My thoughts are troubled as I walk the rest of the way to the Archive, but the journey itself goes smoothly. By the time I make it there it’s only fifteen minutes after nine, and I more or less trust myself to sound competent and professional again.

Until I knock on the door, and the man who opens it for me is Lord Blackthorn.

“Tallulah,” he says, stepping aside so I can enter.

“I – what are you doing here?” Not my most eloquent moment, but managing to form a complete sentence is an achievement on its own with the panic and confusion filling my mind.

“Visiting old friends. And I thought I might find you here, which led me to wonder what you were doing here.”

I step inside. The entrance chamber is deserted except for Lord Blackthorn, unless Arnold is hiding behind the vast pile of papers on his desk this time. But I doubt it. I’m suddenly afraid. What does he want? What do I have to do?

“That’s my personal business,” I try, though I don’t expect it to work. If Arnold is allowing this conversation to happen, he must have told Lord Blackthorn about the papers I requested. And deducing my intentions from that is not exactly hard.

“Tallulah. You are my son’s best friend and a person of note to the general public. Your personal business is my business.”

He’s not wrong, from a certain perspective. My actions and affairs could directly influence a lot of things that he cares about, and he is not a man who lets these influencing factors remain unknown. I need to pick my battles with him very carefully, and this isn’t one to fight.

“I’m intending – assuming I get the information I need, and I can persuade the right people to help me – to lodge a disagreement under Section Twelve, Subsection Five.” I’m assuming that he’s done enough research at some point to know what that subsection refers to.

“Why?”

“Because people have been unjustly killed because of that law. And I – you shouldn’t be able to do that without consequence.”

“Perhaps. But why should it be you who does this?”

“Because no-one else is doing it. And because if it’s a person of note to the general public, as you put it, then the general public will pay attention.”

“Are you sure that their attention is a good thing?”

No. No, I am not. “I’ve thought this through.”

He sighs. “Well. I suppose that’s something. And why did you not think to inform me of this?”

It was too much for me to hope that I could just answer all his questions honestly without any problems. Because he is not going to like the answer to this one. But there aren’t any lies that he would believe, at least not that I can think of on the spot. “…because I didn’t think it was necessary.”

He pivots suddenly and marches away from me towards an empty corner of the room. I blink a few times, but he turns again at the corner and keeps walking until he’s looped around the room and is standing on the other side of me. “It appears we have very different definitions of what is necessary. I need to know these things, Tallulah.”

“And you know them.”

“I need you to tell me these things.” There’s a faint edge of intensity to his voice, one that suggests I’m pushing him too far. “Yes, I have other sources of information, but I can’t always guarantee they will be quick or reliable. And I need to know in time to be prepared to deal with the consequences, or in time to stop you if needed.”

“Stop me,” I repeat, suddenly angry. How dare he think –

“Yes.”

“You have no right to stop me.”

“In what sense?” he asks, genuinely curious. “Moral, legal…”

“Both of those.”

He sighs. “Let’s say, then, as a hypothetical, that I make sure that you cannot access the papers you have requested from the Archive. I presume the fact I could do that, if I wanted, is not in question?”

I glance around the empty room and grimace. “It is not.” My anger is fading, leaving me with only a growing dread. Because he’s right. If he doesn’t want this project to go ahead, it won’t.

“So. I prevent you from accessing the papers, which goes against your legal and moral right to make requests of the Archive. What do you do about it?”

I grimace again. This hypothetical battle is not one I could win; I don’t know if I’d even try. “I could take legal action,” I say. “Or threaten it.”

“Yes, I suppose you should. But threats are worthless unless there is a real possibility of your carrying them out. And I’m sure you’re aware of the consequences of carrying out this particular one?”

“In the eyes of the country, I’m declaring myself your enemy.”

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Precisely. And how do you think my son would feel about that choice?”

And I’ve lost. The last conversation we had, when I kept Elsie’s secret from him, I won by reminding him that if he hurt me, Edward would never forgive him. But conversely if I did something so blatantly against Lord Blackthorn’s interests, Edward would never forgive me.

So if Lord Blackthorn decides to deny me access to the Archive, he can, and there’s nothing I can do about it. “You’ve proven your point,” I admit. “But if you think you can threaten me into – “

“I could. But I don’t intend to. Not unless you make me.”

“Not unless – “ I make him? The idea that I’m somehow forcing him to threaten me is absurd. Creating the illusion that I’m the one who decides how this goes, when I have no power here –

Or do I? I do have something that he wants. Something to negotiate with. And that, I realise, is exactly what this is. A negotiation.

I just need to figure out what he wants, what I’m prepared to give him, and what I want in return.

“Believe it or not, Tallulah, I don’t want you for my enemy. Quite apart from what it would do to Edward, by now you know enough that, if you made the right moves or found the right allies, you could do a good deal of damage to my interests. It would help us both greatly if we were on friendly terms.”

I have to choke down bitter laughter at that. “You can start by not breaking into my room at four and thirty after midnight to interrogate me.”

“Agreed,” he says at once. “Provided that the situation is not sufficiently urgent to require it, but if there isn’t an imminent threat to your or Edward’s safety, I doubt that would happen.”

I blink a few times. I intended that as a mockery of the idea that he and I could ever be on friendly terms, not as my opening demand in negotiations. But if it means my sleep being less interrupted in future, then so much the better.

“Thank you,” I say grudgingly. And then I pause to think. Taking this strange new idea seriously. What do I want from Lord Blackthorn? For him to leave me alone and stop interfering in my life. But this conversation and these last few months have made it clear that’s not realistic.

“Don’t stop me doing things,” I say.

“I can’t promise that. Not as much as you want. But as long as the things you intend aren’t obviously stupid or against my interests, and as long as I’m informed of them in advance…”

That’s about as much as I could reasonably expect, I think. But the wording wouldn’t hold up in any legal contract; far too ambiguous. I laugh a little at the idea of drafting a formal contract for the terms of my relationship with Lord Blackthorn.

“What is it?” he asks.

I don’t quite know how to say this entire situation and how under starlit skies I found myself in it without provoking more questions. “It’s just… surreal sometimes, you know?”

“No, I don’t,” he says. I shouldn’t be surprised; like Edward, he must have grown up knowing that he would some day have power. Never realising that what that does to a person is not particularly normal.

“It is for me, anyway.” That’s distracted me from the ongoing negotiation, and I take a few moments to think. “My current intentions,” I say. “Subsection Five. Would that fall under the category of things you would not allow?”

“If it did, this conversation would be considerably less civil.”

I grimace, but it’s good really. “Then you’ll let… you won’t stop me getting the documents I need?” It’s too much to hope that he didn’t spot my change of wording. That he didn’t realise that I need at least the illusion that I don’t need his permission.

“Assuming we can come to a satisfactory agreement, yes.”

I tense, suddenly angry again. So he is going to hold this over me, use it as a negotiation tool when it’s about far more than just me – stars, I hate him –

But still I make myself consider things from his perspective. This naïve, idealistic teenager is determined to change the world for the better, and I unfortunately need her to be on speaking terms with me because she’s my son’s best friend. Hence this negotiation. But if she’s not going to work with me regardless, I’m better off just stopping her doing anything that could be annoying to deal with.

Looking at it that way, there is a certain logic to it which feels a little better than just blackmail. Not much better, though. “What do you want from me, then?”

“For you to not be an obstacle. Which means, in practice, not doing things that could have large-scale consequences without informing me, not doing those things if I tell you not to, and not concealing relevant information from me.”

It’s that last one that makes me flinch. I’m concealing an awful lot of information that Lord Blackthorn would undoubtedly find relevant. Elsie’s secret. Everything Amara told me, and everything she implied without outright stating. The anomaly Edward and I share. The consequences of his finding out any of those things are unthinkable.

The consequences of his finding them out later and finding that I’ve kept them from him despite promising not to might well be worse. But I can’t tell him. “I’ll agree to those terms.”

“Good. Thank you. I assume you understand that this isn’t a promise you can make lightly? That breaking it will have consequences?”

I understand only too well. “Yes.” I pause. “And in exchange…”

“I’ll refrain from disturbing your sleep unless absolutely necessary. I’ll make reasonable efforts to work around your goals and find ways they can align with mine. And… it occurs to me that you have not asked me for help.”

“You mean… with this project?”

“Or whatever others you might need help with. You must be aware that I have resources that could be very useful to you.”

I didn’t expect him to outright ask something like that. I’ll have to choose my words carefully again. “If I did ask, would you help me?”

“That depends on exactly what you asked for.”

It’s a true answer, but it’s not a helpful answer, so I don’t dignify it with a response.

“But… if it were something that I could do without significant cost, yes.”

I wonder what Lord Blackthorn considers significant cost. Not money, certainly.

“So… why have you not asked for help?” he asks.

“Because I don’t need it,” I answer simply.

He raises his eyebrows sceptically.

“I don’t need your help,” I repeat.

“Is that true, though? Or do you have some other objection to accepting it?”

I pause. “If I got you to solve my problems for me, I’d never learn how to do it myself.”

“True enough, but it implies…”

I’m trying to work out what he’s read into my words, and after a few seconds of silence he tells me: “You don’t trust me.”

I hesitate a fraction of a second too long to believably lie. Besides, I don’t think he’d believe an I do trust you however plausibly delivered.

He sighs. “Only to be expected, I suppose. At least trust this, then: I have no desire to hurt you or anything you care about. I will not do so unless it becomes necessary, and I will warn you before that is the case.”

“I believe that,” I say, because I do. It’s not particularly reassuring, though.

“And likewise, I believe that you won’t become an obstacle, and that you will try to prevent that from occurring. That is enough.”

It isn’t. Not by any sensible definition. But it’s the best we’re going to get.

“Thank you, Tallulah. And I wish you luck with your project.”

He sounds as if he means it. But he’s leaving before I have a chance to reply.

“Thank you,” I say to the empty air.