Ambushing the guard had quickly been discarded as an option. To ambush, you needed surprise, and you couldn’t surprise someone who could clearly see you coming. They continued walking up to him, Thea waving exaggeratedly and offering some weak “hellos” as they got nearer, close enough to see that he’d put one hand on his holster.

‘What are you doing up here?’

The wind rough-housed them, snatching their words away and hurling them off the cliff edge.

‘FIRE!’ Thea called back. ‘You’re needed back at the Centre. We’ve come to take over.’

At least they weren’t dressed in their cult clothes anymore. Thea’s dark leggings and jacket was the kind of thing the staff would wear if they had to trek to the lighthouse.

‘WHAT?’ The guard shouted, holding out an arm to stop them.

‘FIRE!’

As it was, with the wind and the sleet, it didn’t matter what they said because the guard couldn’t hear them properly and they just had to keep walking closer, smiling, smiling all the while. One foot in front of the other. Closer, closer. Smile, smile.

They saw him reaching for his radio. Maybe he’d already been told that there would be two escapees trying to get into the lighthouse.

‘Fuck it,’ Ethan muttered and sprinted the last few feet.

Thea instinctively wanted to squeeze her eyes shut, but she didn’t want to be the pathetic sidekick, so she ran too – fully intending to grab an arm or a foot and hopefully not get shot in the face. It was over too quickly for any of that; in seconds Ethan had knocked the man out and was searching his pockets.

‘Help me drag him in!’

He fumbled with the keys he’d found, opened the door and grabbed the guard under his arms. Thea got his feet and they staggered into the lighthouse as a tangled threesome, Ethan slamming the door behind them as the wind picked up its temper.

A light flickered on automatically.

Thea wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting from the inside of the lighthouse. What she got was … cosy. A curving stone staircase hugged the wall and led upwards to the glass-topped pinnacle that held the light. In what space was left, there was a tiny kitchen, the cabinets old but the appliances all very new and shiny, and a comfortable chair next to a tall, thin, curved window. It was warm and smelled of buttery toast.

Any minute, something could come barrelling down those steps, something ugly and crazed, with a mouth stretched wide in a howl, hands reaching out to claw, scratch or strangle.

A clock ticked.

There was a newspaper on the chair, the crossword half-completed.