I love walking through Dublin early on a Sunday morning – it was one of the things I missed most about it. It’s quiet, so you kind of feel like it’s your own city – your own kingdom. I thought I’d never forgive Mum for making me move all the way to Avarna last summer, but I’d actually grown to love my new home. Yet Dublin was still my sanctuary, a place I’d always come back to.

I passed my favourite store, Tower Records (which wasn’t open yet, so I managed to retain my streak of never passing it without going in), and crossed the road. I could see Ming’s neon sign up ahead, and for a split second I thought, Go back. Pretend this never happened. Go home, turn off your phone, go back to normality. I’d had eight months of normality, and it hadn’t been so bad. But even though it was tempting, I knew for certain that I wasn’t going to do that. It had already started; she was already here. I even had a familiar dull pain in my head – no doubt just a preview of what was to come. I knew that the torturous headaches and visions and panic attacks I’d endured last year were likely to revisit me. And last night’s dream was so clear in my mind – her whisper, soft and haunting, playing on a loop in the back of my brain. Careful. You’re standing on my grave.

When I stepped inside the diner, it suddenly became clear why Sergeant Lawlor had picked it. The place was deserted, apart from the people working behind the counter. The decor in Ming’s was pretty minimal – the walls hadn’t been painted in years and the plastic was peeling away from the tables. I’d never been in there during the day and it was odd seeing it so quiet. Sergeant Lawlor was sitting in a booth at the back and he nodded as I closed the door behind me. He was wearing a black suit and tie and looked very official.

‘Hi,’ I said as I sat down across from him, dropping my satchel to the floor.