How could I have been so stupid? In spite of what I’d said to Libby, my ankle was hurting like a son of a bitch, and just hopping from the stairs to the crate had been excruciating. I had almost passed out again from the pain that clawed at me with each rabbit hop across the room. Libby’s tights were providing some relief, but the pain was making me feel like I was about to puke. If, by some miracle, the basement door were to open, I wouldn’t be making a sudden mad dash for freedom any time soon.

Into the stillness of the room, I asked, ‘What d’you think this new lot of kidnappers are demanding in exchange for us?’

Libby shrugged. ‘Money probably.’

‘From your dad or my mum?’

‘Is your mum rich?’

‘Comfortable, I think, but not rich, not like sit-on-your-purse-all-day-doing-nothing-while-your-money-works-for-you rich. Mum works hard at Specimens. Some days she doesn’t get home until midnight. What about you? Is your dad rich?’

‘He’s Prime Minister of the Democratic Alliance party. Can you be Prime Minister and still be scratching for cash at the same time? I doubt it. The ones who took over from Mum know who we both are so they’re probably asking for something from both our families.’

Which made sense. That’s what I would do. ‘D’you think they’ll get what they’re asking for?’

Libby looked at me and sighed. ‘Yeah, I do, but that doesn’t mean they’ll let us go. We’ve seen too much.’

Which was the same conclusion I’d already reached. Libby and I both stared up in silence at the locked, bolted and boarded-up door at the top of the stairs. The basement left us with nowhere to hide from the truth. We’d been sealed in because our kidnappers had no intention of letting us out. Ever. Even if they got whatever ransom they were demanding, Libby and I were going nowhere.

I took Libby’s hand in mine. She squeezed it so tightly my eyes began to water. Or maybe they began to water for a different reason. I risked a glance at her. Her face was pale, bloodless. Her breath kept hitching audibly at irregular intervals. She was too terrified to even cry. What little hope she had of getting out of our prison was dancing away from her, losing itself in the shadows of the basement. How did I know? Because she was me and I was her – and all without a word being said.

We’d been locked in and boarded up and left to die. How long before we starved to death? Or more likely died of thirst?

Libby started scraping her right arm against the metal edge of the crate we were both seated on. Again.

‘Libby, stop it.’