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“Every escape has a cost. I just didn’t expect the invoice to be written in love and compromise.”

The car slowed as we turned onto our parents' street, the familiar contours of the road and hedgerows oddly distorted by the stormy gloom and the weight of everything that had happened. A place that had always brought comfort now felt like the calm eye of a brewing storm – still, but not safe. The ache in my head pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, a dull, relentless throb that seemed to echo the storm of thoughts inside me.

Beatrix gripped the wheel tightly, her beady eyes darting methodically across driveways and up side streets, searching for any sign of movement – any flash of blue and red or dark silhouette out of place. Her posture was stiff, every muscle alert. I watched her scan the street with the precision of someone hunting for a threat.

I tried to reassure myself. They’ll be combing Myrtle Forest for evidence… chasing leads… My mind turned back to Brody’s death, to the painstaking, almost glacial pace of that investigation. Weeks had passed before anything meaningful came of it. If history repeated itself, perhaps I had a day – maybe two – before the noose tightened.

As we pulled into the driveway behind our parents' car, the quiet suburban normality of it all struck me with jarring contrast. The neatly trimmed hedge. The terracotta roof tiles slick with rain. It could have been any Monday afternoon. And yet, here I was, a fugitive by accident, covered in mud, soaked to the bone, and shivering with cold and dread.

"Probably best you don't go inside," Beatrix said, opening her door with a quiet click. "Not sure how you're going to explain your situation to mum and dad."

Her words were offered with pragmatism, not malice, but they still landed with the sting of truth. I gave a slight nod, more to myself than to her, as I turned to face the car window. My reflection was a ruin. Strands of hair plastered to my face, dirt streaking my cheeks, eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Even I wouldn’t let me in looking like this.

Beatrix is definitely right this time, I admitted, bitterly. The thought of my mother’s inevitable gasp, her questions, her panic – it made my stomach clench. There was no explanation that wouldn’t make things worse.

A sharp gust of wind blew through the crack in the car door. I shivered, involuntarily. Goosebumps prickled across my damp skin, and my teeth began to chatter. I fumbled for one of the towels Beatrix had left on the seat – rough and stiff from previous use – and wrapped it around my shoulders like a shawl. It smelled faintly of lavender detergent and mildew. I didn’t care. I needed something, anything, between me and the world right now.

"Let's go," I said, wrapping the towel tighter around me, tucking in the ends like armour. My voice had regained some edge, a brittle determination that kept me moving even though my legs felt like sandbags.

We left the car and began our silent march down the street. The air was heavy with petrichor – that earthy scent that follows rain – and our shoes squelched against the wet pavement. Every shadow made my heart skip a beat. Every dog barking behind a fence felt like an alarm bell.

But there were no flashing lights, no shout of “Hands up!”, no sirens. Just houses, quiet and closed off, and the hush that falls over a neighbourhood just before dinner.

With every house we passed without incident, I allowed a sliver of hope to edge in. Maybe, just maybe, we were still a step ahead.

The moment I walked through my front door, the familiar sights and smells of home rushed in to meet me, wrapping around me like a long-lost blanket. The warmth of the space, the comforting clutter – it all struck me with a force that left my knees buckling. I dropped heavily to the floor, the cold tiles biting through the fabric of my trousers, and crouched low, as if seeking sanctuary in the very bones of the house.

Snowflake darted out from the lounge room, her small white paws tapping urgently against the floor. I barely had time to brace before she was on me, mewling with an intensity that made my throat tighten. I scooped her up into my arms, burying my face into the soft fur at her neck. She smelled faintly of biscuits and dust. Her body was a bundle of warmth and purrs, and I clutched her like a lifeline.

Then came Beatrix’s sharp gasp. The front door clicked shut behind her, but it was her voice, not the door, that made my stomach clench.

"The police are here," she said, her tone clipped with urgency.

Her hand landed on my shoulder – steady, insistent – and though I didn't want to move, couldn't imagine letting go of Snowflake, I allowed myself to be guided. Clutching the cat tightly to my chest, I followed Beatrix down the narrow hallway. The lights felt too bright now, the air too still, the creaks in the floorboards too loud.

We slipped into the spare bedroom at the back of the house, the one no one really used anymore. Beatrix moved quickly, her body taut with purpose as she pulled the blinds down with swift, silent snaps. I shut the door gently behind us, the soft click of the latch feeling like a final punctuation mark on any last shred of normality.

Darkness swallowed the room. Shadows pressed in from every corner, as if the house itself knew it was being encroached upon. Our breath came loud and uneven in the stillness, Snowflake now quietly nestled into the crook of my arm, sensing the tension.

Then: a knock. Loud. Hard. Official.

"Police!" The word boomed through the house like a gunshot, reverberating through walls and skin and bone. My body locked in place. Beatrix stood frozen near the window, eyes narrowed, lips pursed.

Silence followed the knocks. A teasing lull.

Then – the side gate.

The rattle of the latch being lifted was a cruel reminder that there was no sanctuary here. Another gasp left us both in tandem, barely a breath between them. A shadow swept past the window, then paused – lingering. Watching. My heart thudded so hard I could feel it in the soles of my feet.

"Intrusive pricks," Beatrix muttered under her breath, her voice thick with contempt. Her jaw tightened, her hands curled into small fists.

But I had no words, no fire left. The day's weight, the chase, the storm, the endless running – it had sapped every last reserve of defiance. I just looked at her, eyes heavy with defeat, and offered a slight shrug. A quiet surrender.

There’s not really anything we can do, I thought. The words echoed in my mind but wouldn’t take form on my tongue. My throat felt full – of fear, of fatigue, of all the things I couldn’t change. We were cornered. Hunted. And whatever window we might have had to escape... it was shrinking by the second.

"Gladys!" Beatrix's hiss shattered the brittle silence, sharp as glass. The sound jolted Snowflake in my arms, and she leapt slightly, her claws digging into my skin. I winced, the sting of fresh scratches adding to the constellation of cuts already scattered across my forearms from the brutal journey through Myrtle Forest.

"What?" I whispered back, barely forming the word through the tightness in my throat. My voice was a thread—thin, frayed, barely there.

"I think you should come to Clivilius with me," Beatrix said, her voice low but intense, urgency lacing every syllable.

The suggestion caught me off guard. My chest tightened with an emotion I couldn't quite name. "I can't," I said, the words brittle and stubborn as they tumbled from my mouth. I drew Snowflake closer, her tiny body a fragile shield against everything crumbling around me. My hand trembled as I ran it down her damp, matted fur, trying to draw some measure of calm from her presence.

"The police will leave in a minute. They can't enter," I added, grasping at a logic that felt more like denial. Even I could hear the shakiness in my voice. My words sounded thin—hopeful, yes, but desperately so. I was clinging to the idea that this house, this space, still offered some protection, some final vestige of control. But deep down, I knew better. I remembered the smashed glass at Luke’s place, the way Sarah and Karl had pushed boundaries with ease, relentless in their pursuit.

My eyes burned with the pressure of tears, and the warm sting of them spilled over, tracing down my bruised cheeks. I wiped at them with the back of my hand, smearing mud and tear-salt into my skin. Every breath came heavier than the last.

Beatrix’s offer wasn’t just practical—it was necessary. I could feel that. But if I left… I would never see Cody again. Not properly. Not freely. My heart twisted violently at the thought. Cody, who felt like a tether to the version of myself I had been trying to protect. And Chloe—already in Belkeep, already too far removed. The ache of missing her hadn’t dulled since she left, and the idea of being forced into some far-flung exile in Bixbus, away from both of them, made my stomach turn.

Still, if I stayed—if I chose Cody—I would be leaving Beatrix. And that thought was just as unbearable. My sister, the one person who had defied all odds to come for me, who had stood by me in this madness when no one else could.

Tears spilled freely now, my face a swollen, sodden mess of dirt and grief. Each option in front of me felt like a different kind of death. And I wasn’t ready to bury anyone—not yet.

"Gladys," Beatrix said, quieter now, her voice a solemn balm over the tension. "Luke and I can't protect you if you stay here, you know that."

"I know." The words broke from me in a sob, fragile and hoarse. I pressed my forehead to the top of Snowflake’s head, trying to hide from the truth that Beatrix had just said aloud. My hands clung to the cat as if she were the only thing anchoring me to this world.

"I just need a few more days," I whispered, the plea trembling in my voice. "Give me time to settle Snowflake with mum and dad." I couldn't bear to imagine leaving her behind with no explanation, no routine, no familiarity. She was more than a pet—she was my companion, my comfort, my anchor.

Beatrix let out a breath, slow and sharp. Her silence was almost worse than a reprimand. "And what are you going to tell them? You know you can't tell them the truth—"

She stopped herself.

The unfinished sentence hung in the air between us, crackling with implication.

Unless we bring them to Bixbus too.

The thought drifted into my mind like smoke—unwelcome but impossible to ignore. The idea of dragging Mum and Dad into this absurd, tangled world was unthinkable. Yet, so was the idea of never seeing them again.

"Just a few more days. I'll sort it, I promise." My voice cracked under the weight of the vow. I wasn’t even sure if I believed myself, but it was all I had to offer.

Beatrix gave me a long look, the kind that said she wanted to argue, wanted to shake some sense into me—but didn’t have the heart. Not tonight. Not in this fragile moment. She nodded, barely, and sat beside me in the darkened room, her presence silent but steady.

We both knew time was running out. And I had just asked for more.

Noticing that the outside had fallen eerily silent, Beatrix and I exchanged a glance before cautiously approaching the window. The blinds, slightly warped from years of sunlight and dust, creaked softly under our touch as we parted them just enough to peer out into the gloom. The front garden was slick with rain, glistening under the glow of the streetlamp. The air was still. Too still.

Peeking through the slats, we scanned the street, our breath held in shared anticipation. No headlights. No movement. No uniforms.

"Looks like they're gone," Beatrix finally murmured, her voice a strained blend of relief and guarded concern. "No doubt they'll keep checking here for you."

Her words landed with the weight of inevitability. It wasn’t over. Not even close. The storm outside had passed, but the one within raged on.

"I know," I said quietly, nodding. For once, I had no interest in arguing with her. Beatrix had been right far too many times today, and my resistance had been ground down by the constant pressure, the endless adrenaline.

Without thinking, I walked to the pantry, fingers brushing aside tins and packets until they landed on the familiar neck of a fresh bottle of shiraz. A small comfort in an otherwise collapsing reality. My fingers curled around the bottle like it was a lifeline.

"Gladys, don’t," Beatrix said sharply, the warning slicing through the air.

I ignored her. I needed something—anything—that I could control. The small rebellion of pouring the wine felt stupid and childish, but I didn’t care. I pulled a half-clean glass from the drying rack, swirled the dark liquid inside, and took a generous mouthful. The wine was warm, earthy, and familiar. It coated my throat and offered a fleeting illusion of safety.

Setting the glass on the bench, I turned toward her. "I'm going to have a shower. Tell Luke that I'm alright, would you?" I asked, the words coming out a little too breezily.

"Sure," Beatrix replied, her tone clipped. She didn’t mask her disapproval, and I didn’t ask her to.

"I’ve left a car in Burra. I need to finish driving to Broken Hill before nightfall,” she added, more to herself than to me.

I paused in the doorway, something about the phrase catching my ear. "Broken Hill?" I echoed, my curiosity breaking through the fog. "What's in Broken Hill?"

"Paul has sent me on a mission," she replied matter-of-factly, her eyes lighting up with that infuriating, almost smug glow she got when she felt useful.

"A mission?" I repeated, unable to resist a smirk.

Beatrix narrowed her eyes. "Are you really going to just stand there and repeat everything I say?"

I laughed softly—dry, weary, but genuine. That familiar bite of our sisterly back-and-forth felt almost comforting. "I'm going for a shower," I said again, retreating toward the hallway with a final nod. The warm swirl of wine in my belly paired with the promise of hot water gave me a rare, fleeting sense of peace.

In the privacy of the bathroom, steam began to curl upwards as I turned the water on. The sound of it filled the space like a blanket. I let my shirt fall to the floor and stepped forward, only to pause as the lights above flickered erratically, casting jittery shadows along the tiled walls.

The hairs on my arms stood up, a cold wave prickling across my skin. A buzz of static tickled the back of my neck.

Luke? The thought came uninvited, yet somehow it felt plausible. These days, reality bent so often I no longer questioned the impossible.

I reached out quickly and turned off the water. The warmth I had been craving was suddenly the last thing on my mind. Heart hammering, I threw my shirt back over my damp skin and stepped into the hallway.

"Luke? Is that you?" I called out, my voice echoing faintly in the dim corridor.

There was no reply.

"Beatrix?" I tried again, louder now, my footsteps soft against the floorboards. I turned the corner toward the living room.

Nothing.

The silence wasn’t just absence—it was wrong. It pressed in on me, heavy and expectant.

That’s when it all fell into place. Her casual deflections, the unexplained detours, the cryptic comments, the car in Burra, the mission. Her persistent urge to take me with her, the way she’d looked at me in the dark room as though she were already halfway gone.

My stomach dropped. The wine churned uneasily inside me.

"Shit! Beatrix is a Guardian now!" I whispered aloud, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

I stood frozen in the middle of the hallway, the house suddenly cavernous around me. The echo of that realisation bounced off the walls, and with it came the sinking truth: Beatrix was gone. Not just physically—gone.

She’d crossed over.

And once you crossed, you were never quite the same.

Standing in the fogged-up bathroom, the damp air clung to my skin. The towel I’d wrapped around myself felt too thin against the cold, and the flickering lights overhead created an eerie rhythm that unsettled my already frayed nerves. My heart thudded unevenly in my chest as I reached for the doorknob, the metal cool beneath my fingertips.

Cautiously, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway, the creak of the floorboards beneath my bare feet loud in the silence. The house felt cavernous and hollow, as though something essential had been drained from it. I tightened my grip on the towel around me, clutching it like armour.

"Beatrix?" I called out softly, the name barely carrying down the corridor. No answer. Just the muffled ticking of the kitchen clock and the ever-present hum of the fridge. The silence felt ominous—pregnant with meaning, unnatural.

As I crept forward, every creak of the wooden floor felt like a gunshot in the stillness. Then—thud. A sudden noise to my left. I jumped violently, my breath catching in my throat, and in the process, the towel loosened, slipping from my chest with a humiliating plop. Scrambling to gather it back around me, I fumbled, breathless and flushed with startled embarrassment.

"Cody!" I gasped, the name bursting from me in stunned recognition.

He was standing there—real, solid, and warm against the chill of the house. His presence, so unexpected and incongruous in this quiet chaos, sent a fresh wave of relief crashing over me. My voice wavered with disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

"Gladys," he said, stepping forward without hesitation. His arms wrapped around me with a desperation that mirrored my own need for human contact. The feel of his coat pressed against my skin. I inhaled deeply—he smelled of something familiar. Safety.

Then, almost by instinct, I kissed him.

It wasn’t planned, or even deliberate. His stubble scratched lightly against my cheek as our lips met. The kiss was warm and trembling, a fragile pocket of peace carved out in a storm of madness.

But I couldn’t allow myself the luxury of it.

Pulling back with effort, I cupped his face briefly before speaking. "Cody, you can't be here. It's not safe," I murmured, a tremor of panic running through my voice.

His brow furrowed, his expression darkening. “I know. I've come to take you to Belkeep.”

My breath caught. “What?” The word barely formed in my throat, sharp with surprise. I stumbled back a step, the damp floor chilling my feet.

Cody reached into the pocket of his coat, withdrawing a Portal Key. Its metallic surface gleamed faintly in the light. He held it between us like an offering. “Please, Gladys, come with me.”

I hesitated. My hand clutched the towel tighter, my mind racing with a thousand thoughts that spun out like spider webs. “I need more time,” I pleaded, my voice cracking, my hands coming together as if in prayer.

“Gladys.” He said my name with such clarity, so gently, that I felt tears welling again. He reached for my hands, gently pulling them apart. Slowly, deliberately, he placed the Portal Key in my palm and closed my fingers around it, his touch lingering.

“We're running out of time.”

I nodded, unable to speak. A solitary tear rolled silently down my cheek, carving a slow trail through the heat of my skin.

Cody’s eyes, red-rimmed from either exhaustion or emotion—or both—locked with mine. “I'll leave you to make your final preparations. I'll return for you and Snowflake tomorrow,” he said. His voice was calm now, but resolute.

And then, before I could reply, he was gone—disappearing through the shimmering wall of colour, the swirl of the portal vanishing behind him like a curtain drawn shut on a final act.

I stood frozen, staring at the place he’d vanished, the Portal Key cold in my fist.

“This is too much,” I whimpered, barely recognising my own voice.

My arms moved instinctively, reaching toward the kitchen as if the wine might still be there, as if it might dull the storm inside my skull. But it was so far away, and the weight of everything pressing down on me made movement feel impossible.

My legs gave out beneath me.

I sank to the floor, towel slipping again but this time unnoticed. My body folded into itself, trembling with fatigue, grief, and helplessness. My forehead touched the cool floorboards, the chill shocking but strangely welcome.

Then, a soft, familiar pressure pressed into my side.

Snowflake.

My sweet, loyal Snowflake.

She wriggled her small body between my forearms, which were crossed beneath me in a posture of defeat. I lifted my head slightly, watching her as she turned in tight little circles, the instinctive ritual of seeking comfort and giving it all at once.

Finally, she nestled beneath my chin, curling into a warm, purring ball against my neck. Her soft fur absorbed the first of my tears. And then the next. And the next.

I sobbed—great, heaving sobs that left my throat raw. The noise filled the quiet house, no longer caring if anyone could hear me. In that small, broken moment, Snowflake was the only thing anchoring me to the earth. And I clung to her, sobbing into her fur, as the grief and weight of it all spilled out in waves too long held back.