It didn't. At least, not right away. The jaw hung where it was placed, seemingly lifeless, jarring for anyone who had known Skulduggery long enough to realise how much he enjoyed the sound of his own voice. It couldn't be lifeless, of course, as only the magic of Skulduggery's consciousness could have been keeping the skeleton together once the bones were put in place. But for a while, Skulduggery didn't speak - not out of shock or disorientation, but because he was too busy thinking.

The one place none of them would have thought to look. It made practical sense as well as historical sense, but still, Skulduggery searched for any fact which didn't fit, anything which didn't match the overarching confluence of events. He was still alive, and magic was keeping him alive - what was keeping that magic functioning? Not Asti. It must have been someone different, someone genuinely on their side. That was a fact which didn't fit.

The problem was that everything else did.

"Wreath," he finally said after close to a minute of stretching silence. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but are you panicking?"