That year, my father had taken me to a tiny village called Arthyen, near the southern coast, where one of his old friends lived. At the time, I had been lonely and homesick, harbouring more than a little resentment towards him for separating me from my grandparents, who had stayed behind to weather the conflict in Ireland. I was wary of the village and its people, but it was better than going to school, where the other pupils spat at me.

There was a field of poppies at the edge of Arthyen. In that field, I had come face-to-face with my first poltergeist. It had sliced the skin of my left arm to ribbons, then thrown me away to bleed.

Nick had been staying near Arthyen at the time, and had gone for a walk that day which took him through the poppy field. He had found me and recognised my wounds as spirit-made, although he saw nothing in me to give him pause. Nothing that had made me think I was clairvoyant. He had treated me himself, and his kindness had left a lasting impression. Once I was stitched up, he returned me to my father and disappeared from my life as quickly as he had entered it, leaving me even more confused about the world than I had been before.

It would be another seven years before our next meeting. We were reunited at my school, by pure coincidence, only a few months ago. He had come to give a speech to the students about careers in Scion’s medical division. I had sought him out after, desperate to ask him what had really happened on that day in the poppy field.

He had remembered me. This time, he had also recognised exactly what I was – a clairvoyant. A dreamwalker. Instead of reporting me for suspected unnaturalness, however, he had asked me to meet him later – and when I had, he had offered me employment with Jaxon to help me control my gift, and to protect me from Scion, who would kill me if they worked out what I was. I had accepted. Once the school year was over, I had gone to live in Seven Dials. It was the best decision I had ever made.

Nick had saved me from ignorance. In doing so, he had saved my life.

All I had left of that encounter with the poltergeist was a trellis of scars on one hand. I traced them now, remembering the white-hot pain as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

‘So,’ I said, shaking away the memory, ‘what challenges await us today?’

‘The main threats are rival gangs and Vigiles. If we see them, we walk away slowly. We don’t draw any attention to ourselves.’

‘Okay.’