Vanquished.

Caroline let out a little giggle. Three years, seven months, nine days, twelve hours and twenty-something minutes ago she'd eaten her last piece of chocolate.

"I never thought I'd manage it," she said to Paul as she stirred her coffee. "I'd been addicted for...ooh...I'm twenty-seven now so....twenty-one years?" She sipped her coffee, her tongue shocked by the burning liquid as she took her first caffeine hit of the day.

"So how's your New Year's give-up-smoking kick going?"

Paul shrugged. "S'okay. I had my last ciggie with breakfast on Monday."

"But that's two whole days into the new year!" said...

I shivered. The moor was cold and damp on this February morning. The fog was thick and clung to my hair, my face, my clothes. I wiped my dewy glasses and stretched my aching limbs. I'd been hiding behind this tree for far too long.

I heard a crack.

I eased myself up, cursing my poor old back all the while, and raised my weapon of choice. I lined up my 'scope, taking a deep breath and smiling with satisfaction as the proud head came into focus.

Old Braveheart I called him. I knew it was a cliche but since...

She leaned over the side of the ship, hair streaming in the cold, northerly wind. They'd been at sea for six days now, with three still ahead before they made land at Isenguard.

The heist couldn't have gone more smoothly. The Jaguar Pearls were stowed safely back in her cabin, the security tapes had been wiped and Mark had obliterated every trace of their DNA from the scene.

Mark. Where was he?

She turned to lean against the rail, squinting at the recreation deck in the dazzling, tropical sunlight. He was probably up there right now, all toned and bronzed...