An apology from Skulduggery Pleasant. Solomon would have to mark the date, particularly since that one sounded spectacularly genuine. Then again, he always did, didn't he? That was part of his charm. He could be lying through his teeth--Solomon had seen and heard him lying through his teeth dozens of times--and still sound completely genuine.

"I see," Solomon said, and the words came out icily. It was a surprise; he didn't feel as though he was capable of emotion of any depth. "So it wasn't about me, then; it was about you. Of course it was. Everything was always about you."

Part of him dimly realised he shouldn't have had those drinks. That he would be more in control if he hadn't. That part of his anger came from liquid courage, rather than anything else. The rest of him didn't particularly care. Years and years, centuries, of bitter incomprehension laid bare, and what, exactly, did it change?

Absolutely nothing. He'd always been in a shadow.