There came a pause as Amelia processed what was said.

“Impossible! That would make her…”

“At least forty years older than me,” Clara said. “I’m over a century old.”

“That’s crazy,” Amelia said.

“Not so much. Why are there no old hunters in Pompeii or here?”

“Horsefeathers!”

“You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Amelia touched Clara on the shoulder. It took all she had to not react adversely. Instead of ignoring what she saw, the angel aligned herself entirely with the portrait.

Clara’s heart was at a gallop, her palms were clammy and wet. She forgot to breathe, forcing her autonomous functions to take over…

“Clara?”

“Who’s that?”

“That’s—was the reverend mother,” Amelia said.

“Augustine?”

“Do you suppose our volunteers—(had the same problem?)”

“Most certainly,” Clara said.

In the background there came a blast. Clara snapped her head to investigate and found the charred remains of a couch. Julia was in tears, overjoyed that Agnes handed her a grenade.

“Cute,” Clara said.When the angel turned to face Amelia, something caught her eye. It was a formal portrait, and judging by the colouring it had been done recently. Even a glimpse was enough to send a chill down her spine. You’d think I’d seen a ghost.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“The Terminus is a quagmire of temporal pockets and eddies.” Clara said. “I’d argue one… one… all tailor made for me.”

All the different choices she might have made and the repercussions that came with it. Even Julia commented that she detected my scent in three other pockets.

“What do you mean?” Amelia asked.

Clara had to be careful here, since this was little more than a conjecture. It could be attributed to the fact that I was the one in transit during the attack.

“Julia reflected that she could not interact with the pockets,” Clara said. “Most were set before she was born, and she could not snap into that reality.”

“Do you suppose our volunteers—(had the same problem?)”

“Most certainly,” Clara said.

“How did she end up here?”

“She followed my trail.”

That logical loop forced Amelia to take a pause. The hunter cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Clara smiled, waiting for Amelia to reason it out before interrupting.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“The Terminus is a quagmire of temporal pockets and eddies.” Clara said. “I’d argue one… one… all tailor made for me.”

“I died out there,” Clara said without a hint of humour. “Arguably more than once.”

“People die here too,” Amelia confessed.

“So I’ve observed,” Clara said. “To be honest, we are not sure if we can find our way back.”

“How… How did you end up here?”

“Julia.”

By now they were in one of the more remote areas of the space. Most were congregating closer to the entrance, as though ready to exercise the better part of valour.

“How did she end up here?”

“She followed my trail.”