Her poker face is as strong as ever, but there’s something in her eyes, something I haven’t seen before, and her gaze doesn’t flinch from mine for even a moment. Then she leans in a little way and says, ‘Harper, what are you really working on?’

I swallow hard. How does she know? My cheeks are getting warm and I don’t know what to say. Because what if I tell her and she shuts it down? But she’ll have to see it eventually and I need help figuring this out. And she’s the editor in chief.

‘I know you’re working on something,’ she continues. ‘You’re the first one in, you leave late, you’re distracted. I’ve been in this game for a long time. What is it?’

‘It’s to do with the Sabine Roux death,’ I say.

‘Go on.’

‘I think there was more to it. A lot more to it.’

‘Do you have a source?’

‘I have evidence,’ I say.

‘Great,’ she says. ‘Send me what you have by tonight. I’ll look through it first thing tomorrow morning.’

Chapitre Trente-quatre

Chapitre trente-quatre

I move out of the shelter of the metro just as it begins to rain again. I reach into my bag for my umbrella and as dried out amber leaves swirl around my feet and buildings reflect off puddles, I put it up. All I can hear is the beep and whirr of traffic, snippets of distant conversation and the pitter-patter of raindrops on the fabric of my umbrella as I wrap my free arm around my woolen coat and stride towards my street.

But as I get closer to the corner my phone pings from my handbag. It will be Hyacinth. I sent her my story before I left the office. My stomach is tight as I pull my phone from my bag.

Hi Harper, you said you have evidence. I’ll need that too. H

Fuck. I intentionally didn’t include the evidence with my story; I wanted her feedback first. Because if she isn’t going to run it, I want someone else to, and a scoop by definition means the information isn’t already ‘out there’. But now she’s asking. And she’s my boss.

A clear plastic bag dances in the wind as I stand still, staring at the screen, considering my options. But then my phone flashes with a low battery notification. I need to get home and plug it in.

The rain is heavier now and my shoes are getting wet. I rush past the row of parked motorbikes all sparkling with droplets, my fingers white with cold as I feel around the bottom of my bag for my keys. There they are, next to Sabine’s hard drive.

But just as I get to the corner of my street, the moment before I turn, I see a parked car.