If I let Fender go alone, he’ll be risking his life. What if he attacks Claus, like he attacked me? Claus could be armed….

“Then I’ll go on my own.” Without saying anything else, Fender moves out into the hallway.

I sit on the floor for a few more seconds, but then scramble to my feet.

“Fender!” I shout. “Wait!”

I catch up with Fender. He’s striding along the hallway, his face tense. His fury is almost palpable, like a third person between us.

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“Just talk to him.”

I need to stop him, yet I know I won’t be able to. Of course not. Claus has destroyed him.

“Here it is.” Fender stops in front of Room 311. I look at the gold numbers on the door.

I try to imagine how Claus is going to react when he opens the door.

Will I get to see a completely different Claus?

The one I got to know was anything but scary.

But he was the one who put me on Isolde’s trail. Did he actually want me to mention her to Fender?

Was I the spark that was supposed to make everything explode?

Was I Claus’s pawn?

I’m startled by three loud bangs, as Fender slams his fist into the door. He looks as if he’d like to punch his way straight through it.

When there’s no reaction from inside, Fender bangs three more times.

Again there’s no answer.

“He’s not there,” I say quietly. “Come on. Let’s go back to the others.”

But then the door swings open.

Fender

All my anger flows into this one moment. Claus doesn’t even get a chance to say anything because I grab his jacket and pull him out into the hallway.

He falls onto his knees and starts shouting, but his words don’t get through to me. Even what Linnea says completely passes me by.

How did he dare go see her when I was there with her?

How did he dare destroy Kate again? He has no idea what kind of hell we’ve been through this past year.

I raise my fist and look into his eyes.

“Admit it,” I say with a voice that sounds like it doesn’t belong to me. “Admit that she didn’t want you anymore!”

“Fender!” Linnea is hanging on my arm. “Fender, it’s not him.”

“Admit it, you filthy, disgusting—”

“Fender, listen. This isn’t Claus!”

Slowly, Linnea’s words get through to me. It’s like I was looking through the wrong lenses, as the man suddenly comes into focus. He’s way too old to be Claus. He has to be in his thirties. Besides, he’s not wearing glasses, and his hair is brown, not black.

Shocked, I let go of him.