With a forlorn expression, Estelle stared at the maths formula on the blackboard. The classroom felt grey and lifeless, much like so many other days. The oppressive, stale air clung to her like a heavy winter coat. She tapped her foot nervously against the floor, the rhythm betraying her unease. Her gaze shifted to her teacher, who was bustling from one desk to the next with hurried efficiency. Estelle’s fingernails dug into the palm of her hand as she took a deep, steadying breath. Without a word, her teacher placed a sheet of paper in her hand, entirely unfazed. Her name was scrawled neatly in the top-right corner.

Estelle Thálassa

But as her eyes fell on the score, her throat tightened, and a flush of heat crept up her cheeks. She could scarcely keep track of the test corrections. Her teacher's voice droned on like the soundtrack to a dreadful film, barely registering in her mind. Estelle flipped the sheet of paper over, staring blankly at the empty side. She tried in vain to block out the murmurs and stifled laughter of her classmates, who were comparing their good grades or marvelling at how simple the questions had been. Words could hardly express her relief when the lesson—and with it the entire school day—finally came to an end.

"Would you like to go out for a meal today?"

"Oh yes! I hear this new restaurant has opened in the centre. Why don't we try it?"

"Good! Then everyone follow me!"

Before she realised it, Estelle was the only one left in the classroom. She pressed a hand to her chest, her fingers brushing over the item hidden beneath her black turtleneck jumper. The girls' uniform at Britannica was usually composed of knee-high socks, a skirt, a blouse with a tie, and a neatly fitted blazer. But she wasn’t like the others. She had never stepped outside without a turtleneck jumper, not since she was a child. It was her constant armour against the world, born out of an illness she had lived with since birth—a condition that would likely shadow her for the rest of her life.

Estelle glanced bitterly at her battered rucksack. Perhaps it was time to accept that, after all these years, invitations would never come her way. Who would want to spend time with someone who was ill, after all? She left the school building and walked to the bus stop. Though she waited here every day like everyone else, the place still felt foreign, even after all this time. Or perhaps she was the stranger. Everyone else seemed to fit, their lives harmonising like a well-rehearsed melody. She was the dissonant note, the harsh undertone that disrupted the tune.

The dark blue double-decker bus pulled up, its doors hissing open. She briefly glanced up from her phone and stepped inside. Her hand instinctively found a support rail as the driver set off, the bus lurching into motion.

She didn’t spare a glance at her surroundings; her eyes were fixed firmly on her phone screen. As the bus grew more crowded, Estelle’s stomach churned. It was always the same whenever she found herself surrounded by too many people. Sweat prickled on her forehead, and she felt as though every pair of eyes in the bus was staring at her. The hum of voices and the occasional bursts of laughter seemed to twist into mocking tones in her ears, as if they were ridiculing her.

Thankfully, she could retreat into the vast, comforting world of the internet. She read posts or watched vlogs to distract herself, letting the noise around her fade into the background. At times, she simply scrolled aimlessly, pretending to be engrossed in something important on her phone—anything to shield herself from the world around her.

After scrolling through and liking what felt like a thousand videos of kittens and dogs, the bus suddenly lurched to a stop. Startled, Estelle glanced up. She knew the route to Killigan Street Station by heart, and they weren’t anywhere near her usual stop. For the first time, she realised that she was completely alone on the bus, apart from the driver.

Her gaze shifted to the small screen above, displaying grainy footage of the bus seats captured by its surveillance cameras. During rush hour, the bus was always packed—so crowded that she sometimes feared she wouldn’t manage to squeeze in. If the downstairs seats were full, the upstairs ones always had people crammed together. But now, the monitors showed rows of empty seats, upstairs and down.

The cameras were meant to remind passengers that they were always being watched. But at this moment, the empty bus and its silent monitors only added to the eerie stillness pressing down on her.

So no one could get any ideas.

Estelle’s image stared back at her from the monitor: a pale figure with blonde hair that shimmered faintly silver and deep, ocean-blue eyes. Her confusion deepened as the bus driver suddenly said, “This is your stop, ma’am. You need to get off here.” Cautiously, she stepped closer and peered out of the window. Estelle had no idea where they were. Lundenbuhr was the capital of Britannica, a sprawling metropolis she’d called home her entire life. She had seen much of it over the years, but even so, she didn’t know every corner of the city—it was simply too vast.

Outside, towering chimneys belched smoke into the air. On either side of the road were heavily loaded trucks and rusty pylons. The industrial landscape stretched out like a grim, unfamiliar painting.

Estelle moved to stand beside the bus driver, looking through the windscreen at the desolate industrial area ahead. Shaking her head, she said firmly, “Sir, there must be some mistake. This definitely isn’t my stop.”

She glanced around the bus again, unease creeping in. The vehicle had veered off its usual route entirely, and nothing about this felt right.

Her mobile phone rang. As she pulled it from her bag, she saw a message flashing on the screen.

Foolish actions lead to nothing. Invisible whispers guide the way. Night falls quickly. In caves, shadows linger. Carefully, we wait.Nine laps we must take! I’ve always loved hiding in the cave next to the yellow car.

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For anyone else, those words would have been utter nonsense. But Estelle felt a chill run down her spine. Her hand fell limply to her side as she realised she understood exactly what they meant. The doors in front of her swung open, and the driver’s voice broke the silence. “Don’t forget your rucksack, ma’am.” She turned slowly to face him, reaching for the black rucksack. “Thank you, Mr Bus Driver,” she heard herself say, the words feeling strangely detached. “It seems you’re right—this is my stop.” . Once she had stepped off the bus, the doors slid shut behind her, and the vehicle pulled away, disappearing down the street.

Estelle hurried across the Finchley Company ground, her heart racing. Just before panic could take hold, she spotted it—the yellow car. Beside it, tucked behind a bush, was a narrow gap that Estelle could just about squeeze through. But something felt off, and it wasn’t just the strange light filtering through the larger opening. As she drew closer, the source of her unease became clear. The pipes and rods were glowing with heat, casting an eerie, unnatural glow. Her fingers brushed her face, from forehead to chin, as though she could wipe away the discomfort. She had no choice now. With a deep breath, she gripped her rucksack tightly and forced her way through the gap.

Sweat trickled down her forehead. Estelle had always despised summer, but this heat was nothing compared to even the hottest summer nights. As if that wasn’t bad enough, squeezing through the narrow path was a challenge in itself. She pressed her lips together in concentration, breathing in and out through her nose, each breath a struggle.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief when she finally stepped into a small, dimly lit room. Her gaze swept quickly from left to right, then right to left. With steady hands, she reached into her rucksack and pulled out the black mask—featureless, save for its grey eyes. The smooth surface was cold to the touch. Estelle closed her eyes for a brief moment, tying her hair back into a ponytail before slipping the mask into place. There was no time for hesitation; she only had nine minutes before the monitoring systems would be back online. She was ready as soon as she slipped into her black suit.

Estelle had to admit she had no idea what the Finchley Company actually was. When she thought of a typical company, she imagined sterile white walls and rows of computers in office spaces. But this place... it was more like a factory.

It was nearly impossible to walk quietly with her footsteps echoing loudly on the silver-coated metal floor. The constant steam rising from the walls and floor, the distant hissing, and the clattering hum of machinery only deepened her suspicions. What were they producing here?

But she wasn’t here to ask questions—and certainly not to get caught. The voices of two employees rang in her ears, setting alarm bells off in her head. Her hiding spot couldn’t have been better. The old trick of ducking around corners might work in books and films, but it never did in real life. She carefully pulled out her mobile phone. Six minutes. She only had six minutes left to get everything done. Her hand instinctively moved to her chest, fingers brushing over the object hidden beneath her clothes. Estelle knew there was only one way to get everything done in time.

The footsteps grew louder and louder, and just as Estelle thought she was about to be caught, she sprang to her feet, dashed forward between the two men, and threw both hands into the air. A fierce gust of wind sent them tumbling to the ground. Though Estelle was already running, it wasn’t long before the two men were back on their feet, hot on her heels. As the pressure mounted, she had to think quickly. The rising steam ahead of her cast a faint glow, and an idea sparked in her mind. Estelle quickened her pace, holding her right hand out as though clutching a tennis ball. But instead of a tennis ball, a ball of water formed in her hand. She dropped it to the floor, and a large puddle spread behind her.

Just as she passed through the swirling steam, she stopped dead in her tracks. A few more steps, and the men would have her. But Estelle had a better plan. She let her hand fall, and a blast of steam shot straight into the two workers’ faces. Blinded, they staggered back. Unfortunately for them, they realised far too late that the floor beneath them had become slick and treacherously slippery.

That wouldn’t hold them off forever, but it would buy her enough time to complete her task.

Fortunately for Estelle, she had finally found it—the control room. It looked much more like her idea of a company than the previous space had. The sterile white walls, the rows of computers—it was exactly what she had expected.

Her attention was immediately drawn to a large screen in the centre of the room, displaying live footage from the security cameras. Her suspicion that this place resembled a factory rather than a typical office was confirmed when she saw machines assembling something. However, it was hard to make out exactly what from this angle. It did look strangely familiar, though. Frustratingly, there was no clear clue as to what it was, so she quickly dismissed the thought and focused on the task at hand.

She crouched down at one of the computers and entered the login details she had been given. Her leg bounced slowly up and down. Situations like this always made her nervous, filling her with the fear that she might have entered the password wrong, or worse, that it might not work at all. A wave of relief washed over her when she finally gained access. Estelle’s task was simple: delete all the documents in two folders. However, it proved to be more challenging than she had anticipated. The computer had already prompted her three times, asking if she was absolutely certain.

With dwindling patience, she glanced at the time displayed at the bottom of the screen. Only four minutes left.

When the computer prompted her for a fourth time, Estelle could no longer bear it. She clicked into the folder. It was hard to discern much from a mere glance. The only thing she recognised instantly was that it contained information from the ruling party in power. Finally, she was able to delete the files. Once that was done, Estelle pushed her chair back and retrieved a 0.5-litre bottle filled with a yellowish liquid. Her face twisted in distaste as she stared at it for a long moment. But she had no choice. Whether she wanted to or not, it was part of the job. She opened the bottle and began to pour the liquid around the room. A red flame appeared in her hand, casting a flickering light across her anxious face.

Closing her eyes, she steeled herself, her mind made up. With a swift motion, she threw the flame forward. It spread quickly, igniting and giving her the signal she’d been waiting for.

Estelle had to get out—immediately. With every step, she left a trail of flames behind her. It wasn’t long before the whole place was engulfed in heat far beyond her comfort zone.

The situation didn’t seem to be improving. The uneasy feeling of being trapped, with no way out, grew stronger by the second. The flames were spreading faster than she’d anticipated, soon closing in around her. Desperately, she scanned her surroundings. Hope flickered when she spotted a small window high up on the wall. Without wasting a moment, she raced up the iron stairs. Of course, the window wasn’t the type she could simply open. Her only option was to break the pane. It was quick, but getting through the shattered glass without cutting herself proved tricky. Fortunately, scaffolding was positioned directly outside the window.

Her luck didn’t hold for long, however. She miscalculated a step, stumbling backwards and tumbling onto the scaffolding below, before finally hitting the ground with a sharp thud. She hissed in pain, trying to push the discomfort from her mind.

But the pain was soon forgotten when she heard voices in the distance. Estelle leapt to her feet and ran. The bushes ahead seemed to offer the only escape. As she tumbled down a steep hill, her knee slammed into a thick branch. She collapsed into the soft earth, pressing her head into the ground to steady herself.

Today was definitely not her day.