I braced myself, but nothing happened. After a few moments I opened a wary eye to see that the ticket office was no longer there; we were standing on an unbroken white carpet of undulating deep snow, the sound deadened, a dull empty whiteness in all directions. The nightwalkers were paying me no heed as they had been startled by something within the blizzard, like a pack of carrion-wolves disturbed by hunters. Within a few seconds they had all scuttled away into the white of the snowstorm and Aurora and I were left completely alone.

‘Another of your tricks, Worthing?’

‘No,’ I said, equally confused, ‘this isn’t me, I swear.’

We both stared into the empty drab whiteness all around but there was nothing to be seen aside from the smooth snow and softly falling flakes. I took a step back – the ice around my feet had melted.

Aurora drew her Bambi but it was pulled from her hands and went whirling off into the whiteness. She stared at me, and I back at her, and then, from the depthless emptiness, there was the soft chuckle of a child.

‘What’s that?’ demanded Aurora, as a sudden gust of wind sent the falling snow into a flurry.

‘It’s the Gronk,’ I said simply.

‘There is no Gronk, Worthing.’

‘I thought so too, at first,’ I said, ‘but I’ve learned a few things while I’ve been here. The Wintervolk have a free pass during our dreaming times, moving from one to another as mice move around a house behind the wainscotting. Dreams nourish them, dreams give them life. They wait, they bide their time, then they make landfall briefly to do what is right to those who do what is wrong.’

She glared at me but I think she knew I was telling the truth.

‘We can fight it together,’ she said, ‘the combined strength of us two will defeat her.’

‘I don’t need to defeat her,’ I said, ‘she doesn’t want me, never wanted me. She’s come for you: the juiciest morsel on the whole Sector Twelve platter.’

Aurora looked at me, then out at the steadily falling snow. There was another gurgle of laughter and the Winter opened up, ready to be nourished with the shame of the unworthy. I felt a shard of ice pierce my heart as the Winter welcomed me into its darkness, then watched as Aurora had the burdens of her sins drawn from her, as heat might be extracted from a hapless traveller. Every murder, every lie, every interrogation. Her face went from fear to realisation, then to sorrow, contrition, guilt, then  . . . shame.

‘Oh sweet mercy,’ she whispered, hand over her mouth, ‘what have I done?’

And once she’d become fully aware of the enormity of her sins, she was gone. All was quiet once more, the snow gently falling, the air fresh, calm.