4338.209 · July 28, 2018 AD
Henri Is Still Alive
There's a version of yourself waiting in the dark—sharper, colder, capable of things you never imagined. All it takes is one loss to shake hands with him. A fencer answers a phone call about an impossible job. A hundred thousand in cash. A remote property in the hills. He tells himself it's just a chat, just looking at plans. He doesn't know he's already been catalogued as a resource, that the man waiting at the cottage door has stopped listening to the voice that still thinks morality matters more than survival.
Duke is dead. Jamie's words are still echoing. But Henri is alive, and Henri needs protection—fences that can withstand shadow panthers, perimeters that actually mean something.
Luke picks up the phone. The fencer on the other end remembers a small dog who followed him everywhere. The number Luke quotes is impossible. The smile he forces can be heard through the line. Years of missionary work taught him that.
At the Owens' cottage, Luke paces the hallway, throwing Karen's nature magazines through the Portal in a fit of rage that feels disturbingly good. When Nial hesitates at the doorway—I'm not sure I can do this—Luke's hands are steady. The push is calculated. Physics and body weight and the element of surprise.
In the aftermath, Luke drives Nial's ute through the Portal loaded with supplies. He catalogues assets. He delegates emotional adjustment to others. He mentally organises his actions into phases and deliverables.
Efficiency is a kind of anaesthetic. Focus on the logistics long enough, and you forget you're the one causing the damage.
