‘Can’t be easy.’ Chyll eased himself to the floor beside Rory, his skin grey and washed out in the half-light of his suit.

Rory didn’t say anything. He just chewed. Maybe he would get to like the taste. People could get used to anything.

Chyll waved his hand, indicating the dark corridor, the open cell, the wailing alarms. ‘I doubt this is anyone’s ideal Christmas.’

Rory shrugged. ‘I’ve had weirder,’ he said, before realising with a start that it was true. At least the whole thing with the space sharks had snow.