Smoke curls among the ruins of East London. Many of the buildings have burned to the ground or split like exploded rocks. Small lights bloom like a sea of candles. Even this rain will never put them all out.

Queen Bee hates me. I know, as I reach the door, that nothing good waits for me on the other side. When you're called to see the Commanding Officer, you're either getting a medal or a kick in the arse.And I'm not getting any medals.

If the ravens leave the Tower, Britain will fall.

The dusk light is impossibly bright. Timothy Squire is still pale, casting backwards glances as we run. After we are well free of the neighbourhood, I gesture for him to stop.'You all right?' he pants.I time it perfectly, and my fist connects, hard, with his stomach. He stumbles, falls to his knees on the wet pavement. Although his grip is strong I have taken him by surprise, and soon the knife is in my hands.