The Pet Shop Siege

"Some places never change—the smell of sawdust, reptiles, and stale air—but the moment you step back inside, you realise it’s you who has."

The air hit first—dense and warm, carrying the musty tang of sawdust that clung to the back of my throat. Beneath it, other scents layered in: the earthy musk of reptiles, the faintly sweet, ammonia-laced bite from rodent cages, and the damp, vegetal smell of tank water. All of it merged into a scent I recognised instantly—unmistakably the basement of the pet shop.

Light was a scarce commodity here. The few bare bulbs dangling from frayed cords offered more suggestion than illumination, their yellow glow pooling in small islands across the concrete floor. Shadows stretched long and narrow between the aisles, warping over the glass panes of terrariums and aquariums.

Rows of enclosures lined the space, each one a little world sealed behind glass: lizards frozen mid-blink under heat lamps, snakes coiled in slow, patient spirals, fish flickering in quick, nervous bursts of colour. The dimness lent them all an otherworldly quality—creatures half-revealed, their movements ghosting in and out of shadow. It was equal parts eerie and captivating, a reminder that life in the basement existed on its own terms, indifferent to my arrival.

I spotted Jarod in the farthest corner, half-shadowed, his frame angled towards a terrarium that writhed with slow, liquid motion—serpents looping over one another like living knots. The dim light caught the curve of their scales in intermittent flashes, the effect unsettling and hypnotic.

"Hey, Jarod," I called, letting my voice cut through the stillness. It carried both the edge of urgency and the weight of concern. "Is everything alright down here?"

His head snapped up at once, the movement sharp enough to send a coil of hair falling across his forehead. Frustration was written clean across his face; it settled in the hard line of his mouth and the slight narrowing of his eyes.

"I'm trying to fix this cursed lock," he muttered, irritation roughening his tone.

"Lock?" I echoed, my brows lifting. I couldn’t reconcile the image—this place had always been designed for accessibility, the thin panes of glass a clear line between viewer and inhabitant, but never a barrier that required anything as definitive as a key. "The habitats never used to have any locks before."

He didn’t look up from his work this time. "A lot has changed since you stopped coming here regularly, Beatrix." His voice carried a reproach he might not have meant to sharpen, but it landed all the same. The words did their job—reminding me that my absence wasn’t just measured in missed visits, but in everything that had shifted and hardened while I wasn’t looking.

A flicker of guilt moved through me—brief, sharp, and unwelcome. I pushed it down before it could root itself, forcing my focus back to the reason I’d come. The past could stay where it was; there were more pressing matters alive in the present.

I stepped closer, the faint warmth radiating from the terrarium brushing against my skin, carrying with it that distinct, faintly metallic tang of reptile habitats. My gaze swept over the glass, and then it hit me—the slow, deliberate undulations of the creature inside pulled my breath into a sharp gasp. Recognition landed like a stone in my stomach. This was Maggie’s terrarium.

The knowledge didn’t just sharpen my awareness—it anchored me. My purpose here crystallised, cutting through any lingering distractions.

"Exotic wildlife can be tricky to handle," I said, my voice measured, a casual edge masking the directness of my intent. The words were a small bridge, easing the conversation toward the real reason I was here. Still, my eyes stayed on the sinuous movement within—scales shifting over one another like water finding its path—watching Maggie move in her confined glass world as though she already knew she was the centre of this moment.

Jarod straightened, dusting his palms against his thighs, the sound of grit and sawdust whispering in the air. His gaze locked on mine, steady and unflinching, and when he spoke, the words landed with the finality of a slammed door.

"You can't have Maggie," he declared, voice firm enough to leave no sliver of space for negotiation.

I opened my mouth, trying to step in before his certainty calcified. "Jarod, I never—" But the interruption never made it past that half-breath. He was already leaning back into the momentum of his frustration, words rolling out before I could get a foothold.

"You can't just ignore Maggie for several years and then expect her to welcome you with open arms again whenever it suits you," he pressed, the bite in his tone not cruel, but barbed with truth. It hit somewhere deeper than I’d admit aloud.

I folded my arms, an instinctive shield, and let a flicker of humour colour my defence. "Maggie doesn’t have any arms," I pointed out, my voice dry as sun-bleached bone. The movement of my crossed arms mirrored the wall in his stance—stubborn, immovable.

"Beatrix," he said again, my name weighted this time, his frown carving deeper lines into his face. "I’m being serious here."

"So am I," I countered, holding his gaze, refusing to let mine waver. The humour in my voice didn’t entirely hide the tension coiling beneath it, but it was armour enough for now.

Jarod’s expression tightened further, the lines around his eyes deepening, his concern as tangible as the faint musk of the terrarium between us. I let my shoulders loosen a fraction, conceding in tone if not entirely in intent.

"I wasn’t really going to take Maggie," I said, allowing a small softening into my voice—though in the quiet of my own mind, the rest followed like a whisper I wasn’t prepared to give him: At least not yet anyway.

A crease formed between his brows, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Then why did you say it in your message?" His gaze pinned me, sharp and searching, unwilling to let the thread of my reasoning slip away.

"I knew it would get your attention and then you’d be here by the time I arrived," I admitted, letting a sliver of my strategy into the open. There was no sense pretending otherwise—Jarod and I had always operated in that familiar territory between baiting and baited.

"You’re such a manipulator," he accused, but the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. It was the same faint tell I’d seen a hundred times before—amusement threading through his disapproval.

"But that’s why you like me," I shot back, my own lips tugging into a smile.

His scoff was soft, a blend of amusement and scepticism, before his attention slid back to the metal in his hands. "I think you’re giving yourself a little too much credit." With a final, dismissive glance, he turned back to the lock, his fingers working with quick, economical movements.

"So, I don’t need to worry about this, then?" he asked, and without ceremony, wrenched the lock free from its solitary screw in one clean motion.

"No," I said firmly, meeting his eyes to make sure the point landed. "Maggie is safe here." Whatever else I might have been plotting, it was important that he believed me on that.

Turning slightly, Jarod sent me a look over his shoulder—a measured glance laced with doubt, the kind that didn’t need words to spell it out.

"Given our last conversation down here, I’m not so sure I believe you." The scepticism lingered in his eyes, stubborn as old dust in the corners of the room.

I felt a small twist of irritation tighten in my chest. "Then why did you yank the lock from her cage?" I asked, my tone even but edged with genuine curiosity. His actions didn’t match his wariness, and I wanted to know which part of him I was really dealing with right now.

"I want to believe you, Beatrix," he said, and there was a note of weary resignation under the words, as though he’d been carrying the weight of that want for longer than either of us cared to admit.

I seized the shift in tone, redirecting the current before it could drift back into mistrust. "On that subject," I began, my voice gaining steadiness as I reached into Maggie’s enclosure. The familiar warmth of her scales met my fingers, her slow, deliberate movement curling around my hand as I lifted her free. "Have you given any more thought to becoming a Guardian?"

His laugh came unexpectedly full, the sound bouncing off the low ceiling—robust but threaded with a nervous undertone. "It’s almost all that I’ve been able to think about," he admitted. His hand drifted over the smooth wooden surface of the cabinet beside him, fingers tracing the grain like he was already imagining the places those Portals could take him.

"Good," I said, leaning in just enough to draw his focus, letting a thread of excitement colour my tone. "Because I have an idea that could make us more money than ever before."

At that, Jarod’s whole expression changed, the guarded weight in his features lifting as his eyes widened—surprise sparking first, chased quickly by curiosity, and then, just faintly, the same thread of excitement running through me. For a moment, the tension between us thinned, replaced by the shared pull of possibility. A good idea, after all, had always been our most reliable common ground.

"It’ll be far more lucrative than our casino exploits," I said, letting the words roll out like a lure, each one deliberate. "And your little exotic side business." The phrase wasn’t an idle dig—it was a calculated reminder, nudging him to consider just how high the stakes could be if we pooled our talents.

His mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to suggest I’d struck the right chord.

"I’m listening," Jarod replied, his posture shifting subtly forward, the easy slouch replaced by alertness. His gaze locked onto mine, steady and unblinking, the signal clear: I had him.

A pulse of excitement rose through me—unexpected, quickening my words before I could temper them. "Armoured Guard delivery services," I declared, the phrase dropping into the space between us with the weight of both thrill and consequence. The idea was audacious—maybe even leaning into reckless—but that only sharpened its shine. "It’s a genius idea, really."

"Even if you do say so yourself," Jarod shot back, the corner of his mouth pulling into a brief smirk before his expression levelled. "But messing with Armoured Guard deliveries? That’s some serious shit you’re talking about, Beatrix."

"I know," I admitted, feeling the reality of it settle like a stone in my chest. Inwardly, I added the thought I didn’t voice aloud—But everything about Clivilius seems to be bloody serious. It was the constant truth here: nothing worth doing came without teeth.

"But now you’ve got me curious," he said, leaning ever so slightly forward. The flicker in his eyes—part intrigue, part challenge—betrayed the otherwise measured way he sat. "Dare I ask what the details of this plan of yours are?"

Jarod’s interest was sharp enough to feel in the air between us, so I let a wry smile creep across my face, leaning in just enough to make the exchange feel conspiratorial. I was careful—deliberate—steering clear of the kinds of specifics that might light up his internal alarm system, especially anything that hinted at law enforcement.

Instead, I launched into the story of the fencing delivery at the Owens’ property. I painted it in broad, impressive strokes, letting the scene unfurl in his mind: Luke, calm and exact, standing by as an entire truckload of fencing supplies vanished from its flatbed mid-transit, each panel and post reappearing in Bixbus as though the air had swallowed them whole. The timing had been flawless, the execution seamless—one clean sweep of impossibility dressed up as mundane logistics. It was more than clever; it was proof of concept.

I let the image linger, watching him process it, his gaze unfocused for a moment as the possibilities began to line themselves up in his head. That was my cue.

"We can do the same thing with the Armoured Guard deliveries," I said, my voice pitched low but edged with a spark that made it impossible to ignore. "Think about it. They transport huge sums of money from one location to another. If we manage to activate our Portal inside one of the vehicles, and register the location without being seen, we can steal all of it!"

"That sounds insane," Jarod said, his voice caught somewhere between disbelief and fascination. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the subtle rock of his stance betraying the tug-of-war in his head. I could almost hear the gears turning, curiosity sparring with caution.

"And the best part is," I continued, letting my excitement lace through each word, "nobody would have any idea how we did it, or that it was even us. We’d be able to leave absolutely no evidence of ourselves behind." The sentence felt like I’d set a jewel on the table between us, its facets catching all the right light. The perfect crime shimmered in that space—neat, invisible, untouchable.

I caught the flicker in his eyes, the faint narrowing and gleam that told me I’d hit my mark. Still, a quieter voice in the back of my mind was urging me to keep the edges of the picture blurred, to leave the shadows unlit. Just keep leaving out all the other dangers, I told myself, holding the gloss over the jagged truth. The risks could come later—if they had to come at all.

But Jarod, of course, had no interest in preserving the illusion. "You do know that a guard will always be standing at the ready, don’t you?" he said, his tone dipping into that grounded, practical register I’d both admired and resented over the years. "Just how do you propose that we register a location without being seen?"

I held Maggie lightly, feeling the gentle ripple of muscle beneath her cool, satin-smooth scales—a soothing counterpoint to the razor edges of our conversation. "It’s simple," I said, letting the words drop with a confidence I wasn’t entirely sure I could back. In truth, the idea had impressive consequences, and I could already feel them testing the limits of my conviction.

I leaned in and pressed a small, reassuring kiss to the crown of Maggie’s head. She flicked her tongue lazily, tasting the air, as though entirely indifferent to the brewing conspiracy she’d just been made a part of.

"All we need is for one of us to distract the Guard while the other activates their Portal inside the truck."

Jarod’s brow furrowed instantly, his tone flat but edged. "You’re kidding yourself if you think we’ll be able to get inside."

I shook my head, sharp enough to cut through his objection before it gathered momentum. "We don’t have to get inside," I clarified, my voice taking on the clipped cadence of someone determined to make the logic stick. "As long as we have a direct line of sight, it shouldn’t be a problem to activate the Portal on the inside."

The exchange had turned into a precise dance—his scepticism circling my determination, each step measured, neither of us willing to break rhythm. The plan swayed between brilliance and madness, refusing to settle neatly into either category.

Maggie coiled a little tighter in my hands, and I adjusted my grip, the weight of her grounding me as much as it reminded me of the stakes. Every possible outcome branched out before me like a map drawn in haste—some routes paved with the glint of easy wealth, others obscured in shadow where consequences waited, patient and sharp.

In the dim basement light, shadows pressed into the corners, stitched together by the low chorus of rustles, chirps, and the soft, steady hum of tank filters. The air was thick with the musty tang of sawdust and warm glass, a scent that clung to the skin and refused to be ignored. I shifted Maggie’s weight in one arm, my free hand curling around the cool, familiar shape of my Portal Key.

I aimed toward the far end of the room—an area half-buried in abandoned furniture, collapsed boxes, and relics nobody had bothered to dust in years. With a slow, deliberate movement, I slid my finger across the activation button. The air seemed to tighten, as if the room itself had taken a breath.

A bead of light, no bigger than a marble yet impossibly bright, burst from the Portal Key’s tip and streaked across the space. It struck a dusty picture frame leaning crooked against the wall, detonating into a sudden spray of rainbow hues. The colours spun and curled in a hypnotic display, chasing the shadows back for a fleeting heartbeat before settling into the still, patient glow of a fully-formed Portal.

"See," I said, pride threading through my voice as I let the mental command flow. The Portal obeyed, folding in on itself and vanishing with a crisp flicker, leaving only the dim basement in its wake. "It will literally take a few seconds to activate and immediately deactivate. The location is instantly captured, and we’ll be able to return later to steal all of the cash." The words came quick, taut with the weight of what I was suggesting—and the thrill of it.

Jarod’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, the scepticism easing as something else took its place: the flicker of excitement I’d been waiting for. I pressed on, leaning into the opening. "And we can repeat the process as many times as we want." My smile pulled sly at the corners, sharp with the image forming in my mind. "The guards won’t have any idea when, where, or how we’re striking."

The possibilities unspooled in my mind like an intricate tapestry—each thread a blend of risk and reward, stitched together with the precision of our technology and the audacity to use it. Down here, surrounded by terrariums and the faint hum of heat lamps, the pet shop’s basement no longer felt like a place of cluttered confinement. It had become a stage, the air charged with the promise of what could be gained… or lost.

Jarod broke the moment’s quiet, his tone both measured and edged with that flicker of excitement I’d been coaxing out of him. "This plan of yours has potential," he said, and though the intrigue was there, it carried a ballast of caution. "But we’ll need to be careful. If we get caught, we’ll be in deep shit."

I met his gaze and nodded once, a firm acknowledgment that I heard him—not just the words, but the weight behind them. "Agreed," I said, already running through the mental checklist of steps we’d need to take. "That’s why we’ll need to do some scouting to get a sense of the schedules and practices of the Armoured Guard deliveries. We only get one shot at registering the location inside the truck, so we need to make sure we get it right."

I let the pause hang, not for drama but because the layers of the plan were already rearranging themselves in my head. "Once we have a good idea of how to hit them effectively, we can put the plan into action. We need to take into account the risk of any bystanders seeing us too."

Jarod gave a low whistle—a sound that didn’t need translation. It was acknowledgement, caution, and a dash of admiration all rolled into one. "It’s risky, but the potential reward sounds like it’s worth it. Count me in."

The words settled between us like a signature on a dangerous contract—binding, irreversible, and thrilling.

A smile curled at my lips, the sort of expression meant to look effortless but propped up by sheer will. "I thought you’d be interested," I said, letting the grin do its work while beneath it, my thoughts churned. Excitement and anxiety made uneasy bedfellows, the thrill of the plan braided tightly with the cold truth of what it meant.

Making Jarod a Guardian wasn’t simply about giving him the keys to our technology—it was a door swinging open into a life where risk was constant and safety a rare luxury. It meant drawing him deeper into the machinery of Clivilius, where each move tightened the weave of our shared fate. A successful heist could change everything; a failure could bind us in consequences neither of us could outrun.

Jarod’s voice cut through my reverie, grounding me back in the now. "So, when do we start?" His eyes carried a glint of anticipation that matched the stakes of the thing we were about to attempt.

I hesitated, not out of uncertainty but because my mind was already ticking through the other threads I needed to manage first.

"I have to go to Broken Hill tomorrow," I said, the words edged with the weariness that came from too many obligations pulling in too many directions. Paul’s missions were stacking up, each one a brick in the wall between what I wanted to do and what I was now expected to do.

"Broken Hill? Are you flying?" Jarod asked, the question pulling his brows together. His confusion was genuine—trying to fit the shape of my answer into the reality he understood, and failing.

I shook my head, the motion brisk, wanting to clear up the assumption before it took root. "No, I already made the trip today," I said, leaning slightly on the words so they carried the weight of their own efficiency. "We had recorded a Portal location in Adelaide, so I was able to go directly from Clivilius to Adelaide in the blink of an eye."

I let the pause stretch just long enough to make sure he was keeping pace before continuing.

"From there, I hired a car and recorded new locations along my journey, including Broken Hill. This means I can return directly to Broken Hill tomorrow without having to make the long, gruelling drive across the barren outback."

I gave it a beat, then added drily, "As memorable as it was spending six straight hours alone with a hire car and Taylor Swift’s entire discography on repeat."

Another pause. "And I’m pretty sure the GPS was trying to kill me somewhere around Yunta."

I rubbed a hand across my face, as if that might smooth the memory into something more sensible. "Also, I may have accidentally stolen an elderly goat named Vincent and half a dozen chickens. Still working through the ethics of that one."

Jarod blinked. Once. Then again. His face cycled through a spectrum—bemused, confused, concerned, and finally something close to existential fatigue—as if trying to reconcile the high-tech concept of inter-dimensional travel with poultry theft and unsolicited livestock relocation.

Eventually, he settled on cautious curiosity, his head tilting slightly as he attempted to connect sarcasm with science.

Comprehension settled over his features in stages—confusion peeling back to curiosity, then morphing into a spark of something almost childlike. Watching it was like seeing someone catch their first glimpse of a disappearing coin trick, except here the magic was real. His eyes lit with quiet wonder.

"I think I could definitely get used to this Portal business," he said at last, and there was no mistaking the admiration woven into his tone.

A small, unguarded smile tugged at my lips—rare, but genuine. It was a fleeting moment of ease amid the constant churn of responsibilities. Still, beneath it ran the familiar undertow: Jarod’s excitement was encouraging, but it also reminded me just how dangerous the Portals could be in the wrong hands—or even the right ones with the wrong plan.

I reined us back to the matter at hand, my voice smoothing into its more deliberate cadence. "Well, I have a mission in the outback for the next few days," I said, laying the foundation for what I needed from him. "I need you—"

"Missions?" he cut in, that grin widening, playful now, almost incredulous. "You really are taking this Guardian shit seriously."

His smile was infectious, but the moment called for focus—and I wasn’t about to let him steer us off track.

I offered a slow, deliberate eye roll. Not annoyed, exactly—just tired. "I need you to scout the armoured delivery schedules and practices while I’m away. We can’t afford to get this wrong."

The weight in my voice grounded the conversation again. It wasn’t a suggestion, and Jarod recognised that. The grin faded, replaced by a quiet, calculating stillness. He was already turning the problem over in his head.

"Got it," he said, his tone all business now. The shift was subtle but satisfying—proof that, beneath the swagger, Jarod could snap to when it mattered.

I wasn’t surprised when his eyes drifted to the Portal Key in my hand, curiosity tightening into something more pointed.

"When do I get mine?" he asked. The question was calm, but the edge of hunger was there, barely hidden.

"I’ll contact you when I’m done with Broken Hill."

The frown hit instantly—sharp, theatrical. Like a child told they had to wait to open presents.

"You mean to tell me you spring this insane plan on me, get me all hyped, and now I have to wait?"

"Sorry," I said, offering a small shrug that managed to be both helpless and entirely unsympathetic. "Leigh has your Portal Key."

With a reluctant sigh, Jarod reached for Maggie with the casual ease of habit, his hand angled to slide her from my shoulder to his arm—a motion we’d rehearsed in countless, ordinary moments. But this time, she froze. The smooth glide of muscle beneath her scales faltered; her body recoiled in a tight, defensive coil, pressing into me instead of away. The blunt knock of her head against my chest was strangely jarring.

"What’s wrong, Maggie?" I asked, my voice dropping into the low, coaxing tone I reserved for her, though worry threaded through it. My brows pinched as I scanned her movement, trying to read the subtle language of her body. Maggie rarely reacted without reason—if she sensed tension, it was because tension was there. The weight of her unease pressed into me as surely as her coiled body.

Before I could decide whether it was me she was reacting to or something in the room, Johnny’s voice sounded from above, ripping the dim basement air. "Wait! Stop!" The urgency in his tone jolted the atmosphere into something sharper, more brittle.

"Where’s the snake?" another voice barked from above, deeper, louder, the kind of tone meant to command instant compliance. The words hit me like a cold splash, my heartbeat kicking into a faster rhythm.

Jarod’s eyes locked on mine, and for a breath we just stared, the look between us carrying all the unspoken calculations of risk and consequence. His voice came low and fast, a razor-edged whisper.

"You need to get out of here, Beatrix." The push he gave me toward the filing cabinet wasn’t rough, but it was urgent, an unambiguous shove toward safety—or at least concealment.

Then, chaos erupted. The sharp, crystalline crack of aquarium glass shattering ripped through the air, followed by the deafening, gut-punch echo of two gunshots. The sound reverberated through the basement ceiling, turning the very air solid in my lungs. A cold spike of fear shot down my spine, lodging deep in my chest. In an instant, the familiar clutter and dim warmth of the pet shop’s basement felt alien—its walls no longer containing safety, but trapping us inside a battleground.

"Go!" Jarod’s voice was raw urgency, slicing through the ringing in my ears. He shoved me again toward the filing cabinet, the cold bite of the metal rattling against my back as I hit it. The jolt forced the breath from me, my body twisting awkwardly so I could face him. Confusion tangled with rising panic.

"What’s going on, Jarod?" I demanded, my voice matching the clamour in my head, each question piling atop the next.

Maggie hissed, the sound low but sharp, her coils cinching tighter around my arm until I could feel each tense muscle shifting beneath her scales. It was an instinctive warning, a mirror to the taut, dangerous energy now flooding the room.

"There’s no time," Jarod said, his grip firm on my shoulders as he forced me deeper into the cabinet’s shadow. His eyes were already flicking upward, tracking the muffled thud of boots overhead.

"Come with me," I urged, the words breaking on a thread of desperation.

If he stepped through the Portal now, he’d be safe—gone from whatever threat was spilling into the basement. But it would be a one-way trip. No Portal Key, no Guardian, no way back. Just Clivilius. Forever.

If he stayed… I had no idea what we were facing. No plan. No certainty. Just the sharp edge of danger pressing closer with every second.

And still, he hesitated.

"Fuck no!" His refusal came hard and fast, each syllable like the snap of a steel trap. His gaze darted to the staircase, to the noise bleeding down from above, the decision already carved into the set of his jaw.

The yelling above swelled into a jagged chorus, the stomp and scrape of boots punctuating the rise in volume. The air in the basement seemed to thin, every sound vibrating through the floorboards, carrying with it the promise of danger about to crash through the ceiling.

Jarod’s gaze locked on mine, and for a moment the noise faded, replaced by that maddening, familiar cockiness curving his mouth. "I want that Portal Key," he said, as if we were negotiating over a pint rather than standing in the shadow of chaos. The man had timing—terrible, infuriating timing—but it was so perfectly him.

Then, without hesitation, he slapped his palm onto a big red button on the wall.

A siren howled upstairs—shrill, unrelenting—its wail slashing through the muffled chaos above. It wasn’t just noise; it was an announcement, a flare of sound that sent my stomach dropping.

"The Police?" I asked, the words slipping out in a gasp as I reached for my Portal Key. In an instant, the cabinet around me flared alive, its dark, cold metal walls drenched in the kaleidoscopic shimmer of the portal’s energy.

Jarod’s face shifted—confidence cracked just enough for despair to bleed through. "No, it’s a fake alarm. Just a loud sound designed to scare people off." He said it like it was meant to be reassuring, but the air between us was thick with tension, and I didn’t believe him for a second.

"Jarod!" The scolding burst out of me, sharper than I intended, my fear wearing its edges raw. Leaving him here—knowing what could be waiting—gnawed at me with every second.

"This isn’t your fight. I’ve got this," he said, stepping closer. His hands settled on my shoulders in a steadying squeeze. It was meant to anchor me, to tell me he was in control. But the slight tremor in his grip told me everything else—he was scared, too.

I turned toward the swirling colours of the Portal, its light spilling across the cabinet walls, ready to step through—when the thought slammed into me like a physical blow. "Maggie!"

In the chaos, I’d almost forgotten the python still looped snugly around my arm. Her cool, muscular body shifted uneasily against my skin, reading the tension in the room with a predator’s precision. My fingers scrambled at her coils, trying to ease her free, but she resisted, tightening as though she understood that letting go meant separation. Every second spent wrestling her felt stolen from the vanishing sliver of time we had left.

Jarod’s eyes snapped between the staircase—where the pounding of boots was growing louder, heavier—and me.

"Take her with you," he said, his voice edged with command, gaze locking on mine in a way that left no room for debate.

I froze, searching his face for the flicker of doubt I hoped might be there. "Are you sure?" The words slipped out almost reflexively, a lifeline for my own uncertainty.

"Yes," Jarod said, steady and certain, just as a deep, reverberating thump sounded from above—something heavy striking the floor, a sound that felt like a countdown. "You’ll save my life."

The weight of that sentence lodged in my chest, heavier than Maggie herself.

As I braced myself to leave, the weight of the choice pressed hard into my chest. Trusting Jarod was second nature, but the image of him standing there, danger closing in, made my stomach knot. The part of me that wanted to fight alongside him clashed with the part that knew he’d already made his decision.

His hands came down firmly on my shoulders—strong, decisive—and before I could protest, the world tilted. The swirling chaos of the Portal engulfed me, colours smearing into light, and then—

I hit the ground hard on the other side. The breath punched out of me as a fine plume of Clivilian dust erupted, hanging in the air like pale smoke.

"Maggie!" The panic cracked through my voice before I’d even fully registered my surroundings. My eyes darted through the dark haze, searching for the familiar shimmer of her scales.

The python’s forked tongue flickered briefly in the dimness, her body sliding through the drifting dust like liquid shadow. The sight of her was a small, fleeting relief.

I forced myself to act, even as the realisation sank like a stone—Jarod wasn’t coming. My mind gave the command, and the Portal snapped shut, its light vanishing, severing the thread between us.

Drawing in a shaky breath, I lowered myself back onto my elbows, letting the cool earth press against me while my eyes strained to cut through the gloom. Shapes loomed faintly in the darkness, shifting, deceptive.

And then—nothing. No sound, no glimmer of movement. Maggie was gone.

"Maggie!" The scream tore out of me, raw and unrestrained, slicing into the silence until it seemed to swallow me whole.