She lifted the thick envelope that Alejandro had addressed to her – the one Sam presumed contained the will – and placed it gently inside. He wanted to ask what else Ale had written on all those pages, but they were Zahrah’s after all, and she didn’t seem inclined to tell him. She closed the case with a snap.

‘Come on,’ she said, standing up decisively. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Go where? I told you—’

She cut him off with an impatient noise. ‘Sam Hackett, there is an entire house standing empty, just a few minutes away. You can stay with me.’

‘What about the police?’ The threat had been enough to drive Ale away. ‘What if they come to raid the place?’

Zahrah raised her head. ‘Let them. They won’t find Ale. And since Dar Portuna now belongs to me, they’ll have to leave well enough alone, eventually.’ She raised an eyebrow at him. ‘So are you coming? Or do you want to sleep on the streets? I have to tell you, I don’t think you’d last a minute.’

He didn’t know what to say. Despite his guilt and shame and uncertainty, a kind of thrill rose in his chest at being allowed to stay at Dar Portuna; even if it was for what might be his final few nights in Tangier.

‘Thank you,’ he said, hoping she knew how much he meant it.

She just nodded and stepped towards the door.

‘Wait.’

Hurriedly, he shuffled together the scrappy, mismatched papers on the bedside table.

‘Is that …?’

‘My book. Yeah.’ He shook his head. ‘If I hadn’t been so obsessed with my own damn writing, none of this would have happened.’ His fingers tightened on the old paper, on the new sheets. ‘I should burn these,’ he said. ‘It’s not my story. I’ve already caused enough trouble—’

Zahrah took hold of one side of the manuscript. ‘Don’t you dare. Ale told you this story for a reason. And anyway –’ she gave him a half-smile ‘– I might want to read it.’

With the duffel bag over his shoulder, the manuscript carefully wedged within, he made a penitent farewell to Madame Sarah and received a ferocious, thoroughly undeserved hug about the knees from Aziz. Then, they were out on the street, bustling hot at noon.

They didn’t speak, just walked rapidly uphill, towards Dar Portuna, towards the rest of the story. After checking to see if anyone might be lurking, spying on the place, they brushed the jasmine aside, and slipped in through the old gate. In bright sunlight, the house seemed more unreal than ever, as though at any minute it might flicker and disappear from the surface of the world. They stepped through the front doors, into the faded, echoing hallway.

‘It feels so strange without Ale,’ Zahrah whispered. When her fingers brushed his, he took her hand, squeezing it tight.