Lawson stared down at the frozen peas.

The kitchen seemed quieter, now; a faint breeze drifted through the open window, rattling the bronze pots and pans, and there was the drip-drip of water in the sink. His bloodied rags, maybe. A clock on the wall told him that it was past one o'clock in the morning.

He wasn't sure why he'd come back here.

The party had died down twenty minutes ago. Footsteps had staggered down the corridor, accompanied by the occasional hiccup or drunken song. Lawson was certain that someone had paused to get sick in a vase. His money was on David.

He could have joined them, Lawson supposed, but he didn't feel like it. And — more to the point — he didn't deserve to.

He'd attended a birthday party once where they'd sat in a circle, passing around a parcel wrapped in layers of paper. When the music stopped, a guest unwrapped a shiny layer. Then another one. Anticipation built. But what if you reached the core only to find a pair of week-old gym socks? Or something slimy? Or worse — what if you found nothing at all?

He was like that.

One big, disappointing game of "pass-the-parcel."

He'd thought it might be different, with Harper. But he should have known better, Lawson thought grimly. He should have stayed away.

Lawson sighed, adjusting the frozen peas on his face. He was being dramatic; it didn't suit him. The boys always told him so. The breeze was growing stronger, and Lawson turned to close the window. A figure stood in front of it.

He jumped. "Jesus, Paige!"

His older sister made an impatient noise. Her twin plaits were shadows in the moonlight, so dark that they looked almost real. But Lawson could see the corner of a toaster through the left one, which really ruined the effect.

"Lawson," Paige said. "You need to listen to me."

Lawson sighed. "Go away, Paige." He crouched down, picking up several peas that had scattered in his surprise. "I'm not in the mood for some psycho-babble bullshit from my conscience."

She frowned. "I'm not your conscience."

"That," Lawson said, "is exactly what my conscience would say."

"You seriously think I'm your conscience?"

He looked up. "I know you are."

"Oh, my god." Paige snorted. "I'm sorry, but that is just like, such a man thing to assume. Like I can't exist outside of you creating me? Honestly, Lawson, you can be such a—" She broke off, shaking her head. "No. You know what? Not the time for that. Come with me."

She yanked at his arm, which seemed somewhat optimistic, in Lawson's opinion; her hand passed right through him.

"No." Lawson threw the peas in the bin. "I'm tired."

Paige glowered. "Now."

"I'm going to bed."

He turned in the direction of the door. Paige chased after him.

"This is important!"

He doubled his pace. "So is my beauty sleep."

"Lawson," Paige said, "it's Harper."

Lawson paused, his hand resting on the doorknob. The kitchen was silent apart from his gunshot breathing; Paige, of course, didn't breathe at all.

"What about her?"

His voice was hoarse, even to his own ears. Paige moved closer.

"She's in trouble," she said. "We need to hurry."

"What do you mean?" Lawson turned. "What's happened?"

Paige blew out a breath. "You've made a mess of things, is what's happened. She's in danger. Just follow me, okay?"

His heart thundered in his chest. "Where is she?"

"Where do you think?"

"Obviously, I don't know," Lawson snapped. "That's why I'm asking you!"

"Think, Lawson." Paige's voice was urgent. "Where would Harper go when she's upset? Where's her comfort place?"

It hit him all at once.

"Oh, god," Lawson whispered. "The bridge."

She would go there — of course she would. Harper had happy memories running through the storm with her mother; why wouldn't she do the same now? Except this bridge was on the verge of collapsing. And Harper...

Fear curled in his chest.

Lawson yanked open the door, bolting down the corridor. Paige's voice carried after him. "Wrong way, idiot!"

Lawson ignored her.

He took his first left. Then a right. Hurtled up a set of stairs. His calves were cramping, but he hardly registered the pain; everything had narrowed to a wooden door carved with swans. Lawson tried to shove it open, but it didn't budge, and he let out a string of curses. He'd locked it, the bastard.

Lawson hammered on the wood.

"Griffin!" he hollered.

Silence.

Lawson continued banging, louder this time.

"Griffin!" He didn't care if he woke up the whole Estate. "Open the goddamn door." More silence. "I swear to god that I'll kick it down." He drew his foot back. "Open the door right now, or I'll—"

The door swung inward.

Griffin stood on the threshold, looking very tired and very grumpy. His red hair stood up in clumps, and he was sporting polka-dotted pajamas that in other circumstances, Lawson would have taken the piss out of.

"Go away, Lawson," Griffin said, scowling. "I don't want to speak with you. And it's two o'clock in the morning."

"One," Lawson said automatically.

"What?"

"It's only one. Not two."

Griffin stared. Then he made a dismissive noise, moving to shut the door in his face. "You're drunk. Go to sleep."

"Wait!" Lawson jammed his foot in the door. "It's Harper."

Griffin paused. He didn't try to open the door, but he didn't try to close it either, which Lawson took as progress. His expression was wary.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"We had a fight." Lawson's mouth was dry. "She ran off, and I didn't follow her, and then P—" He broke off, heart pounding. On second thought, no need to tell Griffin that his dead sister was still hanging about. At least, not tonight. "I just have a bad feeling."

Griffin looked suspicious. Desperation filled him.

"Please, Griff," he said. "I need you."

Griffin's face softened. Just a fraction. "Where is she?"

"The bridge."

"The bridge?" Griffin echoed, aghast.

"I think." Lawson ran a hand through his hair. "I'm guessing."

"Will you be able to...?"

Griffin's look was meaningful, and Lawson felt an odd surge of gratitude. Of course Griffin would guess about his fear of bridges. Griffin was an engineer; it was his life's mission to understand how things worked. Machines. Parts.

Even people.

"I don't know," Lawson said truthfully. "That's why I came to you."

Griffin yanked on a jumper. "Let me wake the others."

"We don't have time."

"Lawson," Griffin said, "if she's fallen in the water, I won't be able to get her out myself."

Lawson flinched. He understood the subtext of the sentence: and you might not be able to help me. But Griffin was right, so he nodded.

"Okay," Lawson said. "Let's be quick."

A/N: Hello lovely readers,

Only eight more chapters to go ;)

Question of the Day: what's a childhood story that makes you nostalgic? I recently rediscovered "The Jolly Postman" and I'm tempted to order a copy just to display it on my shelf... did anyone else read that book?!

Affectionately,

J.K.

p.s. a reader very kindly asked me for a double update, so you've got two chapters coming your way on Thursday! Woohoo!