Before Malice could react, she was hit with binding bullets. Black ink exploded across her belly. Another round hit her shoulder. A third hit her thigh. Upon impact, all that ink spread outwards, wrapping round her torso, her arm, her leg. Sigils glowed.

Skulduggery strode through the rubble in a tattered suit, his hat cocked at an especially jaunty angle, throwing down the rifle loaded with the binding bullets and pulling his revolver.

No. Not Skulduggery. Cadaver.

Malice snarled. “It’s only a matter—”

He shot her in the head and Valkyrie yelled.

“It’s OK,” Cadaver said, putting away the revolver and taking Valkyrie by the arm. “That won’t keep her down for long.” He led her to the window. A gesture, and the glass exploded outwards.

Behind them, shouted commands. Running feet.

“Before we go,” he said, and hugged her, “it is so, so good to see you again, Valkyrie.”

Then he picked her up, and they flew.