Ben emptied the folder onto the kitchen table. There were the doctor’s beloved maps; each one a different stage of their journey. It didn’t seem so far on paper. Other pages held general particulars concerning the project and its purpose, all fluff and filler. There was no contact number. There was no information pertaining to Doctor Alec Sparling at all. Even his name was absent. They had each given him their numbers that day on campus. One would have assumed that the doctor had included his own amidst the papers in case of any complications.

Chloe pulled out a chair across from him. Her pearl-grey eyes carried a hint of pink, as though she had spent the night in a smoky jazz bar. Her oversized black jumper reached down to her thighs. Its sleeves were bundled back to the elbows. She leant forward on the table, watching Ben rifle through the pages. She watched him find nothing.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘it would seem I was wrong.’

‘These fucking maps,’ Chloe said, holding one up in frustration. ‘Two hundred years, my arse! I’ll email him. There’s not much more we can do.’

The laptop was jerked open like a bear trap. She was far too livid for the usual formalities. Her fingers stabbed the keys as though they were Alec Sparling’s eyes.

‘Doctor Sparling,’ she read aloud, ‘contact me ASAP. You have my number. We don’t have yours. We need to talk. Ms Coogan.’

‘Is that it?’ Ben asked.

‘That’s it,’ she said, and after one last tap she pushed her laptop aside.

No sooner had it sent when an automated response landed back into Chloe’s inbox. They both knew what that meant. The email address no longer existed.

‘Fuck this,’ she said. ‘I’m not doing a tap of work on his project until I talk to him. This is bullshit, Ben. We have some fucker following us from Tír Mallacht and a missing girl Sparling spoke to who, for all we know, was killed by whoever or whatever was outside last night. And if he thinks for a—’

Her mobile phone began to shudder on the table. They leant over to peer at its screen – private number. Ben’s phone was still buried somewhere in the bottom of his rucksack.

‘Nobody ever calls me,’ Chloe said, taking the phone and letting its charging cable slip down to the tiles like a snake retreating. ‘Seriously, I don’t give my number to anyone.’

‘But you did though. It has to be him.’

Ben opened Chloe’s old computer to have some notes at the ready. Its inner workings began to hum and grind like last time, as if it were operated by cogs and sticky gears.

Chloe held the phone like a bomb seconds away from detonation, ‘Hello?’ she said, staring at Ben.

‘Ms Coogan,’ came Sparling’s familiar voice. ‘I see that you have returned safely from your expedition.’