He’s right. The Panorama building is designed to withstand low temperatures. One time I rode up here it was minus thirty. It’s odd that the pipes would freeze now when strictly speaking it’s not even winter.

“Somebody turned the water off,” I say.

The game continues.

Did Saskia mess with the water? From Curtis’s expression, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing, although once again, of course, it could have been any of us. Or someone else—Julien?

“If one of you ducks out and gets some snow, I’ll melt it,” I say.

“I’ll go.” Curtis seizes a saucepan.

“Good thing we’ve got power,” Brent says. Looks like he’s coming around a bit.

Curtis stops dead. “Anyone bring a flashlight?”

The three of us shake our heads.

“I have a small one,” Curtis says. “But if we’re leaving anyone up here, we need to find more. Now. Or even candles.”

There are miles of windowless corridors in this place. I bite my lip, thinking of how dark they’ll be if the power goes off.

Curtis ditches the saucepan and runs off down the corridor. Brent jogs after him.

“Hey, are you okay?” I call, but Brent’s gone already.

Heather stands in the doorway, arms crossed protectively in front of her.

“Did you see any flashlights or candles?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I just want to get out of here.”

Right now, I’m grateful to have her with me. I check the kitchen cupboards for candles but there aren’t any.

Why do you always feel extra thirsty when you have no water? I hold a glass under the cold tap but the thin trickle dries up before it’s even half full. I knock it back. Someone goes past—Brent.

“Hey,” I call. “If you’re feeling up to it, could you get me some snow? I’m desperate.”

“Sure.” He lifts the pan that Curtis discarded.

“Wait!” I pull out another. Snow is mostly air, so I don’t think a panful will melt down to much water.

Brent takes it and heads off.

Curtis strides in, small Maglite in one hand, knee brace in the other. “Here, put this on.”

“Thanks.”

“Want a hand getting it on?”

“I’ll manage.” After what he said earlier, I’m scared to look him in the eye. I raise the leg of my snowboard trousers and wrap the brace carefully around my knee over my thermals.

“We need to talk.”

“Yeah,” I say, though I’m not sure I want to.

Curtis pulls a foil packet from his pocket. “Take these.”

Painkillers. Generic ones with British supermarket packaging. “Are they yours?”

“Yep.”

As subtly as I can, I check the foil is intact. “I thought you didn’t believe in them.”

“I don’t.”