Lucy's doing one of the two things she usually does on any given night: reading a book, wearing pyjamas, with a cup of tea beside her. The other option is that she's drinking, either with Peter, or out in a bar somewhere. Most nights, though, it's just nice to distract herself from the real world with some nice fiction. It's relaxing.

Of course, it would've been more relaxing if there wasn't a great flash of fire and smoke right in front of her, and a body falling on top of her, screaming and flailing. She doesn't have time to scream herself, her whole body immediately tensing up, her blood boiling, and then there's nothing.

Her heart is suddenly pounding as she sits there, looking at her book. She realises she's two pages earlier than she remembers being.

Cottoning on pretty quickly, she tosses the book aside and jumps from her bed, running over to the kitchen. She pulls open a drawer and pulls out the biggest and sharpest knife she can find, before she stepa quickly back towards the bed, holding it as a weapon. She steels herself for what she knows is coming.