For his part, Solomon turned and went grinning into the kitchen, and the grin wiped away as if it hadn't even existed. Skulduggery was alive. Skulduggery. Was. Alive. Second chance? Dreaming? Something else altogether? The questions were endless, and Solomon wasn't even sure where to start.

Hence the tea. The kitchen had become a place for Solomon to think, the way his office or a book had been. It was somehow amusing, that he now fulfilled the stereotype of typical Irishness more than he had before.

"What if I do mind?" he asked as he came out, a cup of tea in each hand. The tea was searing hot, which was his preference even more so now than before, so he added as he held out the mug: "It's hot."