Chapter Eight

Lisa stretched her arms and wings with a yawn, her feathers fluffing slightly as she straightened. “We should probably get ready before we start,” she said. “Might as well tackle the day properly dressed and clean up the breakfast dishes too.”

Poul nodded, grateful for the brief reprieve. “I’ll see you in a moment then.” He turned toward his room while Lisa gathered her folded clothes from the bed, closing the door behind her.

I’ll just be a few minutes, she told him telepathically, projecting warmth and love.

Smiling, he thought back, Take your time. Poul pulled out clean clothes from his small dresser and changed quickly, focusing on the task to keep his mind from wandering to the boxes or what they represented.

Once ready, they reconvened in the kitchen, where the remnants of breakfast awaited. The meal had been comforting in its simplicity, but the task of cleaning up felt grounding – a small, manageable step before facing the emotional weight of the boxes.

Lisa opened the door to the cleansing unit and began unloading the spotless dishes, setting them on the counter. “Can you grab those plates, please?” she asked, nodding toward the cupboard.

Poul complied, moving automatically. The rhythm of the task was calming: clean dishes put away, dirty ones loaded, and a brief pause as Lisa set the unit to begin its cycle. When the soft hum of the machine resumed, she turned to him with a small smile. “There. One thing done.”

“Plenty more to go,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.

Her smile widened, and she nudged him lightly with her wing as they returned to her room. The air felt heavier there, the past looming over them in the form of neatly packed boxes. Poul’s throat tightened as he stared at the stacks, knowing the file for Storm Mine Four was in there somewhere. Lisa’s hand on his arm grounded him.

“Where should we start?” she asked softly.

Poul swallowed hard. “You…you know where the sandminer file is, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Anywhere but there,” he said, his voice steady but low.

Lisa nodded again, understanding without words. She moved toward a stack of unrelated case files and pulled one down, settling on the floor. “We can sort these first. If we find anything we need to keep, we’ll set it aside. The rest…we’ll shred.”

Poul watched her for a moment, her calm presence steadying him. Then, with a deep breath, he knelt beside her, pulling a box closer. One step at a time, he reminded himself as they began.

“Does your, uh…section…have a retention policy?” she asked, flipping through the folders in the box.

“Ten years,” he answered. Sensing her next question, he said, “It’s 2887.”

Lisa chuckled. “So we met in 2880.”

“Yes,” he said. “Anything older than 2877 can go straight into the fragmenter…I believe that’s what you’re calling a shredder.”

Lisa smiled, appreciating his effort to keep things light. “Fragmenter, shredder – as long as it does the job, right?”

Poul huffed a small laugh. “It’s efficient. The Company wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She smiled at him and thumbed through one of the folders from the stack, noticing a name written neatly at the top of a document. “ ‘Ander Poul’,” she murmured, her brow furrowing slightly. Glancing at him, she asked, “Is this you?”

He looked up from his own stack, his expression briefly unreadable. “Yes,” he said after a pause. “That’s…that’s my full name.”

Lisa tilted her head, a small smile forming. “I didn’t know that.”

Shrugging, he said, “I believe I told you I’ve had difficulty remembering my own name. You being here helps…I know I’m Poul, but…” He shut his eyes, his mind churning. “I don’t think anyone’s used my first name in a very long time.”

She felt a flicker of discomfort through their link and she reached out to squeeze his hand. “It’s a strong name,” she said warmly. “It suits you.”

He opened his eyes, caught off guard by the genuine affection in her tone. “You think so?”

“Sure.” She held up the folder, grinning. “And now it’s official. I’m calling you Ander Poul whenever you’re being particularly stubborn.”

He chuckled despite himself, the sound soft but genuine. “Fair enough,” he said, shaking his head.

Lisa’s smile lingered as she placed the folder back into the box. “Well, Ander Poul,” she teased gently, “let’s see what else your past has to offer.”

They worked in relative silence for a while, the rhythm of sorting and discarding settling into something almost meditative. Occasionally, Lisa would pull out a particularly thick folder and glance at him for confirmation before adding it to the pile marked for destruction. Poul appreciated her unspoken respect for his boundaries, allowing him to decide what stayed and what went.

At one point, Lisa paused, holding up a slim, leather-bound notebook with a faintly embossed logo of the Company on the cover. “Personal journal?” she guessed.

Poul blinked, then shook his head. “No, that’s…an observation log. From fieldwork.”

She nodded, flipping it open carefully. “It’s old,” she observed, scanning the neatly penned entries. “Looks like it hasn’t been touched in years.”

“Probably from my early days,” he admitted, reaching out to take it from her. “I used to keep detailed notes…before everything went digital.”

Lisa tilted her head. “Do you want to keep it?”

Poul hesitated, his fingers brushing over the worn cover. “I think so,” he said quietly. “Some things shouldn’t be forgotten.”

She set it aside in the “keep” pile without another word, sensing the weight of its significance, and returned to her sorting, occasionally glancing over at Poul. She could feel the tension ebb and flow through their link, like the tide cautiously retreating from the shore. Every now and then, she would place a reassuring hand on his arm, a small gesture to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

As they worked through another box, Lisa pulled out a thick file with frayed edges, the tab labeled in bold lettering. She frowned slightly, brushing dust from the surface. “This one looks like it’s seen better days.”

Poul glanced over and tensed. “That’s…a training manual. From the academy.”

Her brow lifted, and she opened it gingerly. The pages were dense with text and diagrams, the edges marked with handwritten notes in a meticulous script. “You were thorough,” she said, her tone warm with admiration.

“I had to be,” he replied, a faint hint of pride in his voice. “The academy wasn’t exactly forgiving. We were expected to excel or get out.”

Lisa’s lips quirked. “Sounds intense.”

“It was.” He paused, watching as she flipped through the manual. “Keep it. It might come in handy…for reference.”

She nodded, adding it to the “keep” pile. “Anything else in here you think might still be useful?”

Poul exhaled, scanning the remaining contents of the box. “Doubtful. Most of it is outdated.” He hesitated, then added, “But if you think something looks important, ask.”

“Got it,” she said, giving him a small, reassuring smile. “We’ll make sure nothing gets tossed that shouldn’t.”

As they moved to the next box, the tension in the room lightened slightly. Progress, however small, was still progress.

End chapter eight.

Back *~*~* Chapter Seven *~*~* Chapter Nine