Magnetinc was a tattoo parlour, though it was unlike any tattoo parlour that Sam could imagine. The walls were not lined with pages of the designs it offered, there were no chairs, or well-inked artists craning over buzzing pens. Instead, standing on bright podiums circling the tent were underwear-clad models, one male and one female. 

Fedor was puzzled. ‘I don’t get it.’ 

‘Hi guys! Are you after a Cadre sigil?’ the woman asked from her perch. 

‘Er, no.’ Joe said. ‘A friend told us about Magnetic ink, but we’re not quite sure what it is.’ 

The woman beckoned them to the holographic monitor beside her. ‘No problem. The easiest way is to show you. Pick a picture.’ 

Joe bustled over and began swiping through the images. 

‘That one,’ Fedor suggested over his shoulder. It was a Celtic wolf design, harsh black lines and savage curves.