Spend All of It

You can tell something's wrong before anyone admits it. The signs accumulate in small ways—unusual generosity, nervous reactions to normal things, emotions barely contained beneath surface interactions.

Luke's different today. Startled by unlocked doors. Surrounded by packed boxes that can't go anywhere because his Portal Key stopped working. When asked why, he deflects immediately—pulls thick wad of notes from wallet, waves cash like distraction. "Move the truck onto the vacant block and then you can take Jamie's car to go and buy yourself some wine."

The generosity feels wrong. Luke's never careless with money. Never throws cash around without purpose. "Spend all of it," he adds before questions form. The instruction hangs oddly—too emphatic, too urgent.

Climbing stairs with pockets full of unexplained cash, peripheral vision catches what reveals everything: Luke wiping his eye. Quick. Unconscious. Two fingers dabbing at his cheek when he thinks nobody's watching.

The gesture stops everything. Whatever's happening behind Portal Key failures and excessive wine budgets, it's breaking him quietly. And all the cash in the world can't quite mask tears someone's trying to hide.