Skulduggery's speed was such that Solomon hadn't even finished his second sentence before he found himself wrapped in Skulduggery's bony embrace. The speed alone made Solomon stop with surprise, because that had been beyond immediate, beyond joking--there was a desperation to the act, a need so wholly unlike Skulduggery at all that fear made Solomon's chest tighten.

What had happened, back in Skulduggery's timeline?

After a moment Solomon turned without breaking Skulduggery's embrace and returned the hug after all, more gently than he thought he knew he could be. Even though he didn't want to know, he asked quietly: "What happened?"

All his bitterness had drained away, he didn't know where; Skulduggery's plaintive desperation was too fragile for Solomon to risk shoving back for no other reason than pride. Not when he'd railed on Skulduggery already for his arrogance, for his inability to properly realise he had support, and refused it, rather than simply not having it. Not when, after all this time, Skulduggery had come seeking comfort and Solomon had very nearly turned him away anyway.

Raine, Solomon thought ruefully, was right once more it seemed.