Gail had been The Real Byte’s managing editor for five years. She had been sucked into Tomas Jansen’s infectious enthusiasm, his rebellious ideology, his own unique brand of socialism. From Anonymous to the KKK, nothing escaped The Real Byte’s satirical eye; the blunt commentary had cult following on the internet, but they all knew that Alexia Elias might be the end of them.

Gail closed her hands around a mug of coffee, feeling the heat scald her. She was tired; the trauma of the last twenty-four hours was starting to take its toll.

‘Are you still playing that fucking game?’ Tomas complained, entering the room with a bowl of something that resembled pasta.

Karl looked round, annoyed. He was rarely with them now, preferring instead to spend time at home but that was hardly surprising. He was a recluse most of the time anyway. Tomas had half-heartedly included Karl in the invitation to stay over but no one had expected him to accept, or take Tomas’s advice. Never take the same route anywhere, never stay in the same place too long, always stick together. Although exactly what threat Tomas was trying to avoid had never been made clear to Gail. Both Karl and Tomas seemed to be suffering from a severe case of skunk-induced paranoia.

‘It takes my mind off this mess we’re in,’ Karl replied.

‘Fucking kids’ stuff,’ mumbled Tomas.

‘Shut up, Tomas,’ Gail snapped. ‘At least it keeps him quiet. I wish you would find something to occupy yourself and stop pacing round like a caged lion.’

‘A caged lion is exactly what I am.’ She caught his eye, but suppressed the urge to shout at him. Back down, Gail.

‘Then phone Priest,’ she offered, quiet. ‘Find out what’s going on.’

‘If he had something then he’d let us know,’ Tomas growled, taking a seat opposite her and throwing the bowl of pasta on the table. He leant forward, hands between his legs.

‘You’re too trusting of the lawyer, Tomas,’ she murmured, returning to the iPad screen.

‘He’s not let us down so far.’

Gail sighed, swiping her hand across the screen with forced vigour. Priest wasn’t that good. He talked the talk well, but it would take a miracle to rescue the magazine now. A deal with an American publishing house had fallen through because of the trial already. The advertising revenue was short term; it would soon dry up. They were on borrowed time. Tomas might seem to be taking the pressure well on the surface, but she had seen him crack before. She knew his temper would one day get the better of him. The man was like a pot of perpetually simmering water, liable to boil over at any time.

Gail shivered at the thought.