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were loud as they descended the steps, rounding the corner to look down on the forecourt.  
    “Raise your arms,” Morgan whispered as she lifted her own, indicating their surrender, holding the staff high so it could be seen. Blake held his gloved hands up too, his eyes darting to the armed Neo-Vikings that looked up at them.
    The hostages were bunched together in a group near the tourist information stand, only a few meters from the front entrance of the museum. Above them, the paneled glass ceiling of the Great Court arched across the space, sun dappling the marble floor with light. Morgan counted five men below with the Valkyrie , and one behind them on the stairs. They were all armed and also held shields now, great metal roundels that made Morgan wonder what they were needed for. She wouldn’t expect the British police or military to be storming in here any time soon, not without some negotiation, and even if they did, these shields wouldn’t be much use in the face of modern weaponry. But whatever this group had planned, they were surely near the end of it now.
    Amongst the faces of the hostages that stared up at them, a few children huddled against their parents. Morgan could see a touch of Gemma in one little girl, and she was thankful that her niece was safe in Oxfordshire. After the sacrifices of Pentecost, she had sworn to make sure her family was never involved in her missions again.  
    When they reached the bottom of the staircase, two of the Neo-Vikings flanked them as the Valkyrie stepped forward. Morgan held out the staff and the woman took it, her hands mottled with age but her grip as strong as the iron staff itself.
    “Why did you take it?” the Valkyrie asked, her eyes piercing.  
    Morgan stood with shoulders slumped, her head dropped as if she struggled to meet the woman’s eyes. “We were scared,” she said, her voice humble. “Please … I’m just an academic and I’m doing a paper on the staff. We didn’t know you wanted it. We just happened to be there. Truly.”
    A moment’s silence, then the Valkyrie whipped the staff up, smashing it against Blake’s cheek. He didn’t have time to react, his head snapping sideways. He stumbled and dropped to his knees, clutching his face. A collective gasp came from the hostages.
    “No,” Morgan cried. Her military instincts kicked in as she moved to take the Valkyrie down, but the big man behind grabbed her, forcing her arm up behind her back in a grip that told Morgan he knew what he was doing. He would not be as easy to defeat as the men upstairs.
    “Stay still, or I’ll break your arm, bitch,” the man whispered.
    “It’s OK, Morgan. I’m OK. Do what they want, please.” Blake was standing again. A cut had opened up high on his cheekbone, and blood began to soak through his gloves as he held his face. Rage bubbled inside Morgan. She longed for a weapon so she could deal with these people, but it wasn’t just her life that was at stake here.  
    “You’re clearly not just an academic,” the Valkyrie spat. “You sent two of my men back bruised and bloody. They will beat your friend here until you tell the truth, then I’ll move on to the children if you continue to lie.”
    The Neo-Viking pushed Morgan’s arm higher, to the edge of breaking it.  
    “Alright,” she said. “I’m Dr. Morgan Sierra, from the Arcane Religious Knowledge And Numinous Experience Institute. I am a researcher, but I’m also ex-Israeli Defense Force. When the aurora borealis was seen across England and the prophecies about the date of Ragnarok came up in my research, I found a link to this staff. I came to see it for myself.”
    The Valkyrie nodded. “Then you have seen the days ahead. A storm is coming and you will be a witness for the truth of it, Morgan Sierra. I know of ARKANE. They will be the ones to validate the power of what is to come. And for your truth, I will spare your friend.” She turned to her men. “Secure them.”
    The Neo-Vikings