“Harry, have you seen Bianca?” I demanded, grabbing the sleeve of his jumper. 

He stiffened, confusion flickering across his face. “Bianca… Well, I did run into her earlier. She looked terrified—pale as chalk.” 

“Where is she now?” I shook his arm, my voice sharpening. 

“Come on,” Harry jerked his head towards a dimly lit café across the alley. Inside, Bianca sat hunched and wild-eyed, her face drained of colour, as though she’d sprinted miles to escape whatever—or whoever—had chased her. 

“Bianca, you need to tell me exactly what happened. Who followed you? Did you see their faces?” I slumped into the rickety chair opposite her, my knees buckling. 

She exhaled...