She noticed the boys loitering on the sidewalk, which was nothing unusual. It was hard to tell with some teenage boys, whether they should be at school; they were so big these days. The best thing to do was keep her head down, hide her ringlets in a tight braid or a scarf, and just keep moving past them. She remained profoundly glad of the unflattering green trousers she wore as part of her uniform that rendered her practically invisible.

These boys, however, weren’t talking to her; they were arguing with one another. Just the normal teenage beefs, showing off, puffing out their chests like peacocks. They were a mix of races, with tiny little wispy beards and mustaches, lanky legs and too-pointy elbows, a strong smell of Lynx Africa, and massive trainers the size of boats. It was slightly endearing in its way, watching them try to pretend they knew how to be men. But intimidating too, and she was about to give them a wide berth when she realized she recognized one of them. In fact, it made her wince. It was one of Ezra’s cousins. Ezra, beautiful Ezra, whose graceful body and lovely face made him irresistible whenever he got back in touch and messaged her. Unfortunately, Ezra was well aware of this, which was why he felt obliged to spread himself pretty thinly all around South London. Every time he ghosted her Lissa swore blind she’d never fall for it again. She was not much better at keeping that promise than she was about not eating Mrs. Marks’s chocolate.

But she’d met Kai by accident—Ezra had never introduced her to his family—down in Brixton market one morning when they were grabbing breakfast supplies. He was a bright, mouthy fifteen-year-old and should, Lissa thought with a sigh, really be in school. She wouldn’t mention that.

“Kai!” She raised her hand.

Just as she did so, he turned to face her, his open mouth already starting to grin as he recognized her, and then, out of the blue, there was a sudden roar of an engine, a screech of brakes, a glint in the sky as something was thrown up, a sickening sound.

Chapter 2

Five hundred and eighty-three miles north by northwest, in the small village of Kirrinfief, on the shores of Loch Ness, a cool March wind was blowing off the water, rippling the white tops of the little waves, and the clouds were hanging heavy off the peaks of the purple mountains.