OLI ZIPS UP THE BAG THAT LILY BROUGHT HER AND SQUARES HER shoulders. The doctor has given her the all clear, but she’s still a little fragile, as if she can’t rely on her reflexes.

‘I really think we should just go home,’ says Lily, wringing her hands.

‘No, I want to see him. Will you wait for me?’

‘Of course.’ Lily nods several times. ‘I’ll have some more terrible coffee in the cafe downstairs. Do you know how much parking is here per day? Honestly, it’s outrageous. It’s not like people are coming here to gamble.’ She complains all the way to the lift. ‘I saw on Facebook that all these fan pages have popped up for Nicole. People who reckon she’s innocent.’

‘People are strange,’ Oli replies. If Cooper were here, he’d be obsessing over the different factions, planning out the next podcast episode with her. There’s still no update on his killer—no doubt someone from Bowman’s extensive network of evil. Oli hates the thought they might never know; his parents deserve the tiny shred of closure a name will provide.

Lily heads down to the ground floor, and Oli makes her way to the third level and asks for directions to room seventeen.

The doctor explained Dean’s injuries to her this morning. The bullet missed his major arteries but lodged deep in his thigh. Despite the life-saving tourniquet he made, he lost a lot of blood. He also hit the back of his skull and needed seventeen stitches. Infection is still a risk, but he should make a full recovery.

Oli steps into the room. Dean is awake, sitting upright in the bed. She stifles a gasp. His head is shaved, his scalp alien-white. The left side of his face is dark with a bruise that stretches from his temple to the curve of his cheekbone.

Oli sits gingerly in the seat next to the bed. Takes his hand.

‘Jesus Christ, I hate what they did to you, Oli.’ Anger ripples across Dean’s face, and he winces. He squeezes her hands gently.

She knows she looks terrible, with a ferocious black eye and a bulky dressing that covers the stitches along her hairline. ‘I’m okay,’ she says. ‘How do you feel?’

‘Like shit.’

‘How do you think the girls are going?’ Oli asks. She endured their awkward visit earlier, Mary hovering in the doorway.

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I don’t know. They seem okay, but this must be bringing up some bad memories.’ Tears shimmer in his eyes, and he grips her hands. ‘I love you, Oli.’

A familiar feeling erupts in her chest: desire, and the heat of being wanted. It’s so tempting to surrender to it, to let it take over and relinquish all responsibility for what happens next. ‘I know you do,’ she whispers.