Further away, half-buried in the stained sand I find Rat and Bui, and Pegeen and Falco lying close together, as if in sleep.

Something kindles at the back of my mind, like the first wisp of smoke before a conflagration. Those lives, so bright, so vivid, tearing through the world like comets and this is their end?

And where are they? I start to shake. They have haunted my steps, they have knotted and unravelled the paths of my life, for this?

I scream for them to answer and the Charis catches fire. I scream again and the sand flames, turning to dark glass beneath my feet, and through it I see them all, the fallen of Tamane. When I look up, the yellow light is almost gone.

‘No.’ I stumble away. There are other paths, a hundred other choices, realities that are not this one. I don’t want this one. ‘No!’ I yell, as the light fades.

I stagger and fall. Hands catch me before I hit the ground. Hands that are gloved in blood.

The thing with my face stares back at me, her eyes like the web of matter between the stars. Every inch of her skin bears a line, bears a life. Slowly, she raises her hands, palms up. In one of them, Esterházy’s scalpel gleams silver. In the other is a small, bloodied bone dice.

There is always a choice.

I look into her eyes and understand. The lines are not lives taken, not a debt subtracted from the world. They are different realities, a thousand versions of every life, a line for every choice. No one could see all that and hold on to themselves.

There is a price, the Seeker said.

I take the scalpel.

Hel smiles, and rolls the dice.

* * *

The bullet strikes.

The world is still, as if embedded in the yellow light of the Suplicio. Then, with a cry, the General falls.

I look down, the light of the bullet still streaking my vision. She lies on her side, shuddering. A pool of blood spreads across the sand from her middle.

‘No.’ The word escapes my lips. Without thinking, I go to my knees beside her. But her entire front is a mess of dark blood, and I can see one of her ribs through the sundered flesh. ‘She’s a child.’ The words tumble from me as I drag the scarf from my neck and press it to the General’s chest, trying to stem the bleeding. ‘She was dying anyway, why couldn’t you just let her live in peace?’

‘She wasn’t dying,’ the Commander says, her mouth a hard line. ‘Nor would she have lived in peace. They are too dangerous, these children, they can be turned against us as they age. It’s for the good of us all that the programme is concluded.’