Ellie turned, giving Lottie some privacy to change while she stared daggers out of the window. Halfway through zipping up the pinafore over her fresh shirt, Lottie felt the words bubble out of her.

‘Do you think Jamie has been behaving oddly?’ she asked without really thinking it over; it sounded childish and irrelevant in light of the matter at hand. ‘I mean,’ she said, correcting herself quickly, ‘I think we need to make sure we’re paying attention to him as much as we are everything else, especially after everything he went through in Tokyo. I just want to know he’s OK.’

Framed by the wispy curtains on either side of the balcony, Ellie turned, looking dramatic and ghoulish in her half-buttoned shirt with her inky-black hair. If Lottie hadn’t been so nervous, she would have wanted to paint her.

‘Do you have to worry about everyone else all the time?’ There was a bitterness to Ellie’s words, something festering beneath them that had nothing to do with what had just taken place.

Lottie was about to relent, but she shook her head, knowing what Ellie was really upset about. ‘I’m going to get us some coffee so you can calm down.’ She paused at the door and turned back to her princess, who was still riled. ‘It’s not your fault, Ellie,’ Lottie said sternly, and she could see from the way Ellie flinched that she’d touched a nerve.

Grabbing two reusable coffee cups, Lottie headed to the kitchen, thankful to find it quiet, and filled both mugs, one with a black coffee and three sugars, and her own with a caramel latte. She smiled to herself as she put the lids on, thinking fondly on what an unlikely pair she and Ellie were, only the feeling quickly turned into something else when she thought of the tired inky stains under her princess’s eyes.

Lottie had to believe she was doing the right thing, that Ellie would be OK and that they’d get through this together, like they always did. Nothing had knocked them down before.

Unstoppable, she thought, her fingers reaching for her newly cut hair, which reminded her of her ancestor. Already feeling better, she made her way back to their room.

As she was turning into the stairwell and past the post nook, she stopped short.

There was something in her cubbyhole. Above the label for her name, peel-thin and almost unnoticeable, there was a letter. Placing both cups down on the hallway dresser, she peeked inside to find a skinny manila envelope with no address, only a name. Her heart skipped a beat – the letter was addressed simply to The Princess of Maradova.

At first she expected something mean, another student angry about the security changes, but she could sense something more sinister. The words were written with deliberate and painstaking elegance.