No longer was Ellie surrounded by the bright, open space of the modern art block; what lay in front of her was the winding, dusty labyrinth of the old building and, if she completed the maze, she’d find who she needed at its centre.

Every school has a notorious clique. Students with crocodile smiles and predatory stares, whose presence inspires rabbit-hearted fear. At Rosewood this clique was a group of art enthusiasts. They called themselves the Artistocracy, and they delved into the more shocking extremes of artistic expression. Theatre of cruelty, gory prosthetics and – the reason Ellie was here now – tattoos.

This is what she had to do if she was ever going to make everything right again – leave a mark that wouldn’t let her forget, that would stop her from caving in the moment she saw Lottie. She had to stop being selfish, no matter how much it hurt.

With confident strides, Ellie pushed through corridors of discarded and damaged art, dismembered hands from statues and wispy sheets of torn canvas brushing her skin with curiosity, until she reached the winding stairs to the now-unused photography department, and made her ascent.

At the top of the stairs, the floorboards were misshapen from water damage, twisted in a way that gave the illusion of wooden waves, their current pulling all who entered towards the black door of the old darkroom on the opposite side.

Ignoring the boarded-up doors in her peripheral vision, Ellie headed straight to the one with little baby-doll arms reaching out, beckoning her forward.

With no thought of turning back, Ellie knocked on the door. Rustling and murmurs could be heard from the other side, and finally the first of the two-door gateways opened with a sigh like an airlock.

‘What do you want?’ A mismatched pair of white and black irises appeared from a sliding peephole in the second door, eyelids heavy with blood-red shadow and intricate swirling eyeliner like spiderwebs.

The Rosewood art department was not a realm Ellie usually ventured into; she preferred the simple, straightforward worlds of sports and science. Art was confusing. It didn’t have solutions or finite methods, instead consisting of abstract ideas that were intimidating to engage with.

‘I’m here to see Stephanie Gallo.’ Ellie refused to be intimidated by this stony un-welcome. ‘I heard she can help me with something.’

The sliding panel slammed shut, followed by more murmurs and whispers, louder this time, until the panel opened once more, this time to reveal a set of dark brown eyes and marker pen eyebrows decorated by an array of metal bands and rings.

‘You’re that little pink princess’s sidekick, aren’t you? The one that turned the school into a prison,’ Eyebrows asked, tilting her head back, nostrils flaring around a septum piercing as if she were sniffing her out.