The Stephanie in the vision wore a torn and bloody T-shirt, black like her trousers. No jacket. The Deathtouch Gauntlet was on her right forearm, and on her left arm she had a tattoo. There was a bag on her back, the strap slung across her chest, the same bag Stephanie was wearing now to carry the Sceptre.

“I’ve seen this,” her future self said, looking up to stare directly into Stephanie’s eyes. “I was watching from … there. Hi. This is where it happens, but then you know that, right? At least you think you do. You think this is where I let them die.”

“Stephanie!”

The voice was so real and so sharp that Stephanie forgot for a moment that it came from the vision, and instead looked around for her father, her heart lurching. The panic passed as suddenly as it had arrived – it wasn’t real, not yet – and she watched her parents, her mother carrying Alice, searching the ruins.

Her future self shook her head. “I don’t want to see this. Please. I don’t want this to happen. Let me stop it. Please let me stop it.” She took something from her pocket and looked at it, tears streaming. “Please work. Please let me save them.”

Stephanie’s future self was lost in a fresh swirl of billowing steam that rippled through the images of her parents, but failed to disperse them.

“Stephanie!” her father shouted. “We’re here! Steph!”

Darquesse landed behind them, cracking the pavement. Her shadowskin covered her from toe to jawline, and she smiled as Stephanie’s dad positioned himself in front of his wife and child.

“Give our daughter back to us,” he said.

Darquesse didn’t say anything. She just smiled.

“Give her back!” Desmond Edgley roared, and in the next instant he was enveloped in black flame.

Stephanie had known it was coming, but it still hit her like a fist. She sagged, made a sound like a wounded dog, and thankfully the steam billowed and took the image away. It was replaced with a new one, of a black hat lying on a cracked street. A breeze tried to play with it, tried to roll and flip it, but the hat proved resistant and eventually the breeze gave up. A gloved hand reached down, plucked the hat off the ground and brushed the dust from it. Skulduggery, dressed in black, returning the hat to his head, angling the brim and looking good while he did so.

They were coming to the end now, Stephanie knew. The only thing left was for Darquesse to …

… and here she was now.

Darquesse walked up behind Skulduggery and he turned, unhurried. He reloaded his gun.

“My favourite little toy,” said Darquesse, her voice echoing slightly in the chamber.

“Are you referring to my gun or to me?” Skulduggery asked.

Darquesse laughed. “You know you’re going to die now, don’t you? And still you make jokes.”