Ange seeks out the Witch Hunt, the only people who have thought about her family’s destruction twelve years ago as much as she has – more than she has, if she’s being honest, because for years she tried not to think about it at all even when the fact of the explosion is what made her the pariah she is today.

These armchair detectives have all combed through the bottle messages front to back to uncover the real truth, so they know the written version by heart, but the longer she talks to Professor Ootsuki, the sicker she feels – they treat it as a riddle or a puzzle, but forget that each of those victims or potential culprits were people too, not just pieces to be deciphered.

“Thank you,” she says, meaning it, “but looking at the outside of the catbox just isn’t enough for me anymore.”