He raises his eyebrow and I hold my breath, aware I might be pushing my luck. It’s a standoff. Until he grudgingly steps aside. Careful not to look in his direction, I open the compartment on top of the machine, but I can’t get the bloody coffee jar open.

Curtis takes it from me and opens it. “Muscles.” He’s fighting a smile.

Damn. I turn my back to hide my smile. The machine whirrs into action and the kitchen fills with the smell of freshly ground coffee.

“Did you make one earlier?” he says.

“No. Why?”

“When I came in here, I thought I could smell it.”

I can tell what he’s thinking. His sister was a real coffee fiend. I hand him his cappuccino. “Must be one of the others. Any sign of the phones?”

“No. Look, don’t tell the others about the hair—”

He breaks off as Brent shuffles in, hair sticking up and a crease down his cheek from his pillow. “Mornin’.”

Do I hug him or not? Brent doesn’t seem to know either. In the end, we do, but it’s stiff and awkward.

“Coffee?” Curtis asks.

“Yeah, bro.”

I turn to the machine before we get into another argument about it.

The three of us sit on the counter, sipping our drinks in silence. God, the tension in this room. Even Brent seems to feel it. His dark eyes have a haunted look that I’ve never seen before. Natural enough, I guess, after the events of yesterday.

Or is Curtis right? Is Brent feeling the strain because he’s blackmailing Dale and Heather? If he is, why are Curtis and I here? Just for show, or does Brent plan to blackmail us, too?

I shift uneasily. There’s one thing that springs to mind that Brent knows about, something I’m really not proud of, but he wouldn’t do that, would he?

I drain my coffee and jump down. “I’m going to check the bubble.”

“I already checked,” Curtis says.

But I want to see for myself, and anyway, I need some space. I pass through the double doors into the freezing air beyond and down the metal steps.

The view is breathtaking. The Alps spread out as far as the eye can see, peaks white, valleys green. The little orange cabins hang motionless against the cloudless sky, disappearing briefly over the cliffs, then continuing across the plateau below. You can’t see Le Rocher village from here—it nestles deep in the valley.

I turn my attention to the operator booth and test the door. Still locked; I expected as much. I cup my hands to the window. There’s a complicated-looking control panel and various monitors. I’m pretty sure that even if we broke in, we wouldn’t be able to get it running. It must need some kind of key.