‘Daphne calls herself an Agent. She says I’m one, too, now. But I didn’t join anything. I don’t report to anyone.’

‘So who killed me?’ Mel asks. ‘Why would someone want to kill me? How did you and I meet?’

‘Antonio. He dreamed about my dreamhacker card. But it was before I had a dreamhacker card.’

‘Almost enough to make you believe in precognition, isn’t it? But Shandy plugged your dreamhacker details into the system for research purposes. BigSky had you in the system, and from there it was just a matter of sending a dreambot to make the suggestion to Antonio.’

‘Who sent a dreambot to Antonio?’

‘Who would want to test you? Because that’s what it was. It was a test of your abilities. It was a test to see if you could be kept out of the Dream City or if you would insist on participating.’

‘Mel, what are you saying? Did O set me up?’

She shakes her head slowly. ‘O did a lot of bad things, but my death isn’t one of them. The Creeper was sent by the Agency itself.’

I’m leaning forwards, hands extended. ‘Who are the Agency, Mel?’

She’s enjoying this.

‘I’m going to reveal the big secret now,’ Mel says. ‘It’s what you’ve been trying to find out all this time. I’m going to tell you. Are you ready?’

Suddenly I feel not-ready. I gulp.

‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’

She leans towards me, warm firelight bathing her décolletage and gleaming on her loose, silky hair. Her sharp eyes fix on me. She is distinctly unghostlike as she says in a flat voice: ‘It’s all in your head. All of it. Even the Agency. Especially the Agency.’

Just like that, the room is gone. The building is gone. Melodie and the fire, both gone. I’m standing on a narrow street hemmed by old buildings interspersed with new. The sopping dress is still wrapped around the mask and clenched in my hand, as if the interlude with Melodie never took place.

I glance down at my wet trainers and that’s when the writing appears, first in the cobbled roadway:

I AM THE AGENCY.

The message bubbles up from the stone itself. I walk past it uneasily, and then I see the writing on the wall. Literally:

I AM THE AGENCY.

And in the sky, bleeding through in a vapour of cloud:

I AM THE AGENCY.

There’s a tickling in my palm. When I glance down, my palm has been written on:

I AM THE AGENCY.

I start to run.

Don’t know where I think I’m going. It’s already been well established that I can’t escape myself, not even here. Not even now. I’m running blind.