Would I know? In the same way I knew about the library burning, and about Alfie and the police? Would someone warn me?

The idea brings comfort to Will – too much comfort to dismiss it with something so dull as logic. What if he really has been one step ahead? He lets himself wonder. What if this universe isn’t always free to rip away what’s most precious at the drop of a hat? What if we can interrupt that eternal flow from order to chaos? What if this lack of warning is in itself a promise that nothing bad is going to happen? Not right now, anyway. No news is good news, right?

Will continues pounding a lap of the service road. He passes a small memorial garden. Someone sits on a bench, eyes closed in silent prayer. Fresh flowers decorate a plaque that records a life that began and ended on the same day. On the other side of the road is the chapel. Beyond the glass door, he catches sight of the chaplain he saw doing her rounds when Nain was first admitted. Will’s was an upbringing that never featured religion, but right now he reckons he understands. He feels as though he and that woman in the dog-collared top share something: the reassurance of knowing there’s some kind of plan, that there’s more than this. That something stands between us and the worst fate can do. Why would anyone want to shun that faith for something so bland as common sense?

He’s close to completing a lap of the site. It feels longer but a glance at his phone reveals that it’s barely fifteen minutes since Nain waved him off. Forty-five to go. Sudden tiredness takes him by surprise as the adrenaline that has been keeping him sharp gives up the fight. He’s been wide awake since that call landed, and he’d barely slept before then. These last few days, sleep has become hard work. His brain just seems a bit too busy.

He joins the queue in the cafeteria, ordering a mocha with two extra shots. Sitting alone at a table, he aimlessly thumbs his phone so as not to appear a weirdo. For a moment he glances upwards, catching sight of a poster opposite where he sits.

Seeing Visions? it asks in big purple letters.

Will looks away, a sense of something deflating in his chest.

Change of Mood? it asks as he glances back.

He’s almost tempted to give the poster a resigned nod.

Feeling Isolated?

Will’s not sure that last one is relevant, given that it’s hardly a recent development.

Psychosis can happen to anyone.

Will shuffles his seat along to get a look at the smaller print. Alongside a helpline number, it implores him as someone under eighteen to make contact with his local adolescent mental health service.