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their weight. They’re looking down and have their arms stretched out, like they’re walking on ice.  
    I take a step back. And another one. Till there’s no more back to go. Then I start to run, as fast as I’ve ever run in my life.  
    I jump.  
    I’ve misjudged it entirely and land hard and heavy, sprawled on my face. But at least I’m over the gap.  
    I feel a sharp tug on my belt and I’m lifted to my feet once more and half-dragged, half-carried towards a fire door.  
    The boy doesn’t slow down. He throws his shoulder at the door, slamming it open, pulls me through and then kicks the door closed behind us. The darkness echoes.

3

    ‘SHUSH,’ HE SAYS , before I even have a chance to open my mouth.  
    I try to quieten my breath, try to stop my heart industrially drilling in my chest. Surely they must be able to hear the pounding on the other side of the door?  
    My eyes adjust to the lack of light and what was inky blackness fades into a dark grey. We’re standing at the top of a staircase and I have no idea where we’re heading. My rescuer, if that’s what he is, is standing with his ear pressed up against the door, his black clothes blending in to the shadows.  
    He straightens and turns around. All I can see is a hood looming over me like the headless monk I used to dream about when I was six.  
    ‘I don’t think they’ve followed us,’ he says, pushing past me and heading down the stairs. I feel my way after him, running my throbbing fingers against the wall looking for a railing to hold.  
    ‘I normally like the dark,’ I say, annoying even myself. ‘I have schwarzglas in my windows so I can sleep. And these blackouts we’ve been having, well, I really like them because you can see the stars, you know?’ I’m babbling. I guess it’s the shock and the adrenaline and the fact that I’m following an unknown anarchist to an unknown location. He doesn’t say a word.  
    ‘Where are we going?’ I manage to say after the first few steps.  
    ‘Down.’
    ‘I mean, where are we?’  
    My foot feels for a step that isn’t there and I do that falling from flat ground thing that’s so unsettling. He grabs my elbow and keeps me upright.  
    ‘Thanks,’ I mumble.  
    There’s a rattle of metal, a heavy clunk and then light floods into the stairwell.  
    ‘Welcome to Gruber & Gruber Ltd,’ he says, with a wave of his hand. I walk through the doorway into a large open-plan office. Or what used to be an office. Now there’s nothing but tables stacked on top of each other and blue room dividers lying propped up against the walls.  
    ‘They used to make film,’ he says picking up a black tube with a white lid and throwing it at me. I scrabble to catch it and fail. It bounces on the grey nylon carpet.  
    ‘Film? As in movies?’
    ‘No, as in what they used to put in cameras.’  
    I don’t know what he means, but I don’t want to sound any more stupid than I have already. ‘Oh. Right.’
    ‘I like the view,’ he says walking towards the floor-to-ceiling windows that make up the far wall. I join him and look out over the city. The cathedral shines in the distance. The Thames snakes past below us. The light glinting off the water reminds me.  
    ‘Erm, is there a bathroom here?’
    ‘Somewhere down the hall,’ he says, pointing.  
    I find the door and I’ve never been so glad to see that drawing of a stick woman in my life.  
    When I return, he’s sitting on a low-backed executive chair, looking out the window, his feet up on a table like he belongs here. The silver scarf and hood have been pulled down, revealing his face in profile. He has a straight nose with a small bump at the bridge, cheekbones you could cut yourself on and long eyelashes that girls would kill for. The last rays of sunlight catch his light brown hair, making the tips look like they’re on fire. He spins around.  
    ‘I know you!’ I say, pointing at him. ‘You go to my school. You’re in the