Winter was always the worst. The piercing silence of balmy summer nights kept her safe. Especially after the night she called out for Lily. Oli can still remember the sting across her cheek, her neck snapping to the side. She never screamed again, not out loud anyway.

Rain swirls away from the window, lifted by the wind, before it spatters back against the glass like blood. Oli whimpers. A searing pain surges near her temple. She closes her eyes briefly but senses light and opens them again. Headlights. A car turning into the driveway?

Pushing her bound hands against the rug, she lifts her head and torso, curls upwards. She looks around for her satchel but can’t see it. There’s no way she can get to the panic button—it’s all the way across the room, and she can barely get up. Instead she wriggles sideways, trying to reach the gap between the couch and the side table. Part of her knows it’s pointless: the moment the lights are turned on she will be seen, hunched over on the floor in her white coat, her blonde hair like a neon sign, but the desire to hide is overwhelming. With great effort she propels herself forward. Her body is flush against the wooden frame, and she pauses to catch her breath. Through the steady hum of rain is the distinctive crunch of gravel: footsteps. She flattens herself against the ground. Tears needle her eyes. God, she wishes Lily were here. She feels the scratch of her old blankets, smells her old bedroom. Footsteps are coming down the hall. Her heart catches in her throat. The doorknob twists, the door opens. Moonlight cuts across the tiles, and a hazy plume of rain billows in. A shadowy figure steps inside.

Time freezes. Fear is the only thing that moves, snaking along her body. The horrible familiarity of someone she loves acting like a stranger.

Dean slowly closes the door behind him. He’s wearing sweats, an oversized black hoodie and sneakers. Oli’s thoughts fly every which way. Where has he been? Did he attack her then go somewhere to change, to get rid of evidence, before … before what?

He goes to the base of the stairs. Cranes his neck and looks up. He stage whispers her name. ‘Oli?’ He turns to walk across the tiles and into the dining room. More alert now, she wriggles her way to the armchair. She peers around the side, watching as Dean turns on the kitchen lights. ‘Oli?’

Every nerve is registering panic. She starts doing desperate, pleading deals with the universe.

Dean returns to the lounge, flicks on the light. She recoils, the glare causing her to moan softly. Her head throbs.

‘Oli!’ He rushes over. He takes her face in his hands, stares into her eyes. ‘Are you alright? What’s happened?’ He looks at her hands, pulls the knot undone. ‘Oli, what the hell?’