There was nothing else to do but go home, let himself in, and wait. Aaron shivered at the thought of his mother asleep in her room, snoring loud enough to be heard downstairs. He walked, alert to every sound, craning frightened looks over his shoulder whenever he heard a noise. No one was ever there.

In the kitchen he poured cold water and sat at the table, the silence a solid force. The walls ticked and the sporadic creak of floorboards made Aaron wonder if they could teleport. No matter. Not now. There was nowhere he couldn’t be found. After an hour he heard shuffling at the back door. A hazy shape formed in frosted glass, blurred as her true form. A series of soft taps against wood. One, two three. He got to his feet. His hands shook as he unlocked the back door.

She looked the same. Just as beautiful, not frightening, or perhaps there was something in her eyes. Not shy, downcast, only steady appraisal. That was it. She studied him without pause, without feeling.

‘Sorry you had to see us.’

He lowered his head, not wanting to remember his panic, heart thudding, seeking pounding escape from his chest.

‘We were going to tell you. You woke sooner than we planned. I knew you were strong from the start.’

Aaron looked at the ground. On another road, not far away, a car changed gears, engine fading.

‘So what now?’

‘You come with us. We’d prefer by choice.’

He released a sigh, his swirling breath.

‘OK. OK.’

She said nothing, did nothing, not even nod. Just stepped back to let him pass.

They took the bus. It was dawn, a trickle of commuters seeping through glass station doors and past the shuddering arms of barriers. On the tube Christie sat next to him, back stiff, face blank. They did not touch or talk. He kept his chin tucked into his chest. She was like a carving, or better yet a mannequin, more anatomically correct, more real. He looked from the corner of his eye to see if she’d react to anything, but she sat motionless, life-bled. It was eerie. He wondered if the other commuters noticed. They seemed buried in their papers, and he didn’t want to risk a better look in case she suspected he was up to something, trying to communicate what they were doing, that he wasn’t going along entirely willingly.

At Westminster she stood and he followed. Up escalators, out through barriers, into the streets and the morning crowd. The sun cracked the sky pale orange and red. The clouds were dark-bellied, gloomy. They walked along Whitehall at a rapid pace, Aaron treading fast to keep up, but she kept on and didn’t look at him once. Halfway down the long, wide road, they stopped outside black gates. Two policemen stood on either side eyeing them. A sign above their heads said what he’d feared: Downing Street.