37

The phone’s screen cracks easily, a cheap brittle thing that shatters into an intricate kaleidoscope of colours as I push my fingers down on to it. I slip out the SIM card and hold it up, the small gold chip winking in the light. I snap it and pocket it to dispose of later. Not that there’s any real risk of it being traced – the phone is a pay-as-you-go that I bought for cash at an anonymous shop, and no-one has the number unless I think they need it.

I could have kept the phone, but there’s no point. With the final call made, there’s no need for it any more. It’s obsolete, like I will be in a few short hours.

Only one last monster to slay.

One more mission to complete.

Then we can all rest.