"Miss, you're not allowed to be down here," Andrew said, getting up from the guard table to make his way over to the wrought iron gate.
He was a soft-faced man with four children who knew as much about his job as their mother did—which was to say they knew nothing. Their father was private security. What he guarded mattered infinitely less than that they went to beaches and amusement parks and ate good, healthy, organic food and had their mother home with them to fuss over their scraped knees and remind them to say 'please' and 'thank you' regularly.
They didn't know what he guarded. He didn't know what he guarded. And he didn't need to.
Georgia glanced over to Andrew, looking away in time to miss herself losing a level of her puzzle game. She was a pretty woman in her forties, gentle creases in her face that looked so different than her twin's, whose face looked less like her own day-by-day as his beard began to come in and his hair thinned away and his smile widened and brightened.
She'd never be able to afford his medicines and surgeries without this job.
Hannah felt her chest pang and ache. She was too young to understand in full what it meant to care for a family, but she wasn't too young to understand need.
The both of them needed this work.
Still, Hannah thought as she looked past the guards to the glass prison just past them where something inhuman did not sleep so much as it waited and bided its time and grew steadily more tired and angry and weak and-
Still. Despite it all, Hannah could not turn away when help was needed and when it was within her ability to give.
"I know," she said, sunny and sweet, her duffel over her shoulder and a pair of paper cups in her other hand, "but I brought tea. And I'm safe where you are, right?"
Andrew grimaced.
It was a loaded question, of course. Hannah wasn't safe anywhere as far as he was concerned.
"You went out, Miss," he said, tone as stern as it would be with his own children.
"Not at all. Grabbed these from the kitchen."
"That's not what he meant and you know that. Hannah, you shouldn't be down here," Georgia pushed, and Hannah let out a soft sigh.
"I know," Hannah conceded. "I know. I'm sorry. I just… I want to know what it's like. And I kept covered the whole time, I promise."
"Your fathers were furious, Hannah. They fired Louis. He'd only been working here a few weeks." Andrew folded his arms over his chest, and Hannah winced.
"I know." It was more somber, now. Lower. He had seemed like a decent man, Louis Garver. He would make a good attendant some day. "But you can't imagine, can you? What it's like to be forbidden to be seen in public? I'd never seen a grocery store, Andrew. I'd never seen a public library. I'm going to crack some day."
With a soft sigh, Georgia reached over to press the buzz-in, letting Hannah step inside despite Andrew's disapproving glare.
"Well, come have a sit, then. And tell no-one that we let you in here, Miss," Georgia said, taking an offered tea with a glare that said all she felt needed to be said, Andrew shutting the gate before coming over to take his own tea as he sat beside Georgia.
"Not a word, I—"
"Don't promise. You promised you wouldn't leave the estate, Hannah," Georgia said, Andrew nodding beside her. "Don't promise if you don't mean it."
Hannah set her bag on the ground between the table and the moat, settling on the stone there with a soft huff. "I'm not a child. I know what a promise is—and I know what a trap is, too. Contracts made with minors aren't legally binding; I promised not to leave when I was too little to understand how much more world a person needs," she said, pulling out a bit of knitting and letting the soft tic-tic-tac of her needles punctuate the cool air.
Andrew sighed, taking a long swig of his tea. It was warm and sweet, just how he liked it, and his hand stayed wrapped around the cup as he watched Georgia copy him from the corner of his eye.
"Hannah," he started, "I'm not saying it's fair. In fact it's about as unfair as it gets. But do you know what would happen to you if the wrong people saw your marks? Do you have any idea how evil the world can be?"
"No, I get it," Hannah said with the surety of someone who did not know how much pain her body could bare and still wretchedly cling to life. "I could get kidnapped. They could come after my fathers. I could die."
"There's a lot worse that could happen to you than die," Georgia said, grim edges of her eyes dark and distant. "You know I was a POW—I told you that much when you were little. But you're older, now. Maybe you should know what really happens when you get taken."
Hannah could see it, now; there were two Georgias, of course. She'd known that since she was very small, back when Georgia and Andrew were her carers—her parents when her fathers couldn't be bothered with her presence or youthful exuberance. There was the Georgia who doted and spoke sure and friendly and light and who chased her around the back garden with the hose when she whined that Summer was getting too hot, and then there was the other Georgia. The Other Georgia wasn't kind. She was protective, and fierce, and angry, and sharp; she had seen consequences.
This was The Other Georgia, now, and Hannah was only grateful that The Other Georgia still drank tea like Georgia did.
"When someone wants information from you, you know, they don't take it themselves," The Other Georgia said, no longer looking at anything other than her tea, and Andrew took a sip of his as he let her ride out her episode.
"No—if they tried to take it themselves, they might get swayed by your begging or screaming or crying. They might get grossed out when you piss or shit yourself or puke bile or blood.
"Instead, they find some poor fuck who can't afford not to have the job. They tell him: get the information or watch your family starve. Watch your wife and children die cold and alone—or watch them leave you if they're smart. If they don't love you enough to believe the lie that everything will be alright.
"And now it doesn't matter if you cry or piss or scream because he's got a cause. He's got something he's fighting through and you're nothing more than an obstacle between him and what he loves."
Hannah felt the ache settle deep in her throat, where her heart had crawled up to lean against her breath. She didn't know what would happen after today. She didn't know if Georgia and Andrew would be okay.
But she had to hope.
"I'm sorry, Georgia…" Hannah started, and the weighty waver of her voice made her realize she'd nearly started crying.
Georgia's face softened, gentle. Andrew had already rested his head on his hands; he wasn't asleep. Not yet. He would be, soon.
"Hannah, love… I know. It's okay," she said, and with a smile that stung through Hannah deeper than she'd known a pain could reach, dropping her heart down through her belly to sit cold as stone, Georgia leaned forward to rest her head on her arms. "I love you. I love you. You're… a better person… than your… fathers."
And with that, they were—both of them—asleep.
It took a trembling moment to collect herself, but Hannah sniffled and wiped her face and pulled the yarn from her bag to retrieve the items she'd brought with her. Paint thinner and towels first, pouring the thinner directly on the golden runes and circle before she began scrubbing, ignoring the way the creature in the glass shifted to stare down at her as she worked.
"I'm sorry it took so long," Hannah said, voice quiet grunts as she destroyed the old circle. "I'm sorry you were left cold and alone. I'm sorry—I'm sorry about Jessamy. Father mentioned her a few times when he—he thought he was alone. I'm sorry your things were taken, and I'm sorry I couldn't get them all back. I tried. I tried. There's a—this woman in London. I met her by accident. She helped me get back what I could."
Hannah couldn't look at him even as she finished cleaning up the old circle, wiping clear the last of the aged paint and setting the rags aside. Was she afraid of him? She didn't know; not now. Not when her body and mind swung wildly between bouts of guilt she didn't own. Guilt she couldn't build from and couldn't rid herself of.
"And I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just need you to have… I don't know. Surety? Comfort? The knowledge that what happened was not your fault and not deserved and that someone—someone—knows this was wrong and could try to help."
She turned, fishing items out of her bag. A leather pouch of sand she'd recovered the day she'd met Jo. A helmet Jo had helped her win from the demon Choranzon.
A glass cutter.
Hannah could no longer avoid looking. She had to. Had to see the creature in its silent prison. Had to meet its gaze.
She'd come this far; she couldn't give out under judgment.
Except when she looked—when she stood to press the cutter to the outside of the sphere—she didn't see judgment. She saw pain, of course, and grief, and exhaustion.
She saw hope.
Heavy tears traveled down its face as it looked up at her, and her own finally broke over her cheeks as she managed a small, wet smile.
"Come on—almost out, now," Hannah soothed as she began the slow, awful process of cutting the glass in a shape big enough for him to get out of. "Just another minute or two. You'll be okay."
She could hear the hiss as air began to move between the inside and outside and the horrible thought arose that there had been no air holes in the bubble as she watched the creature gasp for breath only a moment before returning her gaze to her work every bit as much for the sake of his dignity as it was for the sake of not lopping a finger off before she could finish.
Finally, though, finally the hole she'd worked at was finished, and she pulled away as the creature pushed the thick glass out to clatter and crack on the floor, Hannah grabbing a towel to cover the sharp lower edge of the opening before offering a hand in for the creature.
"Come on," she cooed. "Come out. You're free—you can go."
The creature did not hesitate.
He took her hand and her help to climb out and steady himself, took the sand and helmet when they were pressed into his hands, and wrapped long, spindly limbs around her shorter body in a shuddering hug before managing a soft 'thank you' that sounded as much like a trick of the wind as it did a spoken thing before stepping away with his sand to vanish into a sudden whorl.
And then Hannah was alone.
Georgia and Andrew would wake eventually, but by the time they did Hannah was long gone.
