4338.211 · July 30, 2018 AD
When Hiding Becomes Choosing
There's a particular kind of conversation that happens when police are circling your house and your sister has a Portal Key in her pocket. One where "just a few more days" means "I'm not ready to abandon everything" and "we're running out of time" means "those days don't exist." Where wine gets poured, showers get announced, and Portals get opened whilst nobody's watching. Where choosing not to decide is still choosing.
Sanctuaries have expiration dates. Gladys' arrives when police boots crunch gravel outside her spare bedroom window whilst she hides with her cat and tries to believe they'll leave and not come back.
They leave. They'll come back.
Beatrix knows this. Knows it with the certainty of someone who's already calculating escape routes, already thinking about Portal anchors and mission deadlines and the difference between protecting someone and watching them refuse protection. "Come to Clivilius with me." The invitation sounds simple until you realise what it's asking: leave your cat, your parents, your entire life behind, right now, with no warning and no return.
"I just need a few more days."
But time isn't something you can negotiate when the law already has your license plates and your address. So Beatrix pours unfinished wine down the sink, mentions something about Broken Hill, and opens a Portal whilst her sister announces shower plans. Some people leave through doors. Others leave through shimmering walls of colour that seal shut behind them.
What waits on the other side of decision isn't always rescue. Sometimes it's just a different set of impossible choices delivered by someone else with a Portal Key and diminishing patience.
