All I could see was Bram’s name on a spreadsheet. I saw my fingers on a keyboard, and his name changing from yellow to white. And right then – Beware. Beware. Lyric strode past and into Russ’s office. I lowered my eyes and waited for the summons. I drank some water from the bottle on my desk.

For the rest of the day, whispers – who, what, why – flew. I played Whack-A-Mullah as often as I could. At three, Russ appeared by my desk. He was in a temper. There were blue slits in his face. ‘Mate, I’ve sent a few things your way,’ he said. ‘I’ve got to get home – this Georgian’s so clueless, I’m missing the Moldovan.’

‘That must be very difficult,’ I replied. ‘But please don’t worry about work. Leave it all with me.’

His face softened. ‘Cheers for that,’ he said. ‘It’s the last chance I’ll have to get away. Can you believe this fucking investigation team arrives at eight tomorrow? And I’m expected to be here. It’s not like it’s even anything to do with Evaluations. Some dickweed in Security gets sprung taking backhanders, and next thing the whole Department’s put through the wringer.’

Would Russ intercede for me with his brother-in-law if my recoding came to light? Would we be spared repatriation? Hope flared and failed as I worked on his files late into the evening. I reminded myself that hundreds – thousands – of cases are recoded by Evaluations every year. To assess and reclassify is the nature of our task. The investigation would prioritise threats to national security. Would they even bother with tax evasion? One minute I’d feel confident, the next I’d start to sweat. Lyric had only to enter a number into their phone and say, ‘It’s probably nothing, but there’s this guy who uses Russ’s password.’ My knee jiggled of its own will. Most of my right leg was speckled by then – the loss of pigmentation was progressing a lot faster than it had with Chanel. It didn’t make me feel in the least empowered, only very afraid.

Broad frosted bands run across the glass wall that fronts the main meeting room. On Friday morning, there were horizontal stripes of three grey-faced, grey-clad strangers in there. Lyric was coming out as I arrived. Our glances crossed, and their eyes flickered. It might have meant something or it might just have been their eyes. Opal is back this week, setting pink and green flashing in their face.

Outside, a heatwave predicted – again! – to be recordbreaking was getting on with it. Ash and carbonised leaves were falling. It meant that the old fires had blazed up, and new ones were sparking on the outskirts of the city. All day, someone wearing shoes with iron spikes stamped around and shrieked in my head. The temptation to plead illness and leave at lunchtime was irresistible. I resisted it – it would look suspicious. Chanel and I were both on leave the following week, and I wondered if I should cancel mine.