She awoke into nothing. Dark tides lapped over Gemma's numb limbs, the shadows above her shifting and overlapping until their boundaries melted away. Deep aches hammered against her skull as she tried to move, and the dull flavour of rusted metal coated her tongue. Heat trickled down her cheek, a keen contrast to the lukewarm puddle that swilled around her hand and leg. Dire thirst raged across her throat like a wildfire.

    Swallowed in layer after layer of darkness, Gemma gave up on convincing her body to move, only for a light tingle of warmth to cross her dry hand. Her neck cracked as she forced it around to watch as the sensation returned, yet no sight nor sound came with it. As undetectable as it was, its memory resonated with a feeling buried deep within the archives of her past.

    A sharp shock stabbed through Gemma's left ankle as she pressed down on it, she shot out an arm to catch the nearest wall. Lightning agony flashed across her vision, yet through the storm, a weak, ghostly glow persisted before her. She reached for it, and the warmth enveloped her hand, its hold firm but comforting, strange yet all too familiar. "Jacob?"

    Propping her weight against the wall, Gemma limped towards the glow. Her foot collided with what, at first, resembled another wall, yet a speculative reach of her hand revealed it to be the base of the stairs. With a grunt, she lumbered up the step, the faint light drifting away from her. It was goading her, and her gut yearned to follow its path. "Jacob, wait!"

    The glow soothed the wounds across and beneath Gemma's skin, its enduring silence taunting her into one determined lunge for its light. As she managed a meagre leap forwards, it slipped away, and her outstretched arm battered against a barrier of rigid wood and metal. Dim lines shaped the darkness into the door's unyielding frame, and her propping hand stumbled by blind chance into the plastic casing of the cellar's sole light switch. She flicked the toggle switch, and the sensation gripped her hand one last time.

    You're going to be okay.

    With a fierce click, light flooded the room. Gemma shrieked and dropped her eyes, the glare firing another white-hot shock through her aching head. Colour dripped back into the space, first in the familiar guise of dull greys and off-whites, then in the creased blues and blacks of dishevelled clothing. The slick spills of tarnished crimson came last, their arrival signalling the restoration of her faltering senses.

    This was different to the impact of discovering Jacob's corpse. Gemma had not simply found Edmund and Nadine dead – they had died in her presence, their souls departing their frames in the very room she stood in. Morbid cold had razed the energy out of her brother's body, yet the two faces before her possessed the full colours of life. Behind the blood and physical trauma, their slack expressions and contorted limbs resembled sleepers caught in unending nightmares. Gemma almost felt grateful to be just physically trapped if such torment was a real possibility.

    Feeling the pair's life dwindle under her touch, Gemma brushed away the tears she had not noticed gather in her eyes and focused her thoughts. She had to get out. With a twinge of both horror and guilt, she peeled Edmund's bloodied jacket open to search his pockets. The discovery of his mobile phone brought a song to her heart, only to plunge it into her knotted core as it appeared smashed beyond any functionality. Her reflection mocked her from between the scars in its shattered screen.

    Another broad shape rested in Edmund's other inner pocket, and Gemma delayed her despair to reach inside. She hoped to find a second phone or other communications device, yet her first blind contact with the item struck away the need for such wishes. Whether through foresight, perception, or plain paranoia, Edmund had hidden the cellar door's high-grade padlock in his pocket, ridding Gemma of the biggest obstacle to her escape.

    Driven by resurgent optimism, Gemma grabbed the rucksack from the floor and planted it on the nearest desk. She scooped a bulging armful of the surveillance dossiers up and piled them into the bag, curling any loose sheets up into its side pockets. Once the backpack sat full, she lowered herself down at Nadine's side, a spear skewering her heart at the woman's visible injuries. "I'm sorry," she whispered as she withdrew the van's keys from the pocket of Nadine's jeans. "They're going to pay for this, along with everything else they've done. I promise."

    The stuffed bag's weight threatened to send Gemma to the floor as she climbed the stairs, biting back the worst of her muttered curses. She turned the doorhandle, yet the door refused to move beyond a petulant quiver. With another string of curses, she pushed the door again, budging it by an inch while earning a duet of harsh scraping and snapping sounds. Something broad, dense, and close to hand had been shoved against the door's far side to seal her cell's single exit.

    Except the seal's hasty construction was plain to see. It had shifted under hefty force once already, and even in her exhausted state, Gemma had plenty of stronger blows to deliver. If her time in Milnhome had brought her anything, it was the will to work out her aggression.

    Gemma backed up to the edge of the top step, stretched as much as her bruised body would allow, and launched herself into the door. Though pain blurred her sight on impact, the promising squeal of the hinges gave her ample impetus for a second charge. The lights flickered and wailed in time with the wood's shudders, yet the barricade bounced her broken body back once again. A potent metallic tang laced the inside of her mouth, poisoning the gulping breaths she needed to force herself into one more rush.

    Her momentum and desperation combined into a reckless display of brute strength, one which Gemma immediately regretted as her head whipped against the hard surface. Dazed and numb, she did not register her surroundings until they engulfed her senses all at once, from the bursting door to the dank, musty taste that infected her mouth. She opened her eyes to see the coarse grain of the house's floorboards, a sight that enriched her blood with sweet, golden joy.

    Clawing to her feet, Gemma staggered out of the house without looking back. Her heart wrenched at the sight of the Silverlake van parked outside, and its cold, well-used interior grated against her beaten body. Yet the physical unease successfully dragged her away from the rest of her problems, bringing them into sharper focus. She had to get to the pub, crash Edgar's presentation, and drop her overstuffed burden of evidence at his feet. She needed the townspeople to see what she had seen, what Nadine, Edmund, her brother, and nearly she herself had died over, even if she risked sounding like a lunatic.

    Night's deep blue veil settled over the sleeping lanes through the Dales, its close-knit cloak resisting the sweeping beams of the vehicle's headlamps. The fresh flavour of petrichor tinged the air that leaked into the van, and stray drops struck the road surface to prove that the storm had plenty left to offer. As rainwater trickled down her windshield, Gemma felt the firm, morbid hand of reality close around her neck. If she failed to turn the town against Edgar and Graham, the rainclouds could be the only company she kept for the rest of the night.

    Wind rattled through the town's old buildings as Gemma pulled up outside The Last Drop. Borrowed oil and electric lanterns hung around the pub's front door, and the extra light cast a glamourous sparkle across the entrance to suit the night's special event. Fluid movement and overlapping conversations poured out between gusts of wind, raising a beacon of vivid life through the web of dormant darkness. Sat in the van with her eyes dwelling on the building's glowing exterior, Gemma briefly drifted away from the chills, pains, and stress that wore her down. The pub had been a bower of peace and stability since her arrival, and that only made the lie behind its welcoming exterior now all the more painful.

    Daylight-hued beams danced through the rain, and between blinks, Gemma spied a familiar outline hovering among the lights. For once, however, the weights around her chest lightened at the sight of Jacob's ghost. "Even after five years of silence and your literal death, here I am, still cleaning up after you," she quipped, letting her heart's glee reach her lips. She laid one hand on the pub's front door, then paused and glanced over her shoulder. "I love you, you utter clod."

    As she pushed inside, the tart, fiery haze of the pub's top-shelf selection swarmed around Gemma's nostrils. Silken strains of quiet conversation spread between the few occupied booths, their rhythms stonewalled by the door that slammed behind her. Despite the stark stares she received, a flash of her clenched teeth stopped the patrons from interrupting her limping, lurching progress. Brutal, bassy voices beckoned her towards the back room, and her dependence on her body's limited adrenaline stores snuffed out any hope of her stopping now.

    A loud snap of the pub's joints signalled Gemma's arrival in the back room. Speaking from a reclined position at the centre of the space, Edgar cut his speech short as a heavy hush suffocated the spirit of his audience. All eyes fell on her, their owners stunned by the extent of her split head, her bloodied clothes, and her wavering balance. At the front of the crowd, Graham wordlessly rose from his seat, his face pale.

    "Gem! Jesus, what happened to you?" Avery flocked to Gemma's side from the rear wall, setting a steadying hand on her friend's shoulder. Horror honed the peaks of her voice, and her breaths quickened to match the furious beat of Gemma's heart. "I've been calling you for the past hour. Where the hell have you been?"

    "Easy, Vee," Nathan answered, and he dragged his seat over to Gemma. With a wincing glance over her injuries, he gestured towards the front of the pub. "Let's get you somewhere quiet, and you can fill us in while we wait for an ambulance."

    "No, Nate. I'm not going anywhere," Gemma said as she pulled herself free of her friends' hold and advanced towards Edgar and Graham. A simple lift of her hand focused the crowd's eyes on the centre of the room, silencing the two men's increasingly hectic whispers. She soaked in the sight of their joint shock, then turned to address the audience. "Not until everybody here knows how these two assholes tried to kill me."