‘You don’t owe me anything,’ I say. ‘The opposite, in fact. But if you’re willing to give me a chance—’

  ‘Timothy,’ she says. It’s maybe the only time she’s ever used my first name.

  I exhale, stick my hand in my pocket. ‘Reese.’

  ‘I love you,’ she says, and for a second my heart soars. ‘God knows why, but I do. The thing is … you eat people.’

  ‘I’m working on that,’ I say, though it’s clear I’ve already lost.

  ‘You get why that’s a problem for me?’

  I nod sadly. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’

  She gives me a last look. ‘Goodbye, Blake.’ She turns the key, opens the door, and goes inside.

  At least I tried. It would have been much easier to accept that I was a monster, and stay in that hotel room, hating myself. Instead, I gave myself a shot. Diaz would be proud of me.

  I look out at the setting sun, wondering where I’ll go now, and what I’ll do.

  Then I realise Thistle hasn’t closed the door. When I turn, she’s just standing in the hallway, looking at the wall.

  ‘I’m such a headcase,’ she mutters. Then she turns back to me. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  When they arrived at the unfinished house, the Houston PD found it empty. Protruding from one wall was a bloody nail.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thanks to Jane Palfreyman, Angela Handley, the marketing, sales and publicity teams, and everyone else at Allen & Unwin for their incredible support of this series. Thanks also to editor-extraordinaire Elizabeth Cowell, whose wide-ranging knowledge made a huge difference, to proofreader Katri Hilden for the final spit and polish, and to Luke Causby for another delightfully ominous cover.

  Thanks to my friends at Curtis Brown Australia, especially Clare Forster and Ben Stevenson. You are old-school literary agents, not just selling manuscripts but also working tirelessly to make them the best that they can be.

  Thanks to Dr Deane-Peter Baker, Professor David Kilcullen and Professor Clinton Fernandes of the Future Operations Research Group at UNSW, for a chat about satellites and geopolitics. Thanks to Dr Richard Harris for inventing Dr Laurie’s (hypothetical) formula and annotating the chapter in the hypobaric chamber, and to the optometrist I met in a shuttle bus in Tamworth who answered all my questions about ocular prostheses. Mistakes are my own. Thanks to all the other health workers I spoke to, past and present, especially those who treat mental illnesses. I’m more grateful to you than I can say, and not just because of this book. Thanks to my own personal Dr Diaz—you know who you are.

  For help with all the spy stuff, thanks to

  Thanks to story wizards Alyssa Sego, Sam McGregor and Venetia Major, who suffered through clunky early drafts and added authenticity to even the most preposterous scenes.

  Thanks to all the wonderful booksellers, librarians and reviewers who helped Blake find his audience, and to all the amazing authors who provided cover quotes for this series. It’s an honour to have your support.

  Thank you to my family, especially Mum, Dad and Venetia (again), for cheering me on while I’m racing deadlines. I couldn’t do this without you.

  Apologies to the staff at the Johnson Space Center—and occupants of Houston more broadly—for all the times I altered your surroundings to benefit the story. Hope y’all don’t mind.

  Lastly, thanks to the Hangman fans who’ve been waiting for this book for two years. Your enthusiasm kept me going. To those who shared their own mental health journeys with me: none of you are as crazy as Blake. If he can heal, we all can. Hang in there.

 

 

  Jack Heath, Headcase

 

 

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