Two Weeks' Notice

"The worst lies are the ones you tell by staying silent. The second worst are the ones that accidentally work."

The staff building was smaller than I'd expected—a modest room that seemed to serve multiple purposes, cluttered with filing cabinets, a small kitchenette in one corner, and a table buried under stacks of documents. Several large backpacks were piled near the door, already packed and ready for travel. The sight of them sent a prickle of unease down my spine.

Sarah had barely waited for the door to close before launching into what was clearly a well-rehearsed pitch.

"We've been over the plans a dozen times," she said, moving toward the table and spreading her hands across the scattered papers as if presenting evidence. "The habitat designs are solid, the conservation strategy is comprehensive, and the funding model—well, Grant and I have some suggestions there, but nothing that can't be worked out during the assessment period."

I nodded, trying to look thoughtful rather than completely lost.

"The location you've described sounds ideal," Grant added, settling Dudley more comfortably in his arms. The koala had dozed off during our walk, apparently unbothered by the conversation happening around him. "Remote enough for genuine conservation work, but with enough infrastructure to support long-term operations. That's not an easy balance to strike."

"No," I agreed, because it seemed like the right thing to say. "It isn't."

James had positioned himself near the door, arms crossed, watching the exchange with an expression I couldn't quite read. When our eyes met, he raised one eyebrow—a silent question I had no idea how to answer.

"Grant and I have our bags packed and have everything lined up for the two weeks to conduct the initial site assessment," Sarah continued, gesturing toward the backpacks. Her enthusiasm was almost overwhelming, a torrent of words and energy that left little room for interruption. "We've arranged cover for our duties here, sorted out accommodations—though I suppose you've handled that on your end—and we're ready to go whenever you are."

Two weeks.

The words landed with a weight she couldn't possibly understand.

"We're excited to meet your people," she added, her smile warm and genuine. "Melanie spoke so highly of the community you're building. It sounds like exactly the kind of project we've been hoping to be part of."

I blinked. "Melanie?"

"Melanie Bandy. Your colleague?" Sarah's brow furrowed slightly. "She's the one who first approached us about the partnership. Surely she mentioned—"

"Right. Yes. Of course." I recovered quickly, filing the name away for later examination. Someone named Melanie Bandy had already made contact with the Ironbachs, had already laid the groundwork for whatever this partnership was supposed to be. The implications spiralled outward in directions I couldn't begin to map.

"I've not been able to get this whole idea of Guardians and Portals out of my head since the last time we spoke with her," Sarah said, her tone shifting from businesslike to something closer to wonder. "If she hadn't shown it to us, I'd have never believed that such things were possible."

The room seemed to tilt slightly.

She showed them.

Another Guardian had revealed the portals to Grant and Sarah. Had demonstrated the technology, explained the concept, recruited them for... what? A wildlife sanctuary in Clivilius? The very idea I'd been turning over in my mind all afternoon, someone else had already set in motion.

Grant must have noticed my expression, because he stepped closer, his voice gentle. "I know it's a lot to take in. We felt the same way when Melanie first showed us. But we've had time to process it, and we're committed to this project. Whatever it takes."

Whatever it takes.

Did they know what that meant? Did they understand that "two weeks" was a fiction, that the moment they stepped through a portal, they could never come back? Melanie had shown them the technology, but had she explained the cost?

I looked at their eager faces—Sarah practically vibrating with excitement, Grant steady and assured, Dudley snoring softly between them—and felt something twist in my chest.

They don't know.

The certainty settled over me with sickening weight. They thought this was a temporary assignment. A site assessment. Two weeks of adventure, then back to Bonorong, back to their lives, back to everything they'd built here.

I should tell them. I should explain what the portal really meant, what they'd be giving up, what they'd never see again. Their parents. Their colleagues. The sanctuary they'd poured years of their lives into. All of it, gone, the moment they stepped through.

But if I told them the truth, they wouldn't go. And Bixbus needed them. Needed their expertise, their passion, their knowledge of how to build something meaningful in a harsh landscape. The settlement was struggling. People were struggling. And here were two people who could help, who wanted to help, who were already packed and ready to go.

You've done worse, the voice in my head whispered. You've done so much worse.

My hand found the Portal Key in my pocket, fingers tracing its familiar contours. The metal was cool against my skin, grounding me in the reality of what I was about to do.

"You've seen a portal before?" I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Several times now," Grant confirmed. "Melanie wanted to make sure we were comfortable with the technology before committing to the project."

"And you are? Comfortable?"

Sarah laughed—a bright, genuine sound that made the twist in my chest tighten further. "Comfortable isn't quite the word I'd use. Exhilarated, maybe. Terrified in the best possible way." Her eyes sparkled. "It's not every day you get invited to help build something in another dimension."

Another dimension from which you can never return.

I pulled out the Portal Key.

"Well then," I said, and my voice sounded strange to my own ears—too casual, too light for the magnitude of what I was doing. "There's no time like the present."

I activated the Portal Key against the nearest blank wall. The transformation was instantaneous—the mundane surface erupting into swirling colours, purple and blue and green spiralling together in patterns that still took my breath away.

Grant and Sarah watched with expressions of familiar wonder—they had seen this before, but the spectacle clearly hadn't lost its impact. Even James, standing by the door, seemed transfixed by the display.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Sarah murmured.

"Yes," I agreed. And it was. Beautiful and terrible and utterly irreversible.

"Grab the portfolios, would you, Grant?" Sarah was already moving toward her backpack, hoisting it onto her shoulders. "And someone needs to take Dudley."

Grant hesitated, looking down at the sleeping koala in his arms. For a moment, his expression shifted—something passing across his features that might have been doubt, or reluctance, or simply the weight of goodbye. Then he crossed to James and carefully transferred the small marsupial into the younger man's waiting arms.

"Look after him," Grant said quietly. "He likes eucalyptus leaves warmed slightly. Not hot—just warm. And he gets grumpy if you wake him from a nap."

"I'll remember." James's voice was soft, his attention split between the koala and the swirling portal and me. "Don't worry about anything here. The sanctuary's in good hands."

"I know it is." Grant patted Dudley's head one final time, then turned away.

"I'll grab the portfolios," I offered, stepping toward the table. The folders were thick with documents—designs, projections, budgets, all the careful planning that had gone into this partnership I'd stumbled into. Somewhere in these pages might be answers to the questions crowding my mind. Who was Melanie Bandy? How long had this been in development? What exactly had she promised them?

But those questions would have to wait.

"See you on the other side," Sarah declared, her voice bright with anticipation as she stepped toward the portal. She paused at its edge, looking back over her shoulder with a grin that made her look years younger. "This never gets old, does it?"

Then she was gone, swallowed by the swirling colours, her silhouette dissolving into light.

Grant lingered a moment longer. His gaze swept the room—the cluttered table, the filing cabinets, the small kitchenette where countless cups of tea had been made over countless ordinary days. Taking it in. Saying goodbye without knowing that's what he was doing.

"Don't let this place fall apart while we're gone," he said to James, managing a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You're leaving it all in great hands," James assured him. His eyes found mine over Grant's shoulder, and something passed between us—curiosity, suspicion, the unfinished conversation we hadn't had time to complete. He gave me a wink that carried layers I couldn't fully parse.

Grant nodded once, then followed his sister through the portal.

And then there were two.

James and I stood in the suddenly quiet room, the portal still swirling against the wall, Dudley snoring softly in James's arms. The silence stretched between us, filled with everything that hadn't been said.

"Thanks for all your help today, James," I said finally, extending my hand. His grip was warm and firm, lingering in that way it had from the very beginning. "I mean that. The tour was... more than I expected."

"I could say the same about the whole afternoon." His smile was playful, but his eyes were sharp. "You know, for someone named Brad, you don't really look like a Brad."

"Don't I?"

"No. You look more like a..." he tilted his head, studying me with theatrical consideration. "A Luke, maybe. Or a Daniel. Something with more edges."

My heart stuttered, but I kept my expression neutral. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should." His thumb traced a small circle against the back of my hand—that same deliberate gesture from before. "So. Will I see you again? When you come back for the next phase of the project, or whatever this is?"

"Maybe," I said, and hated how much I meant it. "Probably. It's complicated."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it keeps being true."

A knock at the door shattered the moment. Emma's head appeared through the gap, her expression apologetic but urgent.

"James," she said, "Brad Coleman is here to meet with Grant and Sarah about the new confidential project."

The words hit me like a physical blow.

Brad Coleman.

The real Brad Coleman. The actual Guardian whose identity I'd been wearing for the past half hour. Here. Now. Walking into the building while I stood beside an active portal with his name on my borrowed credibility.

James turned to me, his eyes narrowing as pieces clicked into place. The sharp intelligence I'd glimpsed earlier was fully engaged now, reassessing everything he thought he knew about the afternoon's events.

"Do you want me to bring him here?" Emma asked, oblivious to the tension suddenly crackling through the room.

"Uh, hang on a sec, Emma," James replied, his voice admirably steady. His gaze never left mine. "Just give us a minute."

The door closed, leaving us alone with the portal and the silence and the weight of revelation.

Part of me wanted to stay. To meet the real Brad Coleman, to understand what I'd stumbled into, to explain myself to James—who deserved an explanation, who had been kind and charming and entirely too perceptive for his own good. There were questions that needed answers, threads that needed following, a mystery that had only deepened with Sarah's mention of Melanie Bandy.

But staying meant exposure. Meant confrontation. Meant the unravelling of whatever strange opportunity had fallen into my lap.

"I have to go," I said.

"Yeah." James's voice was quiet, resigned. "I figured you'd say that."

"For what it's worth—"

"Don't." He held up a hand, stopping whatever inadequate apology I'd been about to offer. "Just... whoever you actually are, whatever this actually is, try not to be a complete arsehole about it. Grant and Sarah are good people. They deserve better than being caught up in something they don't understand."

The words landed harder than they should have. Harder than I wanted them to.

"They'll be fine," I said, and hoped it was true. "I'll make sure of it."

James studied me for a long moment, the portal's light playing across his features, casting shifting shadows that made his expression difficult to read. Then he nodded—not acceptance, exactly, but acknowledgment.

"I'll hold you to that. Luke. Or whatever your name actually is."

I couldn't help it. Despite everything—the guilt, the urgency, the certain knowledge that I was making yet another decision I'd have to live with—I smiled.

"It's Luke, actually. You're good at this."

"I know." A ghost of his earlier warmth returned. "Now get out of here before the real Brad ruins whatever the hell is happening."

I didn't need to be told twice.

The portal swallowed me in light and colour, and the last thing I saw before Clivilius claimed me was James standing alone in that cluttered room, a sleeping koala in his arms and questions in his eyes that I might never get the chance to answer.