‘We can go through here, I think,’ he said. ‘We’ll link up with the dressing rooms and reception lobby.’ Petra hoped he was right – it was ominously quiet in the delivery bay, the silence only broken by their own footfall and breathing, jagged back at them from the bare concrete floor and the stacked pallets of something wrapped tight in cling-wrapped blocks and kegs that dully reflected the standby strip lights spaced around the walls. When they made it across the floor and found the right door, Petra heard the comforting hum of voices punctuated by squeals and laughter – the sound of a party gradually starting up a few rooms away. ‘Good,’ Ellis said to himself, and this flash of doubt and vulnerability set Petra at ease. It looked like he was telling the truth. If he didn’t know his way around this building, he probably wasn’t trying to lead her into a trap. But the question still remained.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked as he paused in front of a riveted metal door. ‘Are you still working with Metamuse?’ She’d never asked, but after what he’d told her about Olivia Jouval, she’d got the feeling that he had left the group. In all his dealings, he exuded a disgruntled ex-employee vibe.

He turned to look at her. She couldn’t make out his expression clearly in the low light, but it seemed open enough. ‘I’m here to help you and Vincent. I don’t think it’s right, what she does. It needs to stop.’

For the first time, Petra wondered if there was some personal history between Ellis and Olivia; a failed romance or a spurning. He seemed to focus his bitterness on her alone, rather than what Olivia and Rashida were creating together. But she had more pressing questions: ‘But why now? Why us? Why didn’t you help prevent the deaths after the other seasons?’

‘I tried. Olivia’s persuasive. People do what she wants them to do.’

‘What about Rashida? If what you say is true, isn’t she just as guilty of orchestrating it?’

Ellis looked down and rubbed his brow. ‘She’s different. She has… more cause. And she’s never been quite as… malicious as Olivia.’

It wasn’t a convincing answer, but Petra had no choice but to let it go. He pushed open the metal door into a narrow corridor riven with bundles of high-voltage wiring and PVC plumbing conduits lit by brighter strip lights than the powered-down delivery bay. Glancing left and right to find his bearings, he chose a direction and led Petra further down the corridor, rounding a corner and a subtle jink. Petra tried to remember the route they’d come in case she had to double back this way, but she was starting to lose her bearings. The sound of conversation was louder here, but it wasn’t clear where it was coming from.