I run towards the atrium. I need to save the books. I know all too well that there is no way out of this place – not at night. The fire is already roaring and pluming smoke. My eyes burn, and my throat tightens, and I know I have reached my final chapter. There is no rescue, there is no saviour; there is just me and fire and smoke. But there is one final thing I can do. I cover my face with my shawl and race up the stone steps, which are a mist of smoke. I almost trip but I dip my head and press on. I run on past the stories and the precious place Dad would always bring me. The smoke is too thick up here and I can’t get my bearings. I pause and look about me – a mistake.

Jack Minnow reaches me, grabs me by my hair and pulls me across to the open central space where the lantern windows above usually pour down sunlight on to all the floors. He holds me against the parapet, and I fight back as he tries to lift me over it to drop me on the stone and flame below. Shards of glass gleam from his face, blood runs into his eyes. He attempts to wipe it away, and as he changes his handhold on me, I pull free. I should run but I can’t take my eyes off him as he rises up once again, roaring at me with hatred and pain. I don’t mean to do it – I do not plan it – but when I pile into him, to make him stop, to get him away from me, he stumbles backwards, hips clashing into the barrier. It is like watching a monster in fog, and above the shout of the flames, I hear him yell, arms windmilling as he overbalances and fights to right himself. A bluster of smoke chokes me, and I turn to hide my stinging eyes. When the smoke passes, all that is left is the empty space where Minnow stood before he fell.

In my horror, all I can do is run again. But it is so much harder this time – the heat and the smoke are too much. I am lost – at the top of a narrow flight of steps, away from the main museum. I think I’m hallucinating now, just dreaming of a different place because the reality is too awful to bear. And then I hear it – a rhythmic bang at the door that faces me. I know where I am now, and I know who is knocking.

Searing my hand on the key, I turn it, screaming out in pain. The door swings open to reveal a scarecrow woman with matted red hair. The tracks of tears shine pale in her ashen face. I turn, scrambling across the ground now. I must carry on.