As she circulated through the cluster of guests outside the brewery’s main entrance, she realised spotting Vincent would be harder than she’d thought. The crowd seemed to be thickening, arriving from God knows where, and milling and shifting in the stark-lit cold. There was no way Petra could scan the faces from a distance, nor could she go up to every guest in the cluster and stare at them without looking truly weird.

She was just a moment short of standing in the middle of the group and shouting Vincent’s name. Not very likely to coax him out, but it was going to be her last resort.

Just then, a woman in a teal-coloured satin ball gown, more folies-baroque than Jessica’s Hollywood Golden Age, appeared on a low platform outside the doors.

‘Welcome, everyone, to the Fallout Ball. If one thing is certain, it is that you will have an unforgettable night. The more you give of yourself, the more you will derive, so please, join wholeheartedly in our celebration. My name is Rashida Barnes and I’m one of your hosts.’

So that was Rashida Barnes herself. Petra found herself battling a wash of star-strike as she craned over the shoulders ahead of her to get a proper look at the woman’s face, but it was too dark and she was too far away to make out much detail. It was clear from the shift and murmur that rippled through the audience that there were many other fans here, excited by the knowledge that they were seeing one of the Metamuse founders in person.

‘Tonight is our graduation,’ Rashida went on. ‘The Drama Society alumni have come of age. It may be the last time many of us will meet, so let us share a final celebration of everything we have created together.’ She raised her glass and most of the audience made an effort to respond. Some clapped and some whooped, but it was cold and the teal dancer was the only one with a drink.

‘Sharing is caring!’ someone heckled.

‘Yeah, give us some of that!’

‘It’s cold!’

‘It’s only twenty past seven,’ someone near Petra reasoned. ‘You’d wait outside a theatre until they let you in, right?’

Rashida smiled, unruffled. ‘Before we start with our programme, a bit of housekeeping. You, dear retiring members, know them already, but for legal reasons we must remind you. No phones, no cameras, no recordings. Be aware of the emergency exits. Follow any instructions from our ushers; they are there for your safety. I think that’s about it.’

‘You’ve forgotten the masks,’ someone chipped in. ‘We have to keep them on at all times.’

‘There is no need for masks tonight,’ Rashida said. ‘We’ve been through a lot together. You know us by now, and we know you.’

‘Does that mean we can touch the exhibits this time?’ a man called.