‘Then you know what we experienced.’ Esterházy’s eyes are haunted. ‘Just when we thought there was no hope, they came. They showed us a path, a way out, and for the first time, we knew the truth of what they are. How they are made of nothing and everything: pure potential. They let some of us live, and we knew why.’

She looks at me, without seeing. ‘What use is a heart in the chest of a corpse when on another moon a child will die for want of one, and take a life’s potential with them? They feed upon those latent futures, and so we had to save as many as we could. That’s how we justified what we did. What we became.’

‘You’re a Seeker?’

‘I was,’ her voice is barely a whisper, ‘perhaps I still am. We never truly let anyone go, once we recognise them as one of us.’ Stiffly, she rolls up her sleeve. There, in the wrinkled flesh, is an old scar, the mirror of the one on my chest.

‘No.’ I take a step back. ‘No, I’m not like them. I never joined. I promised to save lives.’

‘And they don’t? Tell that to the young man who will die without a new lung, or a mother who needs blood for her child’s transfusions. The Accord won’t help them, out here. So who can they turn to? The land barons? The mine owners?’ Her voice is sharp. ‘I saw it in you, tonight. You would have cut Joliffe’s throat, had I not stopped you.’

I can’t deny it, and she smiles. ‘You see, the only difference is that the Seekers would not feel remorse, knowing his death would bring new possibilities into the world, would be a gift to them.’

‘I have seen them kill innocent people—’

‘How do you know they were innocent? We never did anything without reason.’ When I don’t speak, she continues. ‘We believe the Ifs grow stronger, every time they influence the world. And if we continue to feed them, soon we’ll be able to see what they can see. We’ll be able to escape the boundaries of this reality into a multitude of others.’

‘Are you Hel?’ I ask.

She laughs, her sunken eyes bright. ‘We are all Hel.’

I’m not looking at Ma Esterházy. I’m looking at the thing that wears my face, the bloodied hand that reaches for me, skin scored with lines. Her eyes are a bird of prey’s, filled only with purpose. In her hand is a scalpel…

I stumble away, and am back in the yard of Angel Share. Except now, all around me the air is thick with something that makes my stomach churn.

‘They are here,’ Esterházy says breathlessly. ‘Something’s coming.’