Will feels a surge of claustrophobia, a sudden desire to be free of all these bodies holding him back, to be in free air, able to run wherever he’s needed.

How could she possibly know her number’s up like that? But what else could she mean? He thinks of his birthday, when she said about the library burning, days before it happened. And that note she wrote in hospital about Danny at the bowling alley, how he would have been stabbed without Will’s intervention.

But all that’s over with now, Will thinks. It has to be.

It was Alfie. Dying Alfie, getting messages across where he could.

And I listened, Will thinks. I was aware.

And now Alfie is OK and normality has returned. Surely?

A deep bassline pummels Will’s back as he makes a final push through the crowd, catching sight of Leavers weaving up ahead. Will is passing the doors out to the quad now. The outside space, enclosed on all sides by the school building, is almost as jam-packed as the hall itself. Still the snow falls in a neon-lit flurry, but the heat of the crowd, the flaring barbecues and the propane lamps keep the ground clear. Will ploughs on through the hall, enjoying the cool breeze from the open doors. Beneath his feet, a lake of water advances across the dance floor from the melted snow in the quad.

It’s over, Will thinks. It’s been over for the past week.

Unless. Unless … Could there be any way it wasn’t Alfie? That it was someone else?

But, in that case, why has he heard nothing since the moment Alfie was saved?

Will shakes his head. He’s not been looking, of course. He’s not been expecting any contact. Is it possible, then, that it’s not over?

Will finally reaches the back entrance of the hall. Mr Leavers is wrestling with the double doors, a guy of about fifteen on the other side trying to force his way in. Will glances at his phone, finally in enough space to reach his pockets. No more missed calls. Whatever’s going on with Nain, it’s not significant enough for Danny to ring. He looks at the time; he’s due on stage in under fifteen minutes. There isn’t time to think about this right now.

I’ll work it out, Will thinks. As soon as this chaos is over, I’ll be able to think about it. Maybe I’ll talk to April; maybe she’ll understand.

‘Some help!’ Leavers yells.

Will jams his shoulder against the door and pushes, slamming it into its stop. Leavers wraps a cable tie between the two handles and yanks it tight, adding a couple more for good measure. ‘I’ve already done the side doors,’ Leavers shouts, crimson-faced, pointing across the hall.