‘They should have knocked that thing down years ago – it’s not safe,’ Mum says to Dad over by the window, oblivious to what Cecelia is talking about doing. ‘Last time I saw it, the steps were crumbling away and there was a chunk of wall missing that anyone could come tumbling out of …’

We all turn our heads to the window, looking for falling dots in the distance.

My heart is in my ears. And all I can think about is Rowan. Rowan as he got that call. The look on his face. The way his eyes just emptied. This isn’t just a boy stuck up a tower. This is his brother moments away from falling to his death all over again.

Cecelia is still looking at me and she can see my resolve crumbling. She turns to Dad.

‘Jayce – you got a spare one of those strap thingies?’

‘Just for my GoPro, but you can use that on my account if you want. Thinking about streaming something, are you?’

They bustle about and no one sees me shaking my head. Sitting by as another person bypasses a red light and goes hurtling towards something inevitably bad – all as I watch, helplessly, from my bed.

But this isn’t just about breaking a commute record, is it? This is Jonah. This is Rowan.

Dad helps Cecelia strap the camera over her shoulders. She looks impossibly strong, standing with her feet planted hip-width apart like a superhero ready to take flight, her fists clenched and her eyes narrowed.

‘You’re all set,’ Dad says.

Cecelia looks at me. ‘I can do this,’ she mouths.

And – looking at her – I almost think she can. She turns on her heel and runs out of the room. I hear her thunder down the stairs, into her shoes and out of the door.

‘Where’s she off to?’ Dad says.

I open my laptop slowly. ‘She’s going to climb the tower.’

Dad swears and runs to the window. Mum pinches her lips, keeping back words.

And I know. I know those words. Because they’re the same words that are going through my mind, too.

I open Screen Cast. And I see Dad’s camera online.

And, as I click it, I think, What have I done?

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And now I am running. Faster than I ever have in my life.

The camera jumps and jerks, and I see flashes of glitter nails as Cecelia throws her arms out as if she’s parting the air like water. Her shoes slap on the tarmac and her breath chugs out of her, and I’m reminded of the time she called me from the middle of a park run – only this time I can’t speak to her. I can’t tell her, Be careful. Please. Please.