He continued to stare at the screen, but he was no longer watching it. It felt like his mind was being pulled in a thousand different directions – Carcassonne, the cure, Dracula, Kate, the Night Stalkers, Larissa – and he was struggling to decide what required his attention first.

His radio buzzed into life. He pressed the SEND button on the handset, and sat back in his chair.

“Turner,” he said.

“Morning, sir,” said Angela Darcy. “I know it’s early, but Pete Randall is awake in the infirmary. I thought you’d want to know.”

In his quarters on Level B, Jamie was roused from a thick, restless sleep by a heavy knock on his door. He swore, and swung his legs out of bed, and groaned. His head felt heavy and slow, and his limbs were aching, despite the litre of blood he had drunk before he fell into bed six hours earlier.

The second night of the distribution of the cure had gone slightly better than the first; there had been less panic, less frantic urgency among the queuing vampires, and no overt acts of violence. But it had still been long, had still taken careful management, and had left him in a state of exhaustion which was not entirely unwelcome; he had come back to the Loop and gone straight to sleep, where he could stop thinking about his friends, if only for a few hours.

Jamie hadn’t spoken to anyone about anything other than professional matters for two days. He knew it was petulant, and self-indulgent, but the Zero Hour Task Force briefing had devastated him. He was still struggling to believe that PROMETHEUS was real, and that Matt not only approved of it but had been instrumental in its creation, but he could see the strategic argument for the programme, even if he didn’t agree with it; what he could not reconcile with himself was that his friend had lied to his face, and had done so with the clear intention of using him if he saw fit to do so, in a way that he had never even been given the chance to agree to.

It was a betrayal that he simply did not know if he could get over. He had received almost a dozen messages from Kate since, entreaties for the three of them to talk, to sort things out, but he had ignored them all; for the time being at least, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

The knocking came again. He forced himself upright, floated above the cold floor, and unlocked the door, a single thought pulsing through his mind as he pulled it open.

This better be good.

His heart stopped dead in his chest.

Larissa Kinley was standing in the corridor.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. Jamie stared at her, his eyes wide, his body frozen to the spot. Larissa was wearing her Operator uniform and the only thought in his head, one that had burst unbidden from somewhere dark and unstable, was that the last six months or so had never happened; she hadn’t left, she had been here the whole time, and it had all just been a particularly vivid nightmare.

Stillness.

Silence.

Jamie’s body worked involuntarily, forcing his lungs to inhale, and he realised he had not been breathing as he looked at her. The breath broke his paralysis; he stepped forward, his arms reaching out towards her. She didn’t protest as he wrapped them round her shoulders and pulled her tight against him, but her body was stiff in his arms, and he realised something with instant, awful certainty; he didn’t know why she had returned, but it was not for this.

It was not for him.

The deep wound in his heart yawned open, releasing a wave of agony. He released her, stepped back, and forced a tiny smile.

“Come in,” he said, and stood aside.

She nodded, and walked into his room. Jamie closed the door as she took a seat on the edge of the bed, her back straight, as though she was waiting to be called in for a job interview. He pulled his chair out from beneath his desk and sat down. She stared at him, her face pale and expressionless, and he suddenly wanted to scream at her, to call her every awful, terrible name he could think of, to rant and shriek and smash the room to splinters, to show her exactly what she had done to him when she left.

But he didn’t.

“You just left,” he said.

“I know.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know, Jamie.”

He searched her expression for something he could take comfort from, something that even suggested she still cared about him, but saw nothing; she was as beautiful as ever, if not even more so, but her face was pale and empty. It felt like a robot had replaced his ex-girlfriend.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

She winced, ever so slightly. “I’m not ready to talk about that.”

“OK,” he said.

Jamie had imagined the moment of Larissa’s return so many times that he believed he had covered every possible scenario, from tearful joy to screaming hatred. But he had not allowed for the possibility that they would find themselves looking at each other, and talking to each other, like strangers; like people who had never even met before, let alone shared the experiences they had.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes. “For what?”

“For the night you left. The things I said.”

“It’s all right,” she said.

“No,” he said, and shook his head. “It’s not all right. I blamed you for something that wasn’t your fault, and I told you I didn’t trust you. I can’t blame you for leaving after that.”

Her expression softened, just a fraction. “That wasn’t the only reason I left, Jamie,” she said. “I knew that was what you’d think, but I left because of a lot of things. That night was just the final straw.”

“What things?” he asked.

“You knew I wasn’t happy here,” she said. “I mean, you did know that, right? You must have.”

Jamie nodded. “I knew. I think I just tried not to think about it.”

“So did I,” said Larissa. “I tried really hard. But it got to the point where I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror any more. More than anyone, you know what it takes to do this job, how you have to believe you’re doing more good than harm. I just couldn’t convince myself that was true any more, Jamie. What you said to me that night just finally tipped the balance.”

He looked at her, his mind churning with a potent mix of emotions. There was relief that it hadn’t all been his fault, but there was guilt too, and shame; how had he not realised how unhappy his girlfriend really was, until it was far too late? What kind of person did that make him?

Selfish, whispered a voice in the back of his head. Arrogant. Self-involved.

“So why are you here?” he heard himself ask.

Larissa shrugged. “I don’t really know,” she said. “I told myself that Dracula isn’t my fight any more, if he ever was, but I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing while people I care about put themselves in danger.”

“The Director will definitely be glad you’re back,” said Jamie. “Although you aren’t as unique as you were when you left.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Ask Paul about PROMETHEUS next time you see him.”

“All right,” she said. “I will.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Larissa’s frown remained in place, and Jamie recognised the expression with a burst of bittersweet nostalgia; it was the look she wore when there was something she wanted to say to him, but was still deciding whether or not she was going to say it.

“What about you?” she said, eventually.

“What about me?”

“Are you glad I’m back?” she asked, her voice low.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he said. “Am I pleased to see you? Like, right now, in this moment? Of course I am. But I don’t believe you’re really back, Larissa. Everything about you makes me think that if we manage to defeat Dracula then you’ll disappear again. Am I right?”

“I don’t know,” said Larissa. “Maybe. Probably.”