Kanalkampf

There was blood everywhere. The wizard's shirt and jacket were soaked through and one blood-red stain was spreading across his coat. Beckton was covered in it, as was the floor, but he drew a pocket knife and started cutting at fabric. It wasn't hard to find where the bullet had gone in.

"Osterley. Osterley! Where are you?"

There was no reply, though the quick tap of Silvertown's shoes arrived beside him, and she knelt.

"We need to stop the bleeding. He's going to die here unless we -"

Silvertown put a hand over Beckton's, with only the tiniest flutter of nerves.

"There's nothing we can do for him right now."

He shook her off, reaching for a lighter to cauterise with.

"We can still save him. I'm not giving up -"

Turning away so that he would not see the disappointment in her eyes, Silvertown produced a tiny figurine from a pocket on her dress that had not been there before, and whispered a few words to it.

Then she waited. Newkirk wasn't dead yet.

There was still time.