Ah, the magical Roarhaven City. It's a terrible place to live that seems to get attacked every other year. The best part, of course, is the eastern quarter that got hastily rebuilt after Darquesse's attack two years ago. It gives psychics mental damage and the residents constant nightmares. Skulduggery is glad that he does not sleep. Or live in Roarhaven.

He does, however, come here every now and again. This time, it’s all business, as someone from the Sanctuary needs to talk to him for some boring reason or another. A few years ago, he would’ve loved to go. Not because he likes the place, but because he’d get to make fun of some stuffy officials with Valkyrie. Now he has to make fun of them alone. Don’t get him wrong, he's still funny, but it makes him nostalgic.

Not that he’s alone right now, either. Skulduggery has been walking down the pavement for a few minutes now (his car is perfectly fine; he just wants to be fashionably late for this meeting), and he’s been followed by a child who he’s certain is trying to be sneaky. Slowing his steps, he takes off his hat and pulls down his scarf, revealing the skull beneath.

Skulduggery does not say ‘boo’ when he turns around because he isn’t a Halloween prop. Sure, it would’ve been hilarious, but instead, he speaks smoothly. His words are as unhurried as he is. “Are you a fan?” the skeleton asks, putting the hat back on. “If you are, I don’t do autographs.” He can’t smile, but the expression is clear enough in his voice.

There’s something about this kid. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but something reminds him of Valkyrie when she was around that age. Hopefully, he won’t have to take another twelve-year-old under his wing. The first time ended up with around seven years of misadventures, and the partner before that, who was not a tween, died a horrible death.

He would be a better teacher than whoever is at Corrival Academy, though. But he really mustn’t. “Are you looking to be a detective?” he asks, despite his attempts to be responsible for once.