Holding the torch as if it was a dart, positioned between his index finger and thumb, he shone it on the left-hand side wall and examined it. It was utter madness: equations, star charts, and a Picasso freshly painted in blood. There were plenty of numbers scribbled and scrawled into the mess, but not the numbers he was looking for.

On the section of wall closest to where he stood, Jax had no problem making out even the smallest of scratches – with only a foot to travel, his torch threw a tight, bright, tennis-ball-sized spotlight onto the concrete. But soon, only a couple of metres over, the tennis ball had blown out to beachball size, blurry and dim.

Jax could just make out the numbers in the middle of the wall: 93241. He could also see the cursive carving he had noted before. Maybe Arabic. Then again, with the light barely reaching that far into the dark, it could have just as easily been gibberish. He would have to get closer to find out.

Time to switch to his next best plan.

Here we go. In and out. Serpent none the wiser.

Jax knew how fine the line was between the second-best scenario and the worst.

He pulled out the key he’d been hoping he wouldn’t have to use. He had to stop himself from shining his torch towards the bed. He hated not knowing.

Here goes . . .

He swiped the fob in front of the keypad.

Beep. Beep.

An electronic acknowledgement.

Then, snap, the lock opening.

Fuck.

He quickly fumbled for the button on his torch.

Fuck.

He found it, killed the light.

Fuck.

He took a breath and told himself to calm down. The noise hadn’t been loud: something like a text message alert at halfvolume. And the speaker was on his side of the glass. Not the Serpent’s. He looked into the dark.

Nothing. Black. No movement. All good.

He pushed on the glass and eased into the cell. Into the Serpent’s lair.

JAX had to summon all his strength to stop himself from throwing up. He’d thought the smell was bad on the other side of the glass, and it was, but nothing like this. Death: that’s what this was. The smell of death. Rot, decay, carrion.

Jax was standing in the dark, door shut behind him but not locked, alone in a Supermax cell with the Serpent. And he didn’t know if the world’s worst serial killer was asleep or awake. Out like a light or watching him, fangs out and ready to strike.