Inside the house, a door slammed shut. We both flinched, and I glanced over my shoulder.

A man stood in the channel behind me. He stared right at my face, silent, silhouetted against the sun. He was naked. I jumped to my feet.

Millie swore. “What are you doing?”

The man’s gaze bore into me. His eyes did not reflect light, but sat deep in his skull, cold as stone. His mouth was slack.

“For fuck’s sake, El!” Millie yanked me back to the ground. I struggled to rise, and she gripped my shoulders.

“Tell me what’s happening,” she demanded.

The man took a step forward.

“You can’t see him,” I whispered.

There was something inside his mouth, something with legs, an insect or a spider. It crunched under his teeth.

Millie grasped my jaw in her hands and turned my face away from him.

“You’re right, I can’t see anything.” She spoke urgently. “But El, I’m here. I’m right here.”

She refused to let go of me. I could see the man in my peripheral vision; he took another step, and his shadow crossed my legs.

“Breathe,” said Millie. Her hands were steady and cool, her blue eyes unwavering. “It’s not real.”

It’s not real. It’s not real. I inhaled. It’s not real.

I closed my eyes and breathed out. When I nodded, Millie let go of my face.

“Don’t scare me like that,” she said.

This was too soon; I had only seen Finn three days ago. And I had never experienced visions while in Millie’s company.

I opened my eyes. The man had vanished, although I still felt watched. Dead, vacant eyes. My skin crawled.

“We need to move,” I said. “Someone might have heard us.”

The trees hung low above the wall. Millie climbed over first, and then I followed. The hillside beyond was wild: nettles and long yellow grass, thorns and dry soil. I crouched, catching my breath.

“You okay?”

“Sorry.” I shrugged and tried to keep my voice light. “Must be stress. Let’s just finish this and head back to Ceyrun.”

Millie hesitated. There was a familiar, stubborn light in her eyes, an expression I recognised from all our previous arguments on the subject.

“The visions are getting worse, aren’t they?” she said.

I knew how it would go. Millie, telling me I needed to confess my problem to the Sisterhood. Me, telling her that the Order would sooner martyr me than help. She refused to see that it would be so much less complicated for them to put me to sleep. Less messy, less risky. Besides, even if they didn’t martyr me, I’d still be sent to the Sanatorium.

“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” she said.

Millie never needed to think about Renewals, or Haunts, or rites. She could have whatever she wanted. Whoever she wanted. She could joke about country estates and never calculate how many years remained until someone started cutting her apart.