Ivan walked through a dimly lit corridor. He was in a club, on his way to the room where Till was booked to sing, a stressed look in his dark eyes.

His footsteps echoed about until he stopped before a door. It was slightly ajar and he stepped closer to peer inside.

The artificial light from the corridor shone through the open door and into the dim clubroom. There was a lingering scent of alcohol that permeated the air. On the floor of the trashed room was an unconscious man.

He was slumped against the side of a leather sofa and had his back to the wall. His head was rested against the armrest and his light grey, unruly hair obscured his eyes.

It was Till.