Undeliverable

“There’s nothing more suspicious than a man handing you money and wine with tears in his eyes.”

Seated in the cab of the small truck, I felt a curious blend of irritation and anticipation brewing in my chest. The seatbelt cut awkwardly across my jacket, the vinyl upholstery still holding the morning’s chill despite the streaks of sunlight slanting in through the windscreen. I huffed, brushed a crumb off my lap, and thumbed in my first message to Luke:

11:07AM Gladys: I'm at Collinsvale. Where the hell are you?

I watched the screen, jaw tense, waiting. The only sound was the intermittent tick of the indicator I hadn’t switched off, echoing my impatience. A few seconds passed before the phone buzzed.

11:09AM Luke: Bring it around home. Sorry.

11:09AM Gladys: Seriously!?

The audacity. I’d spent my entire morning ferrying around fencing materials like some unpaid courier, only to be rerouted at the last minute. Through winding hills. In a truck that smelled faintly of engine grease and wet dog.

Another buzz.

11:10AM Luke: Yes please. I'll get you some wine. I promise.

My fingers hovered above the keypad, eyebrows arched. Wine? That was his peace offering?

It took exactly three seconds of sulking before the scales tipped from indignation to opportunity. An idea struck—sharp and perfectly timed.

11:12AM Gladys: I want two bottles

I sat back, phone balanced loosely in my palm, watching the screen like it might bite. My knees bounced up and down beneath the steering wheel, jittery with a mix of caffeine, anxiety, and maybe just a dash of guilt. Had I overplayed it?

But then:

11:13AM Luke: Done

A small, triumphant smirk curled at the corners of my mouth. Victory. Sweet, grape-flavoured victory.

Feeling quite pleased with my morning’s diplomacy, I turned the key in the ignition. The truck coughed, then rumbled to life with all the subtlety of a small earthquake. The engine’s vibration ran through the pedals and up my spine, rattling the empty takeaway coffee cup wedged into the holder.

Well, after everything I’d endured to collect Luke’s sacred fence order, two bottles of wine wasn’t just fair—it was practically symbolic restitution. And besides, when opportunity came knocking, there was really no sense in pretending I was above answering the door with a glass already in hand.

Chuckling softly to myself, I adjusted the mirrors, eased the truck into gear, and steered away from the Owens property, dust kicking up behind me in the rearview. For the first time that morning, I felt oddly empowered. And maybe—just maybe—a little smug.

"Hey, Luke!" I called out, stepping into the downstairs living area. My voice rang through the space, bouncing off bare walls and half-empty bookshelves. The air smelled faintly of dust and cardboard, with a trace of something sharper beneath—like tension. Luke jumped at the sound, startled as though I'd burst in waving a flare.

He looked up from the couch, clearly caught off guard, something clenched in his hands—a notebook, maybe, or one of those old folders he never let anyone touch.

"How–" he began, blinking as if I’d just appeared from thin air.

"Front door was open," I said quickly, cutting him off. My tone was light, deliberately offhand. Not that it really mattered, I thought, mildly amused. I do have spare keys. One of the many unofficial perks of knowing someone too long. It was a small detail, but in the midst of everything else, it felt almost ceremonial. A symbol of some forgotten normality.

"Open?" Luke echoed, sitting up straighter. His eyes darted to the hallway like he’d only just remembered he had a front door. A flicker of something tight and uneasy crossed his face—panic? That struck me as odd. Luke was many things—guarded, moody, occasionally infuriating—but panicked was not usually one of them.

"Not open, open," I clarified, sensing his unease. "Just unlocked." I gave a shrug, attempting to douse whatever fire had caught alight behind his eyes. "Didn’t want to alarm you."

"You had me worried there," Luke admitted, releasing a breath that sounded more like a pressure valve. He leaned back into the cushions, but his shoulders didn’t drop. Whatever he’d been thinking before I walked in hadn’t left him. Not really.

I tilted my head, studying him. What are you so wound up about, Luke?

"So," I began, drawing the word out as I scanned the room, letting my eyes settle on the chaotic sprawl of boxes—some sealed, others half-packed, their contents spilling out like forgotten memories. "What’s with all the packing? Why not take it straight to Clivilius?"

The couch gave a soft puff of dust as I brushed off small clumps of dirt, likely brought in from one of the dogs…before they had vanished into Clivilius. I settled in, waiting.

Luke’s mouth tightened into a frown. A shadow passed over his face, subtle but unmistakable.

"My Portal Key isn’t working," he said sharply, frustration bleeding through every word. He sat forward, scrubbing a hand across his face. His fingers lingered a moment at his temple, as if trying to massage the problem into submission.

That wasn’t what I’d expected to hear.

My heart gave an anxious little skip, one I tried to ignore. If Luke’s device wasn’t working… what did that mean for everyone else? For Cody?

"Do you know why?" I asked, concern knitting into my voice as I moved to the recliner. It, too, was speckled with dirt. I began cleaning it absent-mindedly, my hands needing something to do while my brain spun.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Luke reach for his wallet and yank it open with more force than necessary. He pulled out a thick wad of notes and held it up like a peace offering—or perhaps a bribe.

"Move the truck onto the vacant block and then you can take Jamie’s car to go and buy yourself some wine," he said, waving the cash in front of me with a vague, distracted flourish.

More wine? my inner monologue perked up immediately. Don’t mind if I do.

There was something strange about the gesture, though. Generous, yes—but a little too generous. Luke was never careless with money, not like this. But I didn’t press it. Instead, I plucked the cash from his fingers with a flourish of my own.

"Sure," I said aloud, trying not to smirk too openly as I thumbed through the notes, silently counting the reward for my morning’s thankless labour.

"Spend all of it," Luke added, before I could ask how much he expected me to actually use.

I nodded once, tucked the money into the back pocket of my jeans, and turned towards the stairs.

But as I climbed the first step, something in my peripheral vision made me pause.

Luke was wiping his eye. Not a dramatic sob, just a quiet, unconscious gesture—two fingers dabbing quickly at his cheek. If I hadn’t turned just then, I might’ve missed it entirely.

I stopped mid-step.

My hand hovered on the doorframe, heart caught between beats. What the hell is going on with him today?

For a brief moment, I considered turning back. Asking. Pushing. Staying.

But then I saw the tension still clinging to his frame. His shoulders were stiff. His gaze had fallen to the floor. He wasn’t ready to talk—not really.

So I made a choice.

I left him to his thoughts and continued upstairs. My feet moved quickly, but my mind lagged behind, tangled in concern. Why was Luke so emotional? What had gone wrong with the Portal Key? How did all of this tie together—and what role was I meant to play in it?

With each step, those questions crowded tighter around me, like fog on a cold morning—thick, damp, and impossible to shake off.

At the top of the stairs, I paused and took a long breath, letting it settle deep in my chest. I needed to focus, just for now. One thing at a time.

But Luke’s image lingered—silent, still, and unmistakably human. A reminder that underneath all the swirling Portals and Guardian talk, there were real people, breaking quietly behind closed doors.