Pip glanced through the darkness at the drawer in her desk. There was no point fighting it. She threw off her duvet, the cold air full of invisible jaws, biting at her exposed skin.

She rummaged through the drawer, prising up the false bottom, her fingers scrabbling below for the small plastic bag. Not many left now. She’d have to text Luke Eaton again soon, ask him for more, those burner phones lined up and ready.

What happened to one last time, then?

Pip swallowed the pill and bit her lip. These last months had been filled with one last times and just one mores. They weren’t lies; she’d truly meant them at the time. But she always lost, in the end.

It didn’t matter, it wouldn’t matter soon. Because she had the plan, the new plan, and after that she’d never lose again. Everything would go back to normal. And life had handed her exactly what she needed. Those chalk figures, those dead pigeons, and the person who’d left them there for her. It was a gift, and she should remember that, prove Hawkins wrong. One last case, and it had landed right on her doorstep. It was her against them this time. No Andie Bell, no Sal Singh, no Elliot Ward or Becca Bell, no Jamie Reynolds or Charlie Green or Stanley Forbes, and no Jane Doe. The game had changed.

Her against them.

Save herself to save herself.

There was a kind of thrill in it; watching someone when they didn’t know you were there. Invisible to them. Disappeared.

Ravi was walking up the drive to her house, and she at her bedroom window where she’d been for hours, watching. His hands were in his jacket pockets, his hair morning-messy, and a strange movement in his mouth like he was chewing the air. Or singing to himself. She’d never seen him do that before, never around her. This was a different Ravi, one who thought he was alone, unobserved. Pip studied him and all the subtle differences to the Ravi he was when he was around her. She smiled to herself, wondered what he was singing. Maybe she could love this Ravi just as much, but she’d miss that look in his eyes when he was looking back at her.

And then the moment was over. Pip faintly heard his familiar knock, long-short-long, but she couldn’t move, she needed to stay here and watch the drive. Her dad was here, he would let Ravi in. He liked his small moments of time alone with Ravi anyway. He’d make some sort of inappropriate joke, segue into a conversation about football or Ravi’s work experience, finishing off with an affectionate pat on the back. All while Ravi took off his shoes and neatly lined them up by the door, stuffing the laces inside too, with that special laugh he saved for her dad. That was it, what she wanted: to live those small, normal moments again. The scene would change, somehow, if she were there to disturb it.

Pip blinked, her eyes watering from staring too long at that spot on the driveway, the sun glaring through the window. She couldn’t look away; she might miss it.

She heard Ravi’s gentle tread up the steps, his clicking knees, and her heartbeat picked up. The good kind of fast heart, not like that other trigger-happy kind. No, don’t think about that now. Why did she have to ruin every nice moment?

‘Hello, Sarge,’ he said, the creaking sound of him pushing the door fully open. ‘Agent Ravi here, reporting for boyfriending duties.’

‘Hello, Agent Ravi,’ Pip said, her breath fogging up the glass in front of her. The smile was back, fighting her until she gave in.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘Not even a glance back, or one of your scornful looks. Not a hug, not a kiss. Not an Oh, Ravi, darling, you look devilishly handsome today and you smell like a spring dream. Oh, Pip, my dear, you are too kind to notice. It’s a new deodorant I’m trying.’ A pause. ‘No, but seriously, what are you doing? Can you hear me? Am I a ghost? Pip?’

‘Sorry,’ she said, eyes straight. ‘I’m just... I’m watching the driveway.’

‘You’re what?’

‘Watching the drive,’ she said, her own reflection getting in the way.

She felt a weight on the bed next to her, gravity pulling her towards him as Ravi lowered to his knees on the far side of the mattress, his elbows up on the windowsill and eyes to the glass, just as Pip was.

‘Watching for what?’ he said. Pip dared one fleeting look at him, at the sun lighting up his eyes.

‘For... for the birds. The pigeons,’ she said. ‘I’ve put bits of bread out there on the drive, in the same spot I found those pigeons. And I put little pieces of ham in the grass either side of the drive too.’

‘Right,’ Ravi said, drawing out the word, confused. ‘And why have we done that?’

She gave him a quick jab with her elbow. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘Because,’ she said, over-emphasizing the word, ‘I’m trying to prove Hawkins wrong. It can’t be a neighbour’s cat. And I’ve laid the perfect bait to test that. Cats like ham, don’t they? He’s wrong, I’m not crazy.’

The harsh light through the crack in her curtains had woken her earlier than she’d planned, pulling her out of the after-pill fog. This experiment had seemed a good idea at the time, on three hours’ sleep, although now, checking in with Ravi’s uncertain eyes, she wasn’t sure. Lost her footing again.

She could feel his gaze on her, warm against her cheek. No, what was he doing? He should be watching out for the birds, helping her.

‘Hey,’ he said quietly, his voice hovering just above a whisper.

But Pip didn’t hear what he said next, because there was a dark shape in the sky, a winged shadow growing on the drive below. Pip’s eyes caught it as it swooped down, landing on its twig legs and hopping over to the scattered bread.

‘No,’ she breathed out. It wasn’t a pigeon. ‘Stupid magpie,’ she said, watching as it scooped up a small square of bread in its beak, and then another.

‘One for sorrow,’ said Ravi.

‘We have plenty of that in Little Kilton already,’ Pip replied, as the bird helped itself to a third piece of bread. ‘Hey,’ she shouted suddenly, surprising herself too, banging on the window with her fist. ‘Hey, go away! You’re ruining it!’ Her knuckles hit against the glass so hard, she didn’t know which would crack first. ‘Go away!’ The magpie jumped into the air and flew off.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ Ravi said quickly, grabbing her hands away from the window, holding them tightly inside his grip. ‘Whoa, hey,’ he said, shaking his head at her. His voice hard, but his thumb soft as he ran it against her wrist.

‘Ravi, I can’t see the window, the birds,’ she said, straining her neck to try to look outside and not at him.

‘No, you don’t need to look outside.’ He tucked his finger under her chin, guided it back. ‘Look at me, please. Pip.’ He sighed. ‘This isn’t good for you. It really isn’t.’

‘I’m just trying –’

‘I know what you’re trying, I understand.’

‘He didn’t believe me,’ she said quietly. ‘Hawkins didn’t believe me. No one believes me.’ Not even her sometimes, a new wave of doubts after her dream last night, wondering again whether it was possible she was doing this to herself.

‘Hey, that’s not true.’ Ravi held her hands even tighter in his. ‘I believe you. I will always believe you, whatever it is. That’s my job, OK?’ He held her eyes, and that was good because hers suddenly felt wet and heavy, too heavy to hold alone. ‘It’s me and you, trouble. Team Ravi and Pip. Someone left those birds for you, and the chalk, you don’t have to try prove otherwise. Trust yourself.’