Terms and Conditions

“Every favour comes with a footnote. And the ones that don't? Those are the ones you should read twice.”

"You're really not going to leave me alone, are you?" The words tumbled out, more revealing than I intended—laced with irritation, sure, but also that quiet, reluctant note of gratitude I couldn’t quite scrub from my tone. My sigh followed close behind, coiled in frustration, the kind born of exhaustion and too many unspoken things. Yet beneath it all… a strange comfort lingered. As much as Leigh's presence grated on my nerves, it was also an anchor in a sea that had been anything but steady.

"Of course not," Leigh answered, his tone firm, almost annoyingly assured. He shifted his weight against the desk, arms loosely folded, posture relaxed—too relaxed for the storm that still churned inside me. He didn’t get it. He couldn’t possibly.

My eyes betrayed me, drifting to the wastebasket beside him. The dress still stared up at me like a spectre—torn, bloody, shameful. Its crumpled folds peeked through the rim, a tangible reminder of everything I had been trying to bury beneath clothes and towels and sarcastic defences. It sat there, quiet and accusing, until Leigh's voice broke the silence.

"What happened to you? How did you manage to get yourself all scratched up? Is Luke's settlement that dangerous?"

His voice came quick, concerned, peppering the room with pointed questions like pebbles thrown into a still pond—each one creating ripples I didn’t want to feel. I stiffened, folding my arms across my chest as though I could somehow protect myself from the memories clawing their way to the surface.

My lips drew tight, a pressure building behind them. So many things I could say. So many things I wouldn’t. Not now. Not yet.

"You could say that," I muttered at last, my voice low and clipped, each syllable edged with fatigue. It was the kind of answer meant to end a conversation, not invite more of it.

But Leigh wasn’t so easily discouraged.

"Say what?" he pressed, his tone softer now, the sharp edge replaced with something gentler, more insistent. His head tilted, just slightly, in that way people do when they want to be let in. It was subtle, but in that tilt was a plea—for honesty, for connection, for something real between us.

"That Luke's settlement is dangerous," I replied, the truth hissing out like air from a punctured balloon. Simple words for a reality that had been anything but.

Leigh’s posture shifted perceptibly—his shoulders lifted ever so slightly, hands hovering in a gesture that straddled anticipation and caution.

"I was attacked by a freaking shadow panther!" I exploded, the words erupting from somewhere deep inside, raw and untamed. They echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls like ricocheting bullets. I hadn’t meant to shout, but the memory had come surging back—flashing claws, snarling jaws, Duke’s brave little body—and suddenly, the fury was too much to contain. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, my fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

Leigh’s face slackened, sorrow bleeding into his expression. His usual composure faltered, and for a fleeting moment, he looked genuinely shaken. "Oh," he said, barely above a whisper. But that single syllable was steeped in a quiet horror, the kind that came from knowing too much.

"You're familiar with the creatures, I gather?" My voice was laced with accusation, sharp and unforgiving. I needed answers. I needed to know that I hadn't been thrown into a nightmare without warning while the people who should’ve protected me stood idly by.

Leigh’s nod was slow, deliberate—his chin dipping in reluctant admission. "Unfortunately, I am," he murmured. His tone was subdued, but the regret was there, unmistakable.

"And you didn't think to warn me?" The question cracked through the air like a whip. It came fast, involuntary, driven by the ache of betrayal gnawing at my insides. My voice, already brittle, splintered on the edges.

The room descended into silence again, but now it felt different—heavier, more suffocating. Leigh looked away for a moment, jaw tightening, his lips parting slightly as though trying to form an explanation that wouldn’t come. Guilt, conflict, sorrow—they warred across his features, flickering and fading in turn. His eyes eventually found mine again, but they held no defence, only the quiet weight of a truth he had clearly avoided for far too long. And still, he said nothing.

Not yet.

"Beatrix," he began, his voice deliberately gentle, imbued with an earnestness that reached across the room like an outstretched hand. There was no defence in his tone, only a quiet appeal, like he was trying to steady the fragile ground beneath us. "Attacks on new settlements are rare. If I thought you were in any immediate danger, I would have said so." His words hung between us like suspended breath, tentative and laden with a desperate bid for understanding—a threadbare explanation held together by good intentions and hindsight.

I didn’t speak right away. My gaze narrowed, carving a line straight through him, dissecting his expression for anything that might betray a deeper truth. His explanation, however calmly delivered, felt curated. Measured. The kind of thing you say when you’re trying not to reveal the full extent of what you know. He hadn’t mentioned the Portal pirates. He hadn’t mentioned the shadow panthers. What else was he keeping quiet?

A sudden chill prickled along the nape of my neck, as though my body sensed the deceit even if my mind struggled to confirm it. My breath caught, and I pressed my hand to my mouth instinctively, as if that could hold back the swell of unease rising within me. I couldn’t shake the sensation that this—everything—was far bigger than I had been led to believe. Leigh’s silence on the dangers I’d already endured was damning, and that silence now cast long shadows over everything else he might say.

"I need to find Jarod," I blurted, the need to move, to act, overriding my paralysis. I had to redirect my focus before I drowned in doubt. The idea of waiting for more half-truths made my skin itch. Action, even misplaced, felt preferable to standing in this suffocating space.

Leigh startled, slipping off the edge of the desk more quickly than he’d intended. His foot clipped the wastebasket, sending it toppling over. A clatter followed—a chaos of paper scraps, tissues, and the twisted remains of that cursed dress I’d flung in earlier. The items scattered like pieces of a broken truth, ugly in their exposure.

"I've already taken care of that," he said as he crouched to tidy the mess, his voice calm, almost too calm. His hands moved deliberately, brushing the fabric back into the bin as though erasing the scene could somehow erase the tension between us.

"What does that mean… you took care of it?" I demanded, my voice fraying at the edges. There was a tremor beneath my words, something I hadn’t meant to reveal. But his ambiguity unsettled me, dragging my thoughts to dark corners of possibility I wasn’t ready to confront.

"Don't look so worried," Leigh said lightly, attempting a chuckle. It sounded forced, off-key, like a piano played out of tune. He righted the bin with a metallic clang.

I gave him a long, dubious stare, arms folded across my chest, my brows arched high in open challenge. My glare asked the questions I couldn’t voice—What have you done? What aren’t you telling me? And Leigh, despite the casual pose, couldn’t quite meet my eyes.

Leigh seemed to understand the urgency in my silent plea, his posture straightening as he offered more than just words—he offered clarity, or at least the beginning of it. "I followed the events of the night very closely after I purposely bumped into you."

My jaw clenched at that.

"And?" I shot back, unable to temper the impatience in my voice, my words sharp and edged with panic. "What happened when he and I were separated? Did they hurt him?" The barrage of questions escaped in a rush, propelled by a tightness coiled in my chest, every syllable laced with the image of Jarod in distress—arrested, manhandled, or worse.

"Jarod did get arrested—" Leigh began.

The phrase hit me like a slap.

My body moved before my thoughts could catch up. I lunged for my handbag, muscles tensing with the automatic urge to do something—to intervene, to fix what I had unknowingly left broken. But Leigh’s reflexes outmatched mine. With a smooth, almost frustrating ease, he retrieved the bag from its crumpled slump beside the bed before I could reach it.

"But I spoke with my contact in the Department and had Jarod released and all charges dropped," he continued, the calm assurance in his voice clashing with the frenzied pace of my pulse. He extended the bag toward me like a peace offering, and I accepted it with a hesitant hand, feeling the weight of it settle into my palm like a lifeline I hadn’t realised I’d needed.

Our eyes locked for a breathless moment—his gaze steady, mine still swimming with residual dread. Between us hung a fragile strand of something difficult to name. Not quite forgiveness, not quite trust. But there was gratitude, tangled in the mess.

"Thank you," I breathed, the words catching on the edge of emotion that still lingered in my throat. It came out small, almost inaudible, yet I meant it. For now, at least, Leigh had done something right.

But the whirlwind hadn’t passed—only momentarily paused.

"The two of you make a good pair. A somewhat disastrous pairing, perhaps, but well-suited nonetheless." Leigh’s words floated between us like a careless spark in a room full of tinder.

My eyes narrowed. Excuse me? The incredulity that flared inside me had nowhere to go but outward. My hand shot to his bicep and landed with a firm thump—a gesture that was part warning, part catharsis, and wholly necessary.

Leigh barely flinched. If anything, the faint smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth only fuelled my irritation.

"But with the proper training, I think you could both make for a very formidable team," he added, unfazed, his voice now carrying the smooth assurance of someone who thought he was offering wisdom. As he spoke, his hand unfurled between us, revealing yet another Portal Key nestled like a glinting secret in his palm.

My breath caught. My heart clenched.

"I think we should give him this."

The suggestion landed like a whirlwind. I felt it resonate deep in my chest, as if the mere idea had shaken loose the tenuous grip I had on the day. My headache spiked violently in response, the pressure behind my eyes blooming into sharp points of pain. My hands instinctively moved to my temples, pressing in as if I could squeeze the absurdity of his words out of existence.

"You're crazy!" The outburst sprung from my lips before I could rein it in, raw and edged with disbelief.

Leigh laughed.

He actually laughed.

The sound ignited a fresh wave of irritation that prickled under my skin like static. My glare sharpened, eyes narrowing into blades that tried—uselessly—to slice through the calm arrogance he wore like it was second nature.

But the moment of levity passed, his expression sobering as he returned fire with an unsettling truth. "I'm not the one who, in only twenty-four hours, tried to steal from a casino and survived the attack of a deadly shadow creature."

"Panther. It was a shadow panther," I snapped back, the correction escaping before I could stop it. My tone was clipped, defensive—because the truth, even cloaked in humour, was hard to digest.

Leigh’s eyes found mine, and the smirk faded into something more earnest. “You can’t deny it, Beatrix,” he said gently, the humour draining from his voice. “You’ve got some fine skills there.”

The compliment landed awkwardly, not quite welcome, yet impossible to dismiss. It lingered, stirring the muddled cauldron of exhaustion, grief, anger, and confusion churning inside me. My lips pressed into a line, the weight of his words pressing down like a seal on something I hadn’t yet decided I was ready to confront.

Skills. A team. Another Portal Key.

Was he building something… or preparing me to lose more than I already had?

As Leigh's proposal hung in the air, I found myself inhaling deeply, my lungs filling with the cool, stale scent of my bedroom—familiar, grounding, yet offering no clarity. The breath wasn’t intentional; it was the kind of reflex that surfaced when your mind needed more oxygen than sense. My thoughts churned, spiralling through the implications of what he’d suggested.

Leigh wanted Jarod and me to form a team. A proper one. Not just reluctant allies tossed together by circumstance, but something structured, intentional. It sounded absurd. And yet… not entirely unwelcome.

The idea sparked something volatile—an intoxicating blend of apprehension and allure. My chest tightened as I imagined working so closely with Jarod again, this time not out of accident or survival, but as a deliberate union under the banner of Guardianship. Was it even possible? Would it magnify the chaos already trailing in our wake? Or could we—somehow—be stronger together, tempered like steel forged through fire?

But just as quickly as the thought bloomed, it was eclipsed by another, colder truth—I was barely managing my own initiation into this world. The title of Guardian still clung to me like a borrowed coat—slightly too large, poorly fitted, weighed down with expectations I hadn't even begun to understand. How could I offer a place beside me to someone else when I hadn’t yet figured out where I stood?

"At least think about it," Leigh said, slicing through the silence with gentle insistence. His voice, so calm and collected, was at odds with the storm quietly brewing behind my eyes.

A long breath shuddered from my lungs, an exhale that felt like the cracking of ice underfoot—reluctant, brittle, but breaking nonetheless. "Fine," I said. It wasn't agreement. Not really. More of a temporary ceasefire between my anxiety and his ambition.

To my surprise, Leigh's face lit up. His eyes widened with something close to triumph—bright, eager, full of hopeful urgency, as though I’d just handed him a key to something much greater than either of us yet understood.

"You’ll give the Portal Key to Jarod?" he asked, the words tumbling from his mouth with such anticipation, it nearly jolted me into snapping.

I fixed him with a look, the kind that I hoped would pin him exactly where he stood. "I’ll think about it," I repeated, slow and deliberate, my voice low and resolute. A warning cloaked in patience.

This wasn't his decision. This was mine. And I’d be damned if anyone rushed me into another reckoning before I was ready.

"Either way," Leigh articulated, his voice carrying a note of casual suggestion as he engaged in a languid stretch. The deliberate pull of his limbs sent a soft crack echoing from his back. His arms lifted and rolled his shoulders with practiced ease, but the seeming nonchalance of his actions couldn’t disguise the intent in his words. "You should at least visit him. Tell Jarod that he should probably keep a low public profile for a while."

I let out a dry, incredulous scoff. The idea of Jarod doing anything low-key was laughable.

"Jarod, keep a low public profile. Unlikely." The words emerged bitterly sardonic, barely veiling my scepticism. I could already picture his smug grin, the exaggerated shrug, his inevitable ‘What, me?’ routine. Subtlety was about as natural to him as modesty to a peacock.

Leigh, however, wasn’t amused. His posture shifted slightly, shoulders tightening, voice losing its edge of levity. "I'm serious, Beatrix." There was a pause—a deliberate space carved out for gravity to settle in the room—before he gestured, almost sombrely, toward the wastebasket. The sight of the tattered, bloodied dress peeking from its brim jolted me, an uninvited flash of memory threatening to unravel my resolve. "It's a serious situation."

My eyes rolled before I could stop them, a gesture that betrayed the exhaustion curdling just beneath my skin. Every direction felt like it led deeper into chaos. I didn’t want to admit he was right. But I didn’t want to be alone either.

"Fine, but you're coming with me," I said, snapping the decision into existence before doubt could slink its way back in.

"I am?" His brows lifted, more bemused than resistant.

"Yes, well, you are the one that got me onto this horrendous rollercoaster in the first place," I replied, words biting at the edges as I rifled through my handbag in search of my phone. My fingers brushed lip balm, a receipt, then finally the cold, hard case. "So yes, you are coming too." There was no room for negotiation in my tone—it was a decree, firm and final.

"Okay," Leigh replied, entirely unbothered, his mood as buoyant as ever. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his device, and the room came alive. Light splashed across my walls in an erratic display of colours—emeralds, violets, sapphire hues dancing like fairy lights after dark. It might have been beautiful if I weren’t so damn tired.

Phone in hand, caught in the strange liminality between impulse and decision, I felt Leigh’s eyes linger on me—not with judgement, but with that quiet, unnerving perceptiveness he wielded like a scalpel.

"I guess there's no need to hide it anymore, now that you have your own Portal Key," he murmured. There was something wistful in the way he said it, as if acknowledging not just a change in my capabilities, but in our entire dynamic. Whatever came next, we were no longer apprentice and guide.

We were both in this now—up to our necks.

"What are you doing?" Leigh's voice cracked through the moment, his tone suddenly sharp, brimming with urgency.

"Calling Jarod," I retorted without hesitation, fingers still hovering near the screen, my thumb poised with purpose. The irritation behind my words simmered, my brow knitting tight. Could he truly not grasp the most basic deduction?

"Turn it off, quick," Leigh urged, his body lurching forward in one smooth motion. His hand snatched the phone from mine with a swiftness that startled me, his palm brushing mine—hot, tense, insistent.

Before I could protest, the screen blinked and Jarod's voice broke through, a fragile thread connecting us across the ether. "Beatrix?" The sound of my name in his voice, raw and unguarded, triggered something deep—comfort and chaos wrapped in one fleeting syllable.

And then, silence. Leigh ended the call with a definitive tap.

I turned on him instantly, my suspicion spiking like a charge in the air. His chest rose and fell, but his face remained unreadable.

"Probably best that we don't pre-warn him," he said, tone breezy but undercut by something too calculating to ignore. The justification floated in the air between us, flimsy and insufficient.

"I think it's a bit late for that," I snapped, sarcasm and frustration dancing on my tongue as I reclaimed my phone with a deft flick of my hand. As if summoned by the tension alone, Jarod’s name lit up the screen again.

"Don't answer it," Leigh said, sharper now, eyes locked on mine with a flicker of something—fear? Strategy?

"Why the hell not?" My voice rose, the walls of my patience crumbling under the weight of this maddening farce. Yet, in spite of my instincts, my thumb hesitated... then moved to reject the call. The action felt traitorous, like slamming a door on someone who’d never left mine open.

"Even better, turn your phone off," Leigh pushed, his tone firm now—commanding.

"What?" My voice cracked with disbelief. Was this seriously happening? I stood frozen, caught between confusion and indignation, my mind screeching like brakes on a wet road. Why was he making this harder than it needed to be?

"It'll make him panic when he can't reach you," Leigh added, more calmly now, as though his logic should have soothed the rising tide within me.

Instead, my glare sharpened, my gaze narrowing to slits of scepticism. My arms folded of their own accord, a defensive wall I had little energy to reinforce. I felt the tremor of exhaustion run through me, nerves raw and brittle, the world around me pushing from all sides.

A thought whispered through the din—treacherous, tempting: There’s still time to call Jarod back and lie. I could easily cover it up with a casual excuse: Oops, pocket dial. Something mundane, something believable. But even that sliver of deceit tasted bitter on my tongue.

I let out a long, unsteady breath. The air around me felt thick, stifling. I stared at the screen, Jarod’s name now gone, the connection severed but not forgotten.

Dragging him further into the twisted abyss of Clivilius felt wrong. Dangerous. But so did facing it alone. The idea of braving that place again without his voice, his presence—however infuriating—made my stomach knot. He might be a disaster at subtlety, but he had always been there. My partner in reckless ambition. My chaos.

Two impossible paths stretched out before me. Neither safe. Neither kind.

"Beatrix," Leigh's voice cut through my reverie, sharp, direct—a jarring interruption that snapped the fragile thread of contemplation I had been trailing. It held a command within it, a summons that demanded attention and yielded nothing to subtlety.

But my fingers didn't falter. They moved across the screen, each tap of the keyboard a declaration of autonomy. "I'm messaging Jarod," I replied, my tone as level as the calm surface of a storm-bound sea. Beneath that stillness, however, currents of tension churned restlessly.

Leigh's eyebrows shot up, his surprise bleeding into every line of his face. "I thought we agreed that you were going to turn your phone off?"

The implication in his words irked me—the presumption of shared agreement when only one of us had signed that unspoken contract. I tilted my chin slightly, eyes still fixed on the screen as my thumbs finished crafting the message. "You agreed to that," I corrected, the trace of defiance in my voice like a drawn line in the sand. My hands stilled, the phone resting comfortably in my palm as I hit send. The message glowed back at me, simple and decisive:

Beatrix: On my way to meet you at our usual rendezvous

I didn’t look up right away. I didn’t need to. I could feel Leigh's shift in energy—the subtle straightening of his spine, the way his weight repositioned against the desk, his arms folding in a barely contained mixture of frustration and resignation.

"He'll only come looking for me if I turn my phone off," I added, firm but not unkind, letting practicality be my shield. "And I don't fancy a wild goose chase around town," I continued, my tone touched by a note of weary humour. "I've told him I'm on my way to meet him."

My phone buzzed with impeccable timing.

Jarod: Wrest Point?

I stared at the message, and a chuckle escaped me—dry and incredulous. Of all places.

An eye roll followed, involuntary, as if my entire body shared my incredulity. Wrest Point? Seriously, Jarod? The very name conjured a litany of images—neon lights, sharp corners, blood-slicked floors, and echoes of tension still lodged deep in my muscles. That place had played host to more than enough chaos for one lifetime.

There's no way in hell we're going back to that place anytime soon, I thought, lips twisting into a wry half-smile. That ship had sailed, sunk, and was now rusting peacefully on the ocean floor.

The room was suddenly awash with the vibrant, pulsating lights from Leigh's Portal, casting an ethereal glow that danced wildly across the walls like a living kaleidoscope. Blues, greens, and purples shimmered over my furniture, briefly transforming the mundane into something otherworldly. It was mesmerising—beautiful, even—but I’d come to associate that beauty with chaos, with disruption.

"And where are you going?" My curiosity was genuine, though tinged with wariness as I watched the colours flicker and pulse like a heartbeat.

"To Jarod's," Leigh said, matter-of-fact, as if he were announcing he was heading to the corner shop. "I've registered the location of his house with my Portal Key."

My head tilted slightly, a frown forming as his words sank in. "Of course you have," I said flatly, the incredulity soaking into every syllable. Somehow it didn’t surprise me anymore—this was Leigh, always one step ahead, always meddling in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

Leigh caught the edge in my voice and shifted, his face softening into an apologetic smile. "Oh, sorry," he offered. "I forgot you're a new Guardian. You wouldn't have access to his location yet."

"No," I admitted with a small shrug, the truth biting but irrelevant. "But that doesn't matter." I refused to let my lack of access feel like a weakness, even if it stung.

Relief spread across Leigh’s face, as though I’d just passed some unspoken test. "I'll meet you there then?"

"Unlikely," I said, letting the words roll off my tongue with a teasing edge, a flicker of amusement breaking through the haze of tension.

"What?" His eyebrows shot up, the confusion on his face so sincere it almost made me laugh.

"We're not going to his house."

"We're not?" he repeated, blinking like I’d spoken in another language.

I couldn’t help but grin, a small, mischievous moment amidst the madness. "Come on, I'll drive us." Already the plan was crystallising in my mind—fewer questions, fewer risks. I turned towards the door, but the muffled cadence of my parents’ voices drifting up from downstairs stopped me short. Instinct kicked in, and I closed the door swiftly, sealing us away from yet another confrontation I wasn’t ready for.

"On second thought," I said, pivoting smoothly, "let’s meet at Luke’s." Safe. Accessible. Familiar. And far, far away from the judgemental curiosity of parental eyes.

Leigh nodded, comprehension dawning in his expression. "See you in a minute," he said, and without further ceremony, vanished into the prismatic vortex of the Portal.

As the light evaporated, I quickly snatched up my phone, thumbs flying.

Beatrix: No! The other rendezvous

The message sailed off into the void, and I stood for a moment, staring at the screen, heart thudding a little too fast. Whatever came next, there was no turning back. I inhaled deeply, letting the breath settle low in my lungs, and exhaled with a sense of finality. The web of choices I’d made was already tightening. All I could do now was move forward—step by step—into the shadows of Clivilius and whatever truths waited to be unearthed.