Heat wrapped around him like a warm, wet blanket. Even with the curtains drawn, with his eyes closed, there was an aching brightness. He tossed and turned and couldn’t get comfortable.A tinny crackle of music from the radio downstairs. A dog barking in the distance.A rook flying straight at the window, beak the colour of iron, claws hooked out.He sat bolt upright.No rook at the window now. Nothing but pale sky.He got dressed, carefully rolling his T-shirt down over his bandaged chest. Then he went downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet and felt empty, though he knew Dad was almost certainly upstairs, shut in his darkened room as usual.Sometimes it felt as if his dad was slowly ceasing to exist, his presence fading a little more every day.Ash glanced at the wall clock. Two o’clock in the afternoon.By now, Callie had probably found Mark, talked to him. Ash thought about going to Mark’s camp again to look for them, but he knew instinctively that it was a bad idea. Callie had told him to keep away and she’d be furious if he barged in.
