From here, she could see the window to her bedroom, the same window she had sneaked out of countless times, the same window Skulduggery would perch at. There were no cars in the drive and no lights on inside on this grey afternoon. She felt an urge to leave the car, to walk through the empty house, to stand in the kitchen, to sit in the living room surrounded by all those framed photographs of the family. She ached for the feeling she was only now realising she’d been missing – that feeling of belonging. Of being welcome somewhere. Of being loved.

She was about to step out of the car when her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Valkyrie, hi.” It was Militsa. “I have Byron’s address. Naturally, I’m not supposed to give this out … but then again I’m not even allowed to access this information. Sorry it took so long. Anyway, his given name is Paul Matthews. He lives in Ballyfermot. Do you know it?”

“I do,” Valkyrie said. She made a note of the exact address. “Thanks for this. Really. If it’s all right with you, I was going to ask Omen to come with me on this.”

“Will it be dangerous?”

“No,” she said immediately. “I just want Byron to see a familiar face, that’s all, and preferably not one that brings to mind the senseless slaughter of innocent people.”

“Good point,” Militsa said.

“Thank you, Militsa. Really. I know you could probably get into a lot of trouble for this.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll, uh, I’ll try and think of some way you can repay me. Take care of yourself, OK?”

Valkyrie texted Omen then swung round and headed back the way she’d come, leaving her family home to get smaller and smaller in the rear-view. The road curved and suddenly the house was gone, and tears came to her eyes.

She drove to Ballyfermot, and the world outside turned to concrete and cracked walls, interspersed every now and then with shocking green. She passed a pony grazing in someone’s garden and an old man walking and did her best to ignore the cold feeling that was gnawing at her insides. Her hands felt numb on the wheel, like they weren’t really connected to her. Her entire body felt heavy. It dragged her down, kept her anchored to her seat when all she wanted to do was rise up out of her shell, pass through the roof of the car and fly free and away. The car slowed, her foot clumsy on the brake. She pulled in, hopped the kerb slightly. Her stupid fingers turned off the engine. She sat there, head down, chin to her chest, staring at her lap. She could no longer tell if she was breathing. She could no longer tell if she was anything but a slab of meat.