It is the middle of the night by the time we arrive, and the echo of our horses’ hoof beats is all I hear; there is no screaming, no weeping, no sound of battle or destruction. We walk with our horses and return them to stables that are empty, the sounds of them drinking and the clinking and creaking of tack being removed, the sweep of brushes – they are all so loud against the backdrop of quiet that it feels conspicuous. On foot, we head to the centre of the town, treading carefully as though we are creeping up on our prey.

Homes are shut up as usual, sleepy and calm, and I begin to wonder whether Sana has tricked us after all. But then we walk around the corner into the square, and we stop.

Two golden-robed readers walk away from the hall of remembrance, their heads down and their steps unsteady. Their robes are even more flame-like tonight, with ash and scorches at their hems. The hall itself is quiet and the doors are open, not because the building is in use as it has been day and night since the town’s memory began, but because the huge wooden doors have been torn from their hinges like broken teeth in a beautiful face. The boiled-sweet glass panes that blinked rainbows on to the town square have been smashed, and I realize why the townspeople are not here – there is nothing left for them to fight for. The town is dead because one of the chambers of its heart has been destroyed.

Mel stands with me at the entrance, but when I step forward she takes my hand.

Tears stream down her face and she shakes her head. “I can’t,” she whispers, and I nod.

“I must,” I reply.

We hold on to each other for a long time, our bodies shaking together in fear and anguished sobs. Before she goes, Mel whispers to me: “Leora, go and see your mother. They lied to you about her.” Away she whips into the darkness and I am alone.

I look all around to check that I am not being watched or followed, but only silence crouches behind the corners of buildings. I walk in freely.

Some of the seats have scorch marks over them – burned but not destroyed. Lucky, I think for a second, but then I wonder whether it would have been better if the whole building had been lost to fire because this sight is agony.