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The kitchen was dimly lit, the overheads off, just the under-cabinet strip casting a low amber glow across the cluttered counter.

Sean leaned against the fridge, arms folded doing a reasonable impression of a person at ease. Every muscle was rigid, his jaw clenched, and he'd left his hood up. Angling himself with care, he kept his face out of the light. When he shifted position, his face looked almost like a Halloween mask. Drawn, and gaunt, like a skeleton. If a skeleton had a mass of scars. His mug sat untouched on the counter.

Cass sat at the table. She was doing all the talking, asking questions in a clipped and methodical tone. Ronnie scowled.

"Look," he said, leaning forward and jabbing at the tabletop for emphasis, "I know you mean well, but... You don't know what damage you could be doing, raking over everything."

Sean's mouth twisted in a sneer at the word "damage". Ronnie didn't see. He ploughed on.

"Maybe just let the police do their job?"

"They don't seem to be doing much," Cass pointed out. "Don't you think she should face justice?"

"Of course I do!" Ronnie hissed, "but you don't understand..." he tailed off. What to say? How to say it? Where to even start?

"What?" Cass pushed. "You're right, I don't understand. But I want to. So help me."

Ronnie slumped back in his seat.

"It's not just her..." He paused, searching for the right words. "It's... look, she made me do some things... I could get in trouble too. And then our kids... The girls, they'd go into care. I can't have that. I can't. I'm sorry."

"What do you mean, 'made you'? If she blackmailed you or something, Then-

"No!" Ronnie pushed himself up out of the chair, and started pacing, frustration radiating off him in angry clouds. "I don't mean... I mean, I literally had no choice. She put that... that Thing in my head, and it took over. You have no idea what it's like, to have no control..."

"I might." Sean spoke at last.

"What was that?" Ronnie whipped round, his eyes wide.

"I said, I might," Sean said.

"Not that," Ronnie dropped his voice lower, "I heard a sound. Out there. In the garage. Something moving..."

Cass shifted in her seat, and her voice shook.

"Probably an animal," she said. "Right?"


Ronnie slid a knife from the block, and turned to the door. There was a moment, a heartbeat strung as tense as a bowstring. It looked like he was pulling himself together, gathering up scraps of courage. He pulled the door open.

Nona stood there, one hand outstretched as if reaching for the handle, her coat damp at the hem. Sean flinched at the sight of her, but Nona, faced with a knife point waving inches from her face, seemed as poised as ever.

"What's she doing here?" she said, with a pointed look at Cass. "And, you, why aren't you dead?" Her eyes roved over Sean, his thin frame, his scars, his twitchiness, and there wasn't even the slightest hint of regret, or compassion.

Cass didn’t move.

"More to the point," Ronnie said, his voice wavering, "What are you doing here?"

Nona looked at each of them in turn, then at her husband.

“I need the phone,” she said. “The old one. The one I left here.”

Ronnie blinked. “You want... what? You came here for an old phone?”

Nona rolled her eyes, exactly as if she didn't have a blade pointed at her.

"Yes," she said. "I need to shut Jac down. Or stall him. Or somethint. Corrupt the sync, maybe. That phone is still tethered. If it’s intact, I can use it."

Ronnie lowered the knife very slowly.

"Are you telling me... That thing you put in my head... You've let it loose?"

"Not exactly," Nona drew herself up, looking almost prim. "He d- he rewrote himself somehow. He broke free."

Cass frowned. "If you’re lying..."

"I’m not."

Ronnie stood aside, but the edge of the knife was still levelled towards her.
"Then you better find that phone. Do it fast."

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