that his fiancée is pregnant, right?"

"Umm," I hesitated, feeling the walls closing in. My annoyance with Paul's interjections spiked, but I couldn't deny the validity of his point. These were real people with real concerns, and I'd been treating them as resources to be managed rather than humans with families who would worry.

But two could play at hypocrisy exposure.

"Have you asked me to tell Claire and the kids where you are?" I turned the question back on him, watching his expression shift as the implications landed.

Paul's silence was everything I needed. His argument crumbled visibly, righteousness deflating under the weight of his own double standard.

"That's what I thought," I sneered, finding bitter satisfaction in the reversal even as I recognised the ugliness of the tactic. We were both hiding from our families. We were both pretending that disappearing without explanation was somehow acceptable when we did it but concerning when others did.

Taking a deep breath to quell the frustration still simmering in my chest, I shifted toward something approaching diplomacy. "The less anyone outside of Clivilius knows of its existence, the better. It's safer for all of us that way." The words served as explanation and reminder both—a principle I'd been operating on since the beginning, even if I hadn't articulated it clearly until now.

Paul's nod signalled reluctant agreement, a rare moment of alignment between us.

Turning to Kain, I offered something I immediately hoped he'd refuse: "But I guess I could try and bring your mother through the Portal, if you'd like?"

The words left my mouth whilst a significant part of me prayed for rejection. Louise—Kain's mother—carried a reputation for difficulty that preceded her like weather warnings before a storm. The idea of adding her particular brand of complication to an already struggling settlement was about as appealing as a second hangover.

Yet I recognised the importance of giving Kain the choice. He hadn't asked to be here. He hadn't consented to leaving his pregnant fiancée or his presumably worried mother. The least I could do was offer him some agency in whether his family joined him.

"No. I think we could do without her," Kain responded, hesitation flickering across his features before resolution settled in. "For now."

Relief surged through me with embarrassing intensity. Thank fuck for that. I managed to keep the thought from reaching my face, but barely. One less complication. One less difficult personality to manage. One less reminder of the lives I was disrupting with my Portal and my plans and my desperate need to build something in this alien place.

"Well, I'd better go get your ute then," I announced, eager to escape before the conversation could circle back to uncomfortable territory. The keys sat solid in my palm, their weight promising action over discussion.

"Oh, hey, Luke," Paul interjected just as I was turning to leave. "Can you bring Jamie's car through too?"

I couldn't help but laugh—a short, sharp sound that carried more exasperation than amusement. And there he is, the Paul I know so well. Always another request. Always another demand. Always pushing for more whilst I was still managing the current crisis.

I paused, making a show of considering his request. "Umm... nope," I replied, letting playfulness edge into my refusal.

"Why not?" Paul's annoyance was immediate and visible.

The humour faded as practical reality reasserted itself. "I need it to drive to Collinsvale," I explained. Karen. The breakfast I was already late for. The recruitment I'd been planning since yesterday, now delayed by the necessity of disposing of evidence.

"Where the hell is Collinsvale?" Paul's confusion was genuine, his eyes flickering to Kain for geographical assistance.

"Not far from his house," Kain offered, providing reference that was technically accurate whilst being practically useless.

Paul's gaze returned to me with the particular gleam of someone spotting a logical flaw. "Oh, so you could walk there then," he suggested, the observation pointed rather than genuine.

Kain's laughter broke through the tension. "It's not that close," he clarified, dismissing Paul's suggestion with the authority of someone who actually knew Tasmanian geography.

Recognising my window of escape, I seized it before Paul could mount another objection. "Gotta go now," I declared, my voice carrying finality that discouraged further debate. A smile and a casual wave—the performance of normality I'd perfected over days of living between dimensions.

Berriedale house study, I commanded silently, feeling the familiar pull of the Portal responding to my intention.

The colours enveloped me, and Clivilius dissolved into the swirling impossibility of transit. Kain's keys pressed against my palm, solid and real, a tether to the task that awaited on the other side.

One problem at a time. That was how I'd survive this day.

One problem at a time.