His body felt as if it had been jammed in a sardine tin, all stiff and crinkly. The crick in his neck protested every time he moved and his arm was numb. The urge to return home was overwhelming, but the urge to clear his name was even stronger. When he opened his eyes he saw the painting of figures floating through the air sprinkling moon-dust in the night sky and knew he was on the right track. Charlie, part-girl, part-legend. It was she who’d done this painting. She who’d left the message at the tower. Loneliness is the price of flight. ‘Have to find Charlie. Have to find Charlie.’ Bryce repeated it like a mantra as he made his way to the public part of the station. But the way to find Charlie was through the runaways, which posed its own set of challenges. In the past, every time Bryce had tried to speak to them they’d slipped out of his grasp like quicksilver. Next time it will be different, he told himself. He raced to the nook under the stairs, but they weren’t there.
