He struggled to his feet with effort, took one step. Another.

Purple clouds began blotting his vision. Sweat poured down his back. Then Joe was falling through darkness again.

Twice more Joe woke, tried to move and passed out.

The next time, he woke to find a blurry face peering anx­iously down at him. ‘Hello,’ it said.

Joe managed something between a grunt and a moan.

‘Hurt badly?’

Grunt.

‘Drink this. Should help.’ A strong hand tilted his shoul­ders forwards, and a cup was brought to his lips.

Joe gulped, and then retched at the bitter taste of the 66liquid. He wondered if he was being poisoned, but then he found he didn’t care because the pain was blotted out by a beautiful blanket of nothingness.

When he woke again, his mouth tasted like a rat had died in it, but the pain was less and he could think straight.

He opened his eyes and struggled up onto his left elbow, and found himself staring at Winter, the Dragonless, the girl he’d seen at the ceremony. The ghost who haunted the island.

Winter was even taller than him and desperately thin, with very straight black hair which fell down one side of her face like a curtain. She had large grey eyes and her mouth was wide, twisted now into a kind of smile.

‘You’re back,’ she said. ‘Better?’

‘A bit,’ Joe managed. ‘Did you …?’

‘Drag you here? Yes. Bring you water? Medicine? Yes. Yes.’

She must be stronger than she looked.

‘Thanks. What happened?’ he asked.

‘Hit your head. Wasn’t sure if you’d make it. Tried to clean it.’

Joe reached up and winced as his fingers explored the back of his head, finding matted hair and dried blood. Pain exploded again.

‘Bad idea. Going to be sick?’

But Joe swallowed down the nausea and concentrated on breathing: in, out, in, out. He was broken. But not alone.

‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘I’m Joe.’ He knew that much, but other things were still hazy. He had a strange 67sense of dread, as if something awful was going to happen, if he could just recall what it was.

‘Winter,’ she replied.

Joe didn’t say that he knew. How must it feel to be Winter and have everyone always knowing who you were and why?

‘Do you live down here?’ he asked instead.

‘Sometimes. Like to keep moving. These tunnels let me do that.’

So that must be why people mistook her for a ghost. The tunnels must have other exits, Joe thought. ‘How long have you known about the tunnels?’ he asked her.

‘Since …’ One word was enough. Her sorrow seemed to fill the air like mist.

Since her dragon, Jin, had died in the Great Loss two years ago. Joe didn’t know what to say to that.

A memory was dislodged: seeing Winter on Hatching Day. And, with a horrible rush, all the events of the last few days came flooding back and Joe remembered everything. He sank back down and closed his eyes, breathing through the pain. He put one arm over his face as if he could blot it all out: what his anger had done. His parents’ shame. What everyone knew.