And yet, if what Colleen had said was true, the stakes were high. And high stakes meant chances needed to be taken, no matter how ill-advised they might be. And this chance was incredibly ill-advised.

Omen crouched, held out his hand and touched the air.

He visualised interlocking blocks from his fingertips to the bag. Pushing was easier. He could have pushed the bag over without even trying. But pulling … that was where things got tricky. He’d done it before, though. Not in class, and not in exams. He’d done it at home. Auger had taken him through it. Omen had been calm, then. He tried to be calm now.

So he ignored the rapid beat of his heart, and the jagged spikes of adrenaline that made his hand tremble, and he focused on the imaginary blocks … and the mask moved.

Jenan and the others kept talking. No one noticed the mask lifting itself out of the bag.

Omen laid it gently on the carpet and left it there for a moment while he shook out his hand. He took a deep breath, reached out again, focused on hooking his fingers into the air just right and pulled.

The mask moved slowly across the ground.

Bit by bit, it got closer. For a terrifying few seconds, it was out in the open, and Omen lost his grip. He’d allowed his mind to wander, to imagine what Jenan and the others would do if they caught him. Would they kill him? It seemed ridiculous, that a bunch of his classmates would actually try to kill him, but, if they really were involved with this anti-Sanctuary thing, killing a witness might not be something they would baulk at. Certainly Jenan wouldn’t hesitate to throw Omen off the balcony. That’d be something he’d probably enjoy.

Omen pushed such thoughts from his mind, reached out again and pulled the mask closer. Now it was under a small table, blocked from the view of the others. It was going well. It was actually going well. It was actually going to work. Omen smiled, and his fingers moved with too much enthusiasm and the mask shot off the ground. He snatched it from the air as it sped past his face, falling backwards and lying there, eyes wide, waiting to hear the shouts of alarm.

But Jenan and the others kept talking, and Omen let himself breathe again.

Someone new came in and Omen got up.

“Good, good,” he heard Parthenios Lilt say, “everyone’s here. Let us move to less salubrious surroundings. Ceremonial masks on.”

Omen stayed hidden, clutching the mask with both hands.

“Uh,” he heard Byron say.

“Is there a problem, Mr Grace?” Lilt asked.

“My … my mask isn’t in my bag, sir.”

The library went very quiet.

“Mr Grace …” Lilt said.

“I put it in there, sir,” said Byron. “I know I did. It must have fallen out or …”