The flat, sanded ceiling extended about a metre overhead, and the floor was even grey schist, sloping visibly downwards. The air was cool and dry, with a strange, stale odour, like an untouched bedroom in a long-deserted house. Chris and Luke had run as fast as they dared, half-expecting Bunsen to follow them inside. As they’d hurried along the corridor, they had heard muffled bangs coming from somewhere far behind them, but then it had fallen into a disconcerting silence. Without the reassuring noises of leaves, insects, or distant traffic, it was like being sealed in a tomb. Chris fell into a steady march, pacing herself for what could be a long walk, but acutely aware of how dangerous it would be if SinaCorp were to catch up. There was no going back now. Travelling from continent to continent, wandering through museums and scouring books—that had been the easy part. Everything came down to what happened next, these last, crucial hours when it would all come together, or all would be lost.
