She followed a sign that said “PhD Offices,” hoping a nice staff member would take pity on her once she finally got there. She was beginning to feel very tired and slightly spacey.

There was nobody in the offices either. It must be their Christmas lunch or something. She nearly cried. There were, however, doors leading down a large corridor, with names on each one. Surnames, which wasn’t helpful. But many of them had little jokes on them—cartoons or signs. And on one of them was a Gary Larson cartoon of his usual pointy-headed men examining the rings of an old tree and saying something that made no sense to Carmen whatsoever but was presumably hilarious if you knew a lot about trees.

“Dr. Benezet,” the door said. So. Dr. Benezet was his name. Carmen rubbed her mouth. How strange, to come so far and not know his name.

She ran her fingers through her hair, blotted on some lipstick—God, she must look knackered. Well, she couldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t. All she could think about was him. She steeled herself—and knocked.

THERE WAS NO answer. Nothing. The entire building really did feel empty, as if there had been a fire alarm; she was sure she could sense nobody there. She turned the handle of the door and found it swinging open.

With a guilty sense of trespassing, she walked in. The window faced over the town; you could just see a snow-topped Arthur’s Seat. The snowfall outside was thickening by the minute.

But in the room itself there was nothing. A whiteboard left with a beautifully intricate sketch of some deep roots on it. Blu Tack on the walls where perhaps pictures had been. No computer; an empty desk, a lamp, an office chair, and a sitting chair, with several others stacked chairs for seminars. A long bookshelf with nothing but a thin line of dust on it. No books. Nothing else.

Carmen swallowed, a mounting dread growing in her. No. It wasn’t possible. He hadn’t gone. He was staying. He’d told her that he . . . that he might stay.

She heard footsteps and turned around, panicked, looking back up the corridor.

The figure advanced slowly, carrying a large cardboard box, and as it gradually revealed itself, Carmen felt her heart pound. “Skylar,” she said.

Skylar stared at her. “Oh. You. Are you looking for Oke?”

Carmen felt a tiny prick of hope. “Yes . . .”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Gone home. He decided not to extend. Why did you want to see him?”

Carmen couldn’t answer that. “Have you spoken to Sofia?” she said instead.

Skylar let out a hollow laugh. “Oh yes. Don’t worry about me. I don’t need to work with those damaged kids for a second longer.”

“They’re great kids!”

Skylar shrugged. “None of you are in the least bit spiritual. None of you. It’s so damaging.”