It took a little over an hour, but Warbrook was true to his word. An email heavy with video files pinged its way into Matt’s inbox. He’d just finished downloading the last of the attachments when there was a knock on his door.

“He’s busy with a workshop,” Jane said briskly, stepping through the door the moment Matt opened it, without any preamble, “But he can meet us later, room 324.”

“Who is?” asked Matt, “Who’re you talking about?”

“Wally,” she replied, as if that should have been obvious.

“Wally Cykes?!” he cried incredulously, turning to follow her as she pushed straight past him and sat perched on the side of his bed.

“We need an expert,” she shrugged, “He’s an expert.”

“He’s a psychic!” cried Matt, appalled, “Who lives here! In this building! Where Ed was killed! By a psychic!”

“Was maybe killed by a psychic!” Jane countered, realising a second to late that she was arguing the wrong point, “Come on, you really think Wally’s a murderer?”

“Well… no,” Matt conceded, but then he immediately snapped back, “But we don’t know, Jane, that’s the problem.” He made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” she scowled, “I’m not an idiot.” Matt opened his mouth to argue that last part, but she cut him off. “I just said we wanted to talk. He seemed fine with it.”

“Awesome,” despaired Matt, “Subtle. Great.”

“Shut up,” she snapped, “Better than getting fed garbage by some backwater webpage.”

“Backwater…? Whatever,” he sighed, giving up and sitting down, “The videos came through.”

“Great,” said Jane, “Have you taken a look?”

“Was waiting for you,” he told her, which was only half true. She nodded at the screen and Matt opened up the first file.

To their disappointment, what footage there was of Ed was unremarkable. The largest and primary file Warbrook had sent them was the video from the computer lab – a grainy, black and white recording that showed Ed entering a little after eleven, sitting down in his usual chair and typing steadily in the dark for the next five hours, the only light coming from his monitors. Even on fast-forward, it was dull viewing – Ed unmoving from between the screens, the timestamp rolling progressively forward, nothing really changing. His back to the camera, it was impossible to get a clear look at Ed’s face, and the quality of the footage was too poor to make out what he was doing. At a little past three, he appeared to sit up a bit straighter, like an idea had occurred to him, but whatever it might have been, pursuing it seemed only to involve further typing. Finally, at three fifty, Ed’s hands paused over the keyboard. He sat unmoving for a little under a minute, then without a word got to his feet and walked calmly out the door. That was it – the footage ended. The next videos, glimpses of him walking through the corridors on his way to the roof, yielded no further insight.

“I don’t get it,” said Jane, once the recordings had ended. She stood with her arms folded and her eyebrows furrowed, absentmindedly chewing her lip. “Did we miss something?”

“I don’t know,” replied Matt, deflated. The disappointment was tangible. He’d been so sure they were going to find answers on the videos, the notion that this could be a dead end had barely crossed his mind. It was a struggle not to give in to despondence. “It looks like nothing.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“But maybe that’s just it. Maybe the nothing means something. Maybe it’s a clue.” But Matt didn’t feel particularly certain.

“Yeah maybe,” said Jane, sounding similarly unconvinced, “We’ll see what Wally says.”

*****

They had an hour or two until Wally had said he’d be able to meet, so the two of them headed down to the Hall for dinner, half to eat, half to burn time. Initially, Matt simply sat, waiting, casting subtle, suspicious glances at the psychics around the room. But eventually, the troubles weighing on his mind weren’t enough to erase his body’s needs, and the fact that he hadn’t eaten all day coupled with the sight of Jane gnawing on a rack of ribs caused a rumbling in his stomach Matt couldn’t bring himself to ignore. It was a strange sensation, he thought as he finally ate, feeling something as petty as hunger, so soon after someone had died. It felt wrong, like the world should have stopped and waited, life paused to show its respects. But it didn’t. Nothing substantial changed. The lights of the Hall stayed bright, its occupants loud – unaffected, it seemed, by the thought of someone among them, who’d sat amongst them, being murdered.

Or being a murderer.

They found Room 324, a small, disused classroom on the upper levels, without difficulty. Jane led the way, having obviously been there before. Wally was already sitting waiting inside.

“Well, it’s good to see you two made up,” he said, standing as they entered. He grinned, hands in his pocket, the white of his teeth matching the frangipanis on his shirt – though the smile seemed somewhat strained. “I was afraid Jane was going to chicken out.”

“Chicken out of what?” Matt asked, shooting her a curious look.

“Nothing,” Jane growled through clenched teeth, glaring at Wally, who blinked, “It doesn’t matter. We’re not here for that.” She dropped into the chair beside when Wally had been sitting, her arms crossed. “We want to know a few things about psychics.”

Wally looked slightly taken aback. “Um, ok,” he shrugged, “What did you want to know?”

“Can psychics control people?” she asked without preamble or hesitation. Matt quietly shuffled beside her into his own seat, internally despairing at Jane’s complete lack of tact. They’d agreed over dinner that Jane would take the lead on questioning – a decision made against Matt’s better judgement and which he was now beginning to regret. Personally, he would have opted for a long, disarming conversation, maybe even with drinks involved, before casually weaving in some discrete inquiries and extracting what he wanted to know without the telepath ever realising. Jane, on the other hand, had all the subtlety of a battering ram and half the charisma. Nevertheless, if Wally found her question strange, it wasn’t enough to stop him answering.

“Of course,” he replied, nonchalant, “Mind control is a step above mind reading, but it’s pretty basic.”

“Can you tell if someone’s being controlled?” Jane continued. Wally frowned.

“Well I mean to me, yes, it’d be obvious. To an outsider…” he grimaced slightly, “There might be some shaking, delayed reactions, slurred speech – although they’re preventable. Smaller stuff – tension, dilated pupils, nervous ticks-” he held up his fingers like he was counting off a checklist, “‑only the best can stop those. And obviously the Bleeds, but everyone knows about them.”

“And when you mind control someone, can you make them do anything?” Jane pressed.

“Sort of,” Wally shrugged, “Depends.” He paused, looking from one to the other. “What’s this all about?”

“Nothing,” Matt started to say; but Jane cut him off.

“We think Ed was possessed when he died,” she said bluntly, ignoring Matt’s silent protests. Wally recoiled like he’d been slapped.

“You- what?!” he spluttered. He turned between the two of them, his pale face suddenly even whiter. “You’re joking.”

“Just look at this,” Jane commanded, and she opened Matt’s laptop on the desk in front of him.

By the time they’d gone through the photos of Ed last moments on the roof, Wally’s incredulous rejection had turned to stunned shock.

“Where did you get these?” he whispered. He looked up at Jane and then at Matt, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

Jane ignored the question “You see it, right?” she asked, “Look at his eyes. Tell me that’s normal.” The psychic stayed mute – just staring at the final picture still frozen on the screen.

“Look,” Matt said, pointing to the image of Ed on the roof, “Right there. He’s bleeding. Which means-”

“I know what a nosebleed means,” Wally murmured. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “What it… what it can mean. It doesn’t… it could be the angle. A trick of the light.”

“It’s not,” Matt said bluntly. He watched closely as Wally once more stared at the screen, looking for fear, recognition, any sign that the ginger psychic was in any way involved. All he saw was ashen‑faced horror.

“Why are you showing me this?” Wally eventually whispered, tearing his eyes away from the screen to glance between the two of them. His hands were shaking.

“We want you to believe us,” answered Jane before Matt could say anything, “And we want you to help us figure out what the hell is going on. There’s more,” she added, unprompted. Wally nodded silently and Jane loaded up the security footage Warbrook had emailed through. The three of them sat watching Ed’s final hours without a word. When they reached the end, where Ed stopped typing and walked off, Wally let out a soft hiss.

“Play it again,” he requested, “Just the last minute.” Matt complied and they replayed the video in silence. Wally swore.

“You see something?” asked Jane.

“Maybe,” murmured Wally, narrowed eyes peering at the grayscale image frozen on the screen.

“Maybe?” scowled Matt. If his impatience was audible Wally didn’t notice.

“See how he tenses?” the psychic pointed out, “See how his fingers lock, stop moving on the keyboard? That…” he forced out the words with some difficulty, “...could be someone overpowering his mind. I don’t know, the picture’s not clear… and it’s fast.” He leant back and exhaled. “Very fast.”

“But that’s got to be it then!” Matt exclaimed in a rush of excitement, “Ed was mind-controlled, he didn’t want to do this!”

“It’s impossible,” Wally said quietly.

“Come on Wally, like hell it’s impossible,” demanded Jane, “You said it yourself, if a psychic controls your mind, they can make you do anything!”

But Wally shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he told them, “Forcing someone to kill themselves isn’t something a psychic can just do. It’s not like making them spout jibberish or bake pancakes. You’re literally forcing the brain to go against self-preservation, its most basic instinct.” He paused and glanced at the two of them. “This isn’t conscious thought we’re talking about. Survival is a sub-conscious, primal drive, forged though hundreds of millions of years of evolution. It’s hardwired into the very foundations of our brains – you can’t just flick some switch and override it.”

“But is it doable?” Matt pressed on. Wally’s face looked strained.

“Well I mean, it’s not impossible, I suppose…” he conceded, reluctantly, “But not by just anyone. It’s absolute apex stuff – why do you think you don’t hear about psychic suicides all the time? There’d be…” he struggled for words, holding his hands up halfway exasperated, “Four, five telepaths, in the whole of North America? Half a dozen, max, who’d be strong enough to pull this off? And Natalia and I are two of them.”

“Really?” Matt replied, eyes narrowing, “And where were you around four AM on New Year’s Day?” Jane made a noise in protest but Matt held out his hand to silence her, staring intently at Wally. The psychic stared back at him with a deadpan expression.

“Seriously?” he asked flatly.

“Hey,” shrugged Matt, although his gaze never wavered, “You admit you could have done it, and you were here. I’m just covering my bases.”

“Matt, don’t be an idiot,” Jane snapped.

“I’m just making sure,” he growled.

“It’s fine Jane, it’s understandable,” interjected Wally, waving her concerns away. “I wasn’t here, actually,” he informed Matt.

“Then where were you?” Matt demanded.

To his surprise, the psychic’s face went slightly pink. “I was at the beach, actually. In Barbados,” he informed them. He sat up straighter and ruffled his collar slightly, averting his eyes. Matt frowned. This was not the answer he’d been expecting.

“Can anyone vouch for that?” he asked.

“Will can,” Wally answered, his chin held high, “Since he teleported me. We stayed there for a few hours.”

“Both of you?” said Matt, raising an eyebrow, “What were you doing?”

Wally’s face grew slightly pinker but he nevertheless resolutely met Matt’s puzzled gaze. “We got cocktails. We talked a lot. We watched the sun come up. We… um…”

The lightbulb suddenly clicked. “Ah,” said Matt, abruptly shutting his mouth. Wally looked slightly relieved.

“Will can confirm it,” he said, “If you want-”

“No, no, that’s fine, I, um, I just didn’t… you know…”

“No, that’s fine, we didn’t… you know, on the down low…”

“Yeah, of course, that’s fine, you don’t need to…

“Didn’t get back until at least seven...”

“Great, no that’s all good, I, um, I believe you…”

“Hold on,” Jane snorted derisively, still not having caught on, “I don’t get it. What were you and Will doing in Barbados?” She looked at Wally, who simply gazed back at her with a blank, patient expression. Suddenly, the penny dropped. Jane’s face froze. “Oh,” she said, in a very small voice. Then she blinked. “Oh,” she repeated, louder, gaping at Wally; then “Oh!”

The psychic shrugged sheepishly. “Yup.”

“Um,” stammered Jane, fumbling, “Alright. Okay then. Of course that’s… well, um, there you go.”

“Natalia wasn’t here either,” Wally told them, turning to Matt, still smiling slightly at the stunned look plastered over Jane’s face, “She’s been at a consultancy job in London all week.”

“Right, but maybe one of the other psychics you mentioned-”

But again Wally shook his head. “None of them were here. Remember Ed’s retinal scanning system? It would’ve gone off the second anybody unregistered entered Morningstar.”

“Right, but maybe from a distance, they-”

“No,” the psychic said flatly, “Impossible.”

“I’ve heard of psychics entering people’s minds from halfway across the country,” Matt persisted stubbornly.

“Yeah,” replied Wally, “As a vision. To pass a message.” He explained patiently. “Our influence decreases exponentially the further we are from the mind we’re interacting with. From any kind of distance, sure, if you know what you’re doing, you can pop into someone’s head. But you appear as little more than a ghost, an annoying distraction. You can’t actually read someone’s mind, let alone exert any kind of influence.” He shook his head. “Especially without eye contact, eye contact is huge. For this stuff? Even if I believe this…” he pointed at the screen, at the frozen image of Ed’s stiffened shoulders. “…I don’t know, whatever the hell this is, even if I believe that someone’s assuming control, it only lasts…” Wally’s fingers moved over the mousepad, and he replayed the last snippet of video, “…five seconds? Five seconds to break someone’s mind and suppress their most basic instinct, all while preventing them showing practically any physical signs?” He shook his head again. “There’s maybe seven psychics in the entire world strong enough to pull that off, and not one of them could do it without being in the same room. Without a direct line of sight? Impossible. Straight out, one hundred percent impossible.”

“What if a bunch of psychics worked together?” asked Jane, over her shock and coming back into the conversation, “What if they, like, merged their powers? Pooled their resources?”

“Does tying two horses together give you one, faster horse?” Wally responded, a little sarcastic. Jane scowled and crossed her arms, muttering something under her breath about ‘legitimate question’. Matt shook his head.

“But that just takes us back to square one,” he muttered, feeling a fresh wave of frustration creeping up, “The room’s empty, there’s no one there.”

“That’s definitely what it looks like,” Wally agreed. But his words gave Matt a sudden, horrifying inspiration.

“We can’t see anybody,” he whispered, staring at the screen, “But that doesn’t mean no one’s there.”

It took the other two a second to grasp his meaning. “Invisibility?” said Wally. He appeared sceptical. “Well that’s a great idea, except if they were invisible they wouldn’t be a psychic. You get one or the other.”

“Unless you can have both,” Matt said quietly. Slowly, slowly, his stomach filling with a cold, sickening dread, he turned his eyes to the girl beside him – to Jane and the black ‘E’ carved into her cheek. She met his gaze and then suddenly the implication dawned on her.

“You don’t- you’re not saying I-” she spluttered and then her face split into fury. “You think it was me?!”

“Was it?!” cried Matt, getting to his feet, “Because only an empath could be invisible and telepathic, and you’re the only empath the scanners wouldn’t have picked up!”

“How dare you!” Jane shouted, standing up as well, glaring into his face, an inch or two taller, “How can you even suggest that, how can you even think I’d do something like this, after all this time, you stupid piece of-”

For a moment, Matt thought she was going to hit him, and in a single, mad instant he felt himself tense, readying for a fight – but then the sound of soft laughter broke through the madness and both Matt and Jane snapped round to find Wally, still seated, chuckling at the sight of the two of them yelling at each other.

“Matt,” he laughed, “It wasn’t Jane. I promise.”

“How do you know?” Matt demanded. He ignored Jane’s vicious glare.

“Um, apart from the fact that I know her?” replied Wally, raising an eyebrow back. He threw a smile at the empath. “Look, Jane has a lot of talents,” he said kindly, “She’s really very amazing in a lot of different ways. But…” his smile turned slightly sad, “Unfortunately, well, mental discipline just isn’t one of them.”

He patted Jane gingerly on the sleeve. “You’ve been trying really, really hard honey and you have improved, I swear, I’m not saying this to be discouraging.” He turned back to Matt. “But I wasn’t kidding about how difficult something like this is. Most psychics couldn’t manage it, and Jane – well, Jane’s still working on the basics. Even if she had stolen telepathy and invisibility – and I think someone probably would’ve noticed that – she just doesn’t have the juice. Not that that’s a bad thing sweetheart,” he added kindly, looking up at Jane. He glanced between the two of them. “So how about you both sit down and stop being stupid?”

There was a pause. Matt suddenly felt profoundly idiotic. “Sorry,” he murmured to Jane, dropping his gaze.

“Ass,” she replied, although with more annoyance than outright hatred. They both shuffled back into their seats, their arms folded, leaning fractionally apart.

A slow silence stretched out across the room, only to be broken again by Wally.

“I don’t know,” the psychic sighed. He stared at Ed’s image frozen on the screen, his freckled, boyish face looking distressed and worn. “It could be nothing. People get nosebleeds for other reasons. People act weird before they die.”

“Wally, come on!” demanded Matt, incredulous, “You can’t seriously believe this is all just coincidence?!”

“Matt, I don’t know,” Wally replied, turning to him, “I’ll admit it’s weird, but what you’re suggesting is impossible. Ed was alone. Heck, the door doesn’t open the entire time he’s in there. No telepath could force someone to kill themselves remotely, no one, period. Not this cleanly, not this quick. It’s just not possible.”

“Everything’s impossible until someone does it,” Matt countered doggedly, refusing to concede. “People are always popping up with new powers, making breakthroughs, breaking records. Someone did this, someone took control of Ed’s mind.” He shook his head, gritting his teeth. “Maybe they’ve found some new technique. Maybe they’ve come up with a drug, maybe there’s a machine. But they did it. Somehow, someone killed him.”

For a few seconds, Wally said nothing, his finger on his lips, pale face unmoving.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, “But I’ll tell you this much. If there’s someone out there who can attack a mind with this much force from a distance…” he hesitated, “…then nothing we do matters.” His face grew dark. “Because nothing anyone can do could stop them. No one, anywhere, would be safe.”