The next time she woke up, her parents were there. They looked old, Walden thought vaguely, as Mum nattered bravely about the latest plumbing disaster in the Sussex cottage. When did my parents get old?

The time after that, it was her brother John and his wife. Not their children, which Walden ended up feeling was a bit of a shame. It would have been easier to handle the direct curiosity of her niece and nephew than the terrible, eyes-averted sympathy of her sister-in-law. Yes, I know, she wanted to say. It was my arm. There’s no point pretending it’s still there.

The hospital staff were very kind and friendly and competent and didn’t seem to know very much. Except for the THAUMATURGIC CONSULTANT, who was there a lot more often than could really be medically necessary, and who was clearly a dab hand with incursion wards.

“Oh, finally,” Walden said, when she looked up for a visitor’s arrival and found that it was Chief Ramamurthy. He was wearing a suit, not his Marshal whites, and a studied neutral expression. Walden recognised the look of an authority figure in investigative mode. She’d worn it often enough herself. Well, that meant he was probably the best person to ask: “Would you mind letting me know if this is protective custody or if I’m under arrest or what? The NHS can’t possibly want me still here taking up a whole ward. It’s not as if they can regrow the arm.”

The senior Marshal sat down. “You’re under observation, Dr Walden,” he said.

“Well, obviously,” Walden said. “Please can you tell me what happened? The school—”

“Chetwood School,” said Chief Ramamurthy after a moment, “is also under observation.”

“Yes, but—” The thaumic engines’ collapse, the sideways slide into the demonic realm, the release of the Phoenix, four hundred children, and so many of Walden’s colleagues, all of it her responsibility—and the awful fate of Mark Daubery, a nasty man but still—and Laura. Laura. Walden hardly knew what to ask first.

“I can’t tell you much,” said Ramamurthy at last. “And I wouldn’t if I could.”

“I should have called you in January,” said Walden. “When I began to suspect the source of the problems. I had your card on my desk.”

“It was found there, Doctor. Left on one side, covered in dust.”

Walden looked down. “Yes. Well.” She forced herself to rally. “The school, Chief Ramamurthy. Please.”

“As far as we can tell, the site of Chetwood School is safe and stable,” said Ramamurthy. “For now.”

Walden breathed out. But that was not all. She made herself ask. “Were there casualties?”

There was a long pause. Possibly the longest pause Walden had ever experienced. At last, the Marshal said, “The most serious was probably yourself. Or Mark Daubery. But you both seem to have lived.”