Sannah woke up with a start, dread pounding the base of her stomach. Where was she? She was cold. An itchy, musty fabric against her face. Her mouth was dry and tasted foul. There was no indication of what time it was in this windowless room. Sannah had a sense of dread, and wasn't sure why.

She listened, her senses tingling with fear. She couldn't hear Saint, but sensed he was still in the room, behind the thin dividing curtain. Perhaps she could hear his breath, soft as he slept, but she wasn't sure if it was just her blood buzzing in her ears.

What was she doing here? Reality, the events of yesterday, fell on her like a snowdrift. Sobbing Judit. Naked, blue painted. The bus attacker's hands, tight on her arms. Her life savings, gone. The heart in the shadows. This strange room, this bad decision.

The drugs. Her stomach cramped in fear when she thought of the drugs, thought of the man in the room with her right now, thought of what she'd thought and how she'd felt last night.

It was dark except for a small red light on the cooker, shallowly casting its pall over the room's outlines. She could see the shape of the chang pipe amid other detritus on the table. She shivered, pulling the thin purple blanket tighter around herself.

Sannah thought of how she'd felt last night, the warm easiness, the chang getting in her system, clouding her judgement. She remembered that moment feeling the thug, her tang for him, and pushed the thought right out of her mind, quickly. The image went, but the fear stayed. Thank God the chang hadn't led that any further. She needed to protect herself.

She shuddered, closing her eyes tight to try and block out the bleak reality of it all. I can't handle this, she thought. I'm out of my depth. She began to cry, pushing her face into the sofa to stifle her sobs, terrified he would hear. She thought about Judit. Where was she? What was she doing? This was the first morning she'd woken without her in living memory.

After what seemed like eternity, there was a shuffling movement from behind the curtain, a cough, and the bulk of Saint appeared in the darkness. He moved nimbly through the dark room to the table, switching on the dim light.

The low yellow glow felt strange with Sannah's body clock telling her it was morning. Now the room was lit she could see his eyes were slit and puffy in his slim face, and he didn't smile. He was wearing the same plain black t-shirt and black jeans as yesterday.

He glanced at her, his face cold and inscrutible, and gave a short, hostile nod of greeting. Sannah felt mortified, hoped he couldn't tell she'd been crying. She needed the toilet. She remembered what he'd said about the bathroom, and opened the door, leaving it ajar as she tiptoed down the cold corridor.

They didn't speak until he'd made them both cups of steaming hot tea, and set them at the table opposite each other.

"I've got to go out," Saint said, not looking at her. "I'll be back later, I don't know when. I'll leave you the key for the deadbolt."

"I won't go anywhere." Sannah was hesitant. "Just in case they're looking for me. There might be drones." She looked into her tea, and thought for a while. "I've got a bit of cash, if you can—I mean, I'd really appreciate it if you'd get me some food. It doesn't matter what."

She felt so awkward talking to him, compared to last night when she'd started spilling her most intimate secrets. Sannah cringed.

He shook his head. "There's food in that cupboard. You can eat that. The other one is Dai's. There's probably nothing in there worth eating."

He looked at his screen and she hid her gaze in her tea. They sat in silence.

He stood up, disappearing behind the curtain. When he reappeared he was wearing a jacket, and holding keys and a large, old-looking screen.

"Here." He swiped the screen and passed it to her, glowing in the dim light. "It's dark. No one will trace you. And the keys."

He dropped them on the table, and adjusted the collar of his jacket, heading for the door. He left without saying good bye.

Sannah pulled the screen towards her. It felt comforting to get online, like normality. The clock told her it was 10am. What was happening at school right now? Her first thought was to open her emessages, then she realised the school would trace them. Who would she even contact?

Okay. Money. That was the first thing. She logged on to the spam-writing site she worked for, looking through the long list of jobs. Nothing for more than one or two digits. It would take forever to make up the 300 she had lost. It was hopeless. She thought of the cheating essays, and quickly navigated to that site. Five digits per essay. That was better. She created an account, and sitting in the dim room, started to write.

***

Four days. Four days, and Sannah hadn't seen the sun. Four days, and she'd made 35 measly digits. Four days, and she'd barely seen Saint at all. He was out all the time. He left early in the morning and came back late at night, moving agile and silent through Sannah's room as she pretended to sleep on the sofa. Sometimes she would sit up, try to make conversation, but it didn't work. He was uncommunicative, distant and cold. Did he regret having her here? The fear of this gave her palpitations. Was it just her being paranoid? She was hardly an expert in social interaction.

She was wretchedly, heart-breakingly lonely. Never a crier, now she cried. She would visit Judit's locked SelfiSite and 2gether pages, just to see her profile pictures. Has she been online? Should I make a fake profile, try to contact her? There was no point. Judit hadn't even taken her screen.

She split her time between crying and writing, sometimes both at once; ploughing her way through the stupid cheat essays, racking up five pitiful digits after another. She read the Sherbourne University rewilding information again and again. She didn't look at anything on the Natives. She'd read enough.

She'd been tempted to search Saint online, but didn't dare, on his own screen. Alone all the time, she explored the flat, poked in all their stuff. Doesn't everyone do this when they're alone in someone else's house? Sannah thought, guilty at the intrusion.

Everything was dirty. Junk was everywhere: bits of metal and brick, broken glass. Off kilter. She lifted up the sheet to see Saint's bedroom. A mattress on the floor with a disheveled duvet. A rail with barely any clothes.

There was an open box by the head of the bed, and Sannah sneaked in to look at it. She had to walk on the bed, the room was so small. More junk. A knife, the flick type, and a wad of cash tied neatly with a band. Condoms. Her heart jumped into her throat as she looked at the condoms, then at the knife.

There was a photo too, crumpled, cut through with white veins. It was a teenage boy, his top off, leaning on a wall. He was pulling a face at the camera, and looked somehow familiar. Sannah studied it, trying to work out where she might have seen him before, then replaced it carefully in the box.

She lifted the other adjoining sheet to see Dai the roommate's room. He had the same mattress on the floor get up, with a low shelf at the side of the bed, neat and bare. Looks like Saint is the rubbish collector, Sannah thought.

A pipe similar to the one Saint had been using last night sat on Dai's bed, and a couple of dented tins. There were condoms here too, the cellophane wrapper laying on the empty shelf next to the box, and a poster of a woman tacked to the wall, naked with pendulous breasts.

Sannah pulled a face and let the curtain drop. She suddenly got the fear that one of them would come back and find her in his room, and rushed clumsily under the curtain.

A loud buzz broke violently through the air, making Sannah jump. A small box near the door flashed. The intercom! Who was it? Had they found her? Sannah eyed the flashing light like it could sting her.

She moved to the box and pushed the button.

"Hello?"

A female voice came up through the speaker.

"Saint? I know you're there. I heard you turn on the intercom. Dai? Is that you?"

It was Lox. Her voice whiny and uncertain again. Sannah stepped back. She moved to the sofa and sat silently, waiting for the blinking light on the intercom to go out. She wasn't going to answer.

Then silence again, for long, dark hours.

***

Sannah swung between being terrified of Saint, dreading every footstep in the corridor in case it was him, to pining for his company.

On the evening of that fourth night, she gave herself a shivery sponge-bath with a grimy old flannel in the bathroom. She dressed quickly, trembling and damp, and padded back to the studio.

She let out a gasp of surprise as she closed the door and saw Saint, sitting at the table, cup of tea in hand, browsing his screen. She'd got so used to him not being there that it was strange to see him, in his own flat.

He had a takeaway meal in a plastic container, and gave half to Sannah without asking if she wanted it. She took it gratefully. She'd eaten nothing but sugar biscuits and protein shakes for days—the only contents of Saint's dirty kitchen cupboards—and felt like her guts were fermenting.

He was sullen, and didn't make eye contact. When the food was finished, he got out his pipe, and started the same old ritual of packing the small, metal end with the dark brown powder. Sannah felt a surge of trepidation—what if, like the other night, but this time—and then pushed it away. It was what it was. She would stay in control. At least she wasn't alone.

He moved to the sofa, breathing out the white blue tendrils of smoke.

"How's the money making going?"

"Urr..." Sannah made a doubtful noise, folding her legs neatly in front of her in the small kitchen chair. "It's ok. I've got forty digits. So. Not great. But I'm on my way. How's..."

She realised she didn't know anything about his life. Logistics, was it? It was hard to remember through the chang.

"How's Lox?" She said, trying to keep up the conversation, scrabbling for anything she knew about him.

"Don't know. Haven't spoken to her."

Sannah swallowed.

"So, where's your room mate, then?"

She was false bright, desperate to change the subject. He was silent for a moment while he lit, inhaled, exhaled.

"His girlfriend's. She's gilded, got a place to herself. He's there a lot."

"Aw, nice." Still false bright, her voice high.

How inane. She thought. Pull yourself together. She had this kind of phoney waitress tone that she couldn't shake.

"Do you want some tea?"

He nodded, and she made the tea, relieved to be able to turn her back on the room, busy herself with something. Her hands were shaking violently as she passed him the cup.

Sitting on the sofa, she didn't trust her hands to get her tea to her mouth, so left it going cold on the floor. She leaned back, closing her eyes, feeling sick. She heard Saint exhale.

"Wanna see something?" His voice in the darkness.

"Um, alright." She opened her eyes and glanced over at him, hoping he wouldn't make eye contact. He didn't. He had put down the pipe and was reaching into his jacket pocket, searching around.

"Here," he said, placing something small and grey in her hand.

Sannah stared at it intently to avoid looking at him.

"What is it?" she asked. It just looked like a chunk of concrete. Round, lumpy, dull-grey. Is he crazy?  "A rock?"

"Turn it over."

Sannah paused, not trusting her shaking hands to work under his scrutiny. He leaned in, turned the stone over in her palm. It had been sliced, the spherical shape cut in half through the centre.

The rock was hollow, and there was a universe inside. Crystals, sparkling, clinging to one another, as glimmering and confusing and busy as the Milky Way.

Sannah turned it this way and that in the light, her fear forgotten in her wonder. It sparkled like it was alive. She turned over the rock again to study the outside. Dull, grey, lumpy. A thousand secret diamonds, hidden in a stone.

She was starting to feel heady again, her nausea and nervousness dissipating, a gentle breeze suffusing her soul.

"What is it?"

"A geode." His voice sounded young, almost joyful.

"How?"

"Dunno. I found it in a pile of rubble and hardcore in an old building today. I've never seen anything like it before."

"It's beautiful," Sannah breathed, turning it in the light, the radiant crystals glinting.

It was beautiful. It reminded her of the shadow heart. Of wonder, of fate. 

Suddenly, she was talking, spilling out everywhere. Telling Saint all about the shadow heart. Her fear, her faith, everything. He's going to think I'm off kilter, she thought, this makes no sense. But she didn't care. He was sitting so warm and close to her, the blue fug of smoke cosy around them, cutting off the world. She was a turned on tap. She told him everything. The perfect form of the heart and its wings and the hand and the light and the shadow. No hope.

"... it felt like–" she faltered, looking up to him for the first time. "It felt like fate."

He was silent and he was all that she could see, dim in the smoke, his face half in shadow. He was everything, the world, a moth on a pin, her only friend. Looking back at her now, right at her. He was still silent. Emotion seemed to flicker on his face. Was he happy? Angry? Sad? Sannah couldn't tell.

She felt him. She felt him so hard. He was her and she was him and they were becoming one with everything. She could sense the warmth of his body, could barely breathe in the smoky room, felt like he was getting in her lungs, all over her skin.

He frowned at her, pocketing his pipe, and said, "I've got somewhere to go."

She felt disappointment welling up inside. Please, no. She didn't want to be alone, not again. Not now. Please don't go. He stood up, still for a moment, looking at her, face stony, as unreadable as ever, and as beautiful.

"You wanna come?"