The four walls of the room were painted in four different – though equally vibrant – shades of yellow. The floor was littered with a wide variety of miscellaneous items: from crayons and colour-books to CDs, dolls in various stages of dismemberment and a boomerang-shaped object with multi-coloured buttons that Shwaan could only assume was some variation of the video-game console he had seen in Casia’s duplex during his brief stay with the reporter. He stepped gingerly over the severed torso of what appeared to have been a Barbie at some point and finally threw himself onto the large, ochre beanbag – big enough to sleep on – that occupied pride of place at the centre of the yellow wasteland that was Hiya’s bedroom. Walking around in this place was an open invitation to disaster.

“Not a big believer in organisation, are you?” Shwaan remarked, looking around the room at the cluttered shelves and half-open wardrobe overflowing with clothing in more shades of yellow. Apparently, successfully impressing Hiya with magic tricks he had picked up from one of his mortal nurses over six centuries ago had earned him the privilege of a grand tour of the young lady’s dominion.

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Ruban had certainly wasted no time in shooing the two of them upstairs the moment the opportunity presented itself. It was just as well, he supposed. Enlightening as it often was, spending too much time in the Hunter’s company also carried with it the risk of discovery. Tauheen’s infernal garrulity at SifCo had already raised some suspicions in Ruban, he could tell. Best to let it cool at a distance before anybody put two and two together and blew his cover.

Hiya ignored him. What looked like a humongous plastic model of the rear half of an airplane balanced precariously on her outstretched hands, she tottered over to Ashwin before placing the monstrosity carefully at his feet. He looked down expectantly, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it. Well, at least this one wasn’t yellow.

“Help,” Hiya said, pointing at the semi-constructed aeroplane replica. It wasn’t a question, though. It was a statement.