Below the desk is a bar fridge. Brent opens it and we peer inside. Milk, cheese, ham. A couple of ready meals. On the desk above is a microwave. A plastic Carrefour bag beside it contains cereal, bread, and fruit. A bowl and plate and cutlery sit nearby.

A chill runs over me. “Next door,” I whisper. “That bathroom. You don’t think . . . ?”

Curtis blinks like he’s coming out of a daze. He steps into the corridor. We creep out after him. He shines the flashlight on the handle of the room next door, hanging back as though afraid to touch it. I’m afraid, too. Is someone in there?

Is Saskia in there?

Brent tries the handle, still gripping the axe in his other hand. The door opens and Curtis sweeps the flashlight around the walls. The bathroom is empty, the exotic vanilla smell far fainter than it was this afternoon. I’m about to follow the others in when I remember how the door jammed earlier. Not wanting to risk it happening again, I remain in the doorway, propping it open.

Search complete, we return to the control room. Brent walks down the line of the monitors, moving each mouse in turn, but the screens remain blank. “No power.”

My mind races. Did someone leave this room unlocked deliberately because they wanted us to find it? Or was it an accident?

“Heather said she heard a noise,” I say. “Maybe someone was moving about down here and Heather disturbed them, so they had to leave in a hurry.”

“And they turned the power off so we couldn’t use the computers,” Brent finishes. “Could be.”

“So where are they now?” I say.

“Plenty of other rooms to hi—” Curtis breaks off. “What the hell?”

The faint sound of music. Where’s it coming from?

Curtis turns to Brent. “Give me the axe.”

Brent pauses a beat. And hands it over.

Curtis bolts from the room. Left in the dark, the rest of us have no choice but to hurry after him. Around the corner, the music is louder. Oh God, I know this song. It’s the one Saskia used to love: the Killers’ “Somebody Told Me.” Heather sucks in her breath, clearly recognizing it, too.

We reach the stairs that lead up to the function room and once again I smell perfume. Dread pools inside me. The music is coming from up there.

Two at a time, Curtis bounds up the stairs, Brent right behind. Dry-mouthed, I haul myself up after Heather. What will we find—will it really be her? And if it is, what exactly does Curtis intend to do to her? He shoves through the fire door at the top and it swings closed behind him, plunging us into darkness again, but Brent kicks it open, holding it in place until Heather and I reach him.