The shift passed quickly after Aslo left. It always did on New Years Eve. There was a franticness that was synonymous with this one night of the year. Perhaps it was the count down, or the crescendo it represented, the grand finale.

Whatever it was, there was this need that ebbed from the crowd. The need to make this night epic, to have it be more than all of the others. It was an expectation that could never really be met, especially not in a busy bar in the centre of town, where it was too cramped, too expensive, too controlled. All it bred was a frustration that was almost palpable as the clock ticked towards midnight.

That frustration had reached a precipice moments ago, when the bells called out the New Year and the sea of cheers and screams of celebration erupted.

I'd watched as friends embraced, couples kissed, and strangers sought out anyone willing to seal the New Year with a kiss.

Across the bar I spotted the dark-haired man and redheaded girl from earlier devouring each other, and wondered if that was what Aslo had in mind when he'd engineered their meeting this evening. It might have been romantic if the guy's tongue wasn't halfway down her throat.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Emma and Max sharing a kiss of their own in the shadowed archway at the end of the bar. Kelly, too, had snuck off to kiss the band's drummer she'd been seeing for the past few months.

My gaze drifted to the bowl of Skittles under the bar, and my fingers curled on the metal countertop. Aslo's visit had raked up feelings that had just started to settle, like sediment on a riverbed. Now they swirled and clouded, filling my mind with fog and something else that pulled at that ache in my chest when I saw the couples celebrating together.

"Happy New Year, Gorgeous!" Callum chirped, as he leaned across the bar and planted a firm kiss on my lips, his hands clamped to either side of my face. I felt the apples of my cheeks smush against his palms. He smelled like expensive aftershave and tequila.

I chuckled as he bounded around the bar, passing behind me to find Emma and Max.

Last year I'd spent New Years alone, in my flat, sitting watching the fireworks through a drunken haze. Now, as I scanned the faces of the people I worked with, my friends, I had to admit that, despite the ache I felt when I thought of Book Boy, I was happy. Or at least happier. My life had changed in the past year, I had changed, and as I looked back down at the Skittles I wondered if it was a coincidence that Book Boy had been around when it happened.

I reached to pluck one of the green Skittles from the bowl, but a scream stopped me.

Auld Lang Syne was still playing through the speakers while the silver and gold confetti swooped and pirouetted towards the floor. Yet the mood had changed in a flash. I watched the bouncer Kelly had hired for the night as he drove his way through the throng of people. I could almost see the fight he was heading towards. A bubble had started to form around it, the drunken crowd drawn to the allure of violence.

I hoisted myself up onto the counter, leaning on my arms as I strained to see how bad it was. From the way Kelly dashed to the door, I could guess that it was bad enough to need the Police. There were always a few floating around the streets on New Years Eve, just waiting for moments like this.

It wasn't often that we had a fight in the bar. It was even rarer when we had Michael, the bouncer, on the door. He usually worked at the Velvet Lounge strip club next door, dealing with handsy letches and disgruntled stag dos. With his broad frame and shaved head, he was more mountain than man, and the best form of deterrent.

But it seemed even the best deterrent wasn't enough tonight.

Fists were flying, and from where I spied, I could see the dark-haired man from earlier was going head-to-head with a lanky looking boy, who's rage made up for his wiry frame. The redheaded girl stood off to the side of the bubble around them, her dolled up face now panda eyed with tears. The boy's face was twisted with territorial lust. It was clear that he was the one she was meant to be kissing at midnight, not the dark-haired lothario she'd snuck away with.

Seeing the frenzied fury painted across his face, I remembered what Aslo had said, months ago, about how taking something from a person could be an even better motivator than giving them something. Looking at the wrath glittering in the boy's eyes, I had to agree. As he lunged again for his opponent, even Michael, with his thick arms, struggled to hold him.

Fluorescent yellow vests drew my attention to the door as two Police officers entered the bar. In an instant, the crowd dissipated, some filtering out of the door, while others retreated to the seating around the edge. As they did, I saw the dark-haired man slumped on the floor. His slicked back hair was now falling across his beaten face while blood oozed from his busted nose. He wasn't conscious. From the concerned look on the Policewoman's face, I knew she'd be calling the paramedic team posted in the centre of town. They were there most Saturdays, their van parked up at the junction between the fast-food vans and late-night bars.

Kelly silenced the music. The din that followed was punctured by sobs of the redhead as she tried to apologise to the boy being dragged away by the Police. His shouts, vicious and resentful, ripped through the murmur of the crowd.

As I watched him go, leaving a wake of stares, I wondered what was so special about him, or the other two in the trio, that would make any of them the target of the Watcher's plans. Maybe this night had put something in motion that would take months, even years, to manifest. Or maybe it had all just been another 'bullshit order' as Aslo had said. Something inconsequential to them, yet life changing for the humans it involved.

The incident brought the night to an abrupt halt, and for the first time in all the years I'd worked there, the bar closed hours before last orders.

While we scrubbed and cleared and cleaned, the Police gathered statements. From their weary expressions it was obvious that they didn't expect to hear anything out of the ordinary.

I chatted idly with the Policewoman, PC Johnson, while her colleague spoke with Kelly. I'd recognised her instantly from the day my flat was burgled. As it had then, her face seemed familiar, but I didn't know why. The headache brought on by the late night and pulsing music wasn't helping me remember.

"You must hate nights like this," I said as I handed her a coffee in a takeaway cup. I'd need to kill an extra thirty minutes while I ran the clean cycle on the machine again, but I figured the freebie could be my good deed for the day.

She took a tentative sip, tired enough not to care about the scalding temperature. "They're not my favourite, but I've definitely seen worse."

"I can imagine." I knew exactly what humanity was capable of, how low it could stoop. Memories of Mr R tried to rear their ugly head, but I fought them back. Somehow it had gotten easier to do over the past few weeks, months even.

Johnson continued, "fists are one thing, but I used to work in traffic years ago, and let me tell you, they don't compare to the damage a car can do." She took another sip of coffee, a small sigh escaping before she added, "I went to one TA, and I knew it wasn't for me."

Her gaze drifted for a moment and her rounded face grew ashen. I'd seen that expression before. The one of far-off dread, of remembering something you'd wish you could forget.

"I know what you mean," I murmured, and her eyes regained their focus. "Me and my mum saw a crash when I was little, and it put her off driving for life."

I could never remember how bad the crash had been, but the memory of my mother's face was a sight I'd never forget. There was something about being so young and seeing your parent's face filled with that kind of horror. They were supposed to be unshakeable, the bravest, strongest, smartest people you know. Yet to see her like that, to hear the way her voice had trembled when she spoke to the officer, it had made me realise that there were things out there that could scare even someone as infallible as her. That had stuck with me.

Another twinge of pain pulsed behind my eyes. The sooner I could get back to bed, the better.

Johnson cast me a knowing smile. "Give me a bar brawl or a burglary any day." She took another gulp of coffee. "Speaking of burglaries, wasn't your flat one of the ones hit a few months ago? Over on Georges Hill?"

"Yeah, Wingrove Avenue. I wasn't sure you'd remember. You said there was a run of them, all ground floor flats on the same street."

She nodded, her lips thin and a small crease between her mousy brown eyebrows. "Sorry we never found out who did it. It's hard enough when you've got some evidence, but whoever broke in must have had gloves on or something." A jaded sigh skittered over the top of the coffee cup before she took another sip. "Oddly enough, no one else had anything taken, at least nothing of any value. It was like whoever broke in did it out of boredom, or simply because they could. I guess that part of town is full of people with little else to do." Her otherwise friendly voice had a hard edge as she spoke the last few words. It was hard to miss the resentment.

I shifted on my feet as the insult hung stale between us. I wasn't under any illusions of what people thought of the area I lived in, or the people I shared it with, but the itch still writhed under the surface.

Johnson's eyes widened and flashed to my own. "Sorry, that wasn't very professional of me," she gasped before massaging the tiredness out of her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. "It's been a long night..."

"Don't worry about it..." I mumbled. "I figured it was a dead end..."

She offered me an apologetic smile before her colleague called her over.

To my left, heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and Callum swung through the archway with bleary eyes. Emma and Max followed close behind. I knew Emma would have been following him like a parent following a toddler, arms out just in case he stumbled.

"Home time, Sweet Cheeks," he called as he threw my jacket towards me.

"I've got a cleaning cycle to run on the machine..." I started but was cut off as he placed a finger against my lips in a silent 'shush'.

"Kelly said she'll finish up, because we need our beauty sleep." He preened himself, running his hand through his caramel-coloured hair and smoothing his perfectly arched eyebrows. "This body is a temple," he added with pizzazz, his hands running down the length of his five-foot eight frame.

I stifled a smile as I watched him strut down the length of the bar. He wobbled now and then, steadying himself on the stainless steel counter.

A temple to tequila by the look of it.

"I don't know about a temple, Callum. Maybe one of those dusty little shrines at the side of the road." I grinned as he raised an eyebrow, his hazel eyes glimmering in amusement.

"Bitch, as long as I'm getting the devotion I deserve. I don't care where it's coming from," he quipped with his signature sass before looping his arm around my waist.

By the time we managed to get a taxi, and it had dropped off Max, Emma and Callum at their respective homes, the world had grown still. The streetlights had dimmed, and the hustle and bustle had given way to a dark velvety hush. I knew it would only last a few more hours before the rumble of life started, earlier than usual thanks to the resolutions people had made: to run more, to see more sunrises, to live life to the fullest because 'you only live once'... At least for the next week, before they realised that lie ins, and pyjama days on the sofa, gave them just as much satisfaction.

As quietly as I could, I wrenched my door open. As it shut behind me, the silence in the flat descended, amplified somehow by the quiet outside. With it, I felt the same sensation as I had since the burglary. That uneasiness that roiled whenever I stood in the stillness for too long, or let my mind wander back to the day of the burglary and the night Olivia had wiped my memory. The feeling had faded, but there was still a whisper of it that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

Perhaps that was what the culprit had wanted. Maybe, violating someone's space and ransacking it was half the fun; the other being the knowledge that they'd gotten away with it and left some trace of themselves here, undetectable but ever-present. Like the knock-on effect Aslo's orders would have on the trio from earlier, the burglar had left their mark, and they'd continued to taint this place long after they'd moved on to some other form of frivolity.

Nightmare brushed against my leg in welcome, and with that touch the discomfort receded. This place had become her home and somehow that thought grounded me here and kept the apprehension at bay.