That was Lilja’s first thought as she slipped away from the group she had pretended to be part of and continued on her own. The adrenaline-fuelled metal music from Sabaton’s latest album, Carolus Rex, blared out of the speakers, filling every nook and cranny of the barn, which felt like a gig venue with spotlights nestled among the wooden beams in the ceiling and a raised stage at the far end.

It was one of Hampus’s absolute favourite bands, and even though he was fully aware of her feelings about their music, he insisted on constantly putting them on and turning the volume up as if he was trying to subject the entire street to Guantãnamo-style torture.

She estimated the number of people to be around a hundred and fifty, including members of some of the worst criminal motorcycle gangs ravaging Skåne at the moment. But this wasn’t a motorcycle club get-together. That much was clear from the elegant suits and the long leather coats, not to mention the swastika armbands.

She pulled out her phone and called Klippan, only to be redirected to his voicemail, where she left a message telling him she was inside.

‘I would like to start by welcoming you all,’ a voice said over the speakers, moments after the music had faded out, and the audience moved towards the stage where a short man dressed in something resembling a brown scout uniform was standing behind a podium. ‘It’s good to see so many people here, and this is just the beginning! Because as I’m sure you’ve noticed, people are finally starting to realize that unified resistance and violence is the only way forward!’

Several people in the audience clapped and whistled.

She’d heard rumours about these kinds of events. Secret Nazi meetings arranged by the Party of the Swedes, the National Democrats or the Nordic Resistance Movement Third Nest, as they called themselves in Skåne. They often rented a venue under a false name, such as a school auditorium, or, like tonight, gathered in a barn in the middle of nowhere.

In order not to draw attention to herself, she carefully shifted towards the edge of the crowd, where she could slip into the shadows, climb up on a chair and film the whole event on her phone.

‘This is something the Muslims have already realized,’ the man behind the podium continued. ‘They declared war on us a long time ago, and I promise you that unless we do something, we’ll soon have sharia laws and burka requirements in this country.’ Scattered booing could be heard. ‘Exactly! Many of us have been too blue-eyed, but then there’s nothing wrong with being blue-eyed, if you know what I mean.’ The booing turned into laughter. ‘We have to fight back now! Soon, it’ll be too late!’

Applause and shouting took over; soon, the whole venue was filled with raised right arms.