It was late and Gray was running through the frozen dark. Around her the woods crowded in, thick and threatening, branches stretching out as if to grab her. The moon had disappeared behind the clouds some time ago, leaving her stumbling along a path she could barely see. It had rained all day and now the December night was turning the raindrops to ice.

As she skidded around a bend in the path, the wind picked up, dropping a shower of frozen water from the sodden pine needles, and sending ice down her spine.

With each step, she thought of the people who had brought her to this place. Her mother – the prime minister. Her father – the spy. And the men who’d tried to kill her – the deputy prime minister and a shadowy group of traitors who wanted power at any cost. They had betrayed their own country and they would do it again.

Thinking of them made her angry. Anger kept her warm.

It was the only way she was getting through this.

All she wanted was to go home.

But where was home? Not the prime minister’s residence at Number 10 Downing Street where she’d lived until she came here, but the south London flat she’d shared with her mother before she was chosen to run the country. If she closed her eyes, she could see the comfortable worn rugs and the long navy sofa, cushions flattened into a cosy nest. Her little room on the top floor, with its view of tree tops, chimneys, and red brick houses.

The memory was so strong for a fleeting instant, she could almost smell its toast and marmalade morning scent. Feel the warm sun flooding through the windows on a summer day…

A snapping sound jerked her from her reverie.

Gray stopped and whipped around. Trees towered beside her, dark and inscrutable, fringed by dried bracken turned russet by the cold. Beneath them, nothing stirred.

Some long-buried instinct made the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise. That sound had been made by a person moving carefully. But not carefully enough.

The attack was coming.

Her heart began to race.

There was no time to think. Already breathless, she pelted as fast as she dared down the uneven path, trying to remember everything she’d been taught. But her mind had gone blank. Her chest tightened until she could barely draw a breath.

Sweat stung her eyes and raindrops chilled her face. The thumping of her trainers sounded unnervingly loud in the silent woods – a neon sign flashing an arrow. “Here she is! Here’s the prime minister’s daughter! Come and kill her.”

She glanced to the right and saw something moving in the bushes. A shadow shifting just out of sight.

Above the rasping of her breath and thudthudthud of her heart, she thought she could detect the hiss of disturbed branches as someone closed in.

Panicked now, she turned to look back and instantly tripped over a fallen tree branch. She went sprawling, landing so hard the rough earth scraped her hands and burned her knees. Barely aware of the pain, she scrambled back to her feet and lurched forward. But it was already too late.

A figure clad all in black burst out of the shadows onto the path just ahead of her.

Gray froze.

All dressed in black. A knife in his hand…

She couldn’t move. She felt as cold and dead as the winter ground she stood on.

“Leave me alone.” The words came out in a breath, lost on the breeze.

But he wasn’t going to leave her alone. He advanced on her steadily, his features hidden behind a balaclava, empty hands twitching at his sides.

No knife, she realised, distantly. And then he was upon her.