4338.205 · July 24, 2018 AD
Not Tonight, Not Like This
Gladys promises silence between hiccups, her words slurred and careless, the weight of the secret sliding off her like water. Luke watches her drink. Watches her shrug. And in the quiet of his living room, a thought surfaces—cold, logical, monstrous. One push through the Portal. One more body in Clivilius. Problem solved. The man who could make that choice would not be building something beautiful. He would be building something else entirely.
The Portal closes. The living room returns to ordinary stillness. And Gladys sits at the bench, wine glass loose in her hand, promising secrecy with all the gravity of someone agreeing to water the plants.
Luke needs her silence. Needs it absolutely, completely, without exception. The secret of Clivilius cannot survive exposure—not to gossip, not to curiosity, not to the grinding machinery of governments and institutions that would strip the wonder from it and leave only exploitation behind.
She shrugs. She hiccups. She doesn't understand.
And in that moment, a darker thought uncurls in Luke's mind. The Machiavellian corner he usually keeps caged begins to pace, presenting arguments, painting scenarios. One person's freedom against the protection of an entire world. Surely the ends justify the means?
The calculation is cold. The logic is clean. And Luke feels himself leaning toward it—toward a solution so neat, so final, that it terrifies him.
But not tonight. Not like this.
He steps back from the edge. The thought remains, though. Waiting. Patient. Ready to surface again when the stakes grow higher.
