"I gathered." Anton's eyes were still closed and his voice was still raw, whispered, but there was nothing wrong with his ears. He couldn't hear Ghastly's side of the conversation, but he could hear Erskine's and it was enough.

There was nothing left in the sorcerer to feel any guilt or resentment toward the Archangel. It wasn't Gabe's fault that Anton's Gist was aversive. It was aversive. It was a weapon, a beast of pure rage and hatred. Strangely, there wasn't enough left to feel angry at Skulduggery, either, though Anton still didn't want to be anywhere near the man right now. He was simply too exhausted to feel anything.

And yet, though Anton didn't want anything to do with Skulduggery, the rest of the Dead Men were now involved with an Archangel. A missing Archangel. He could not, after all this, very well leave them with that baggage and walk away.

"On your feet, and don't stop moving."

With a sigh Anton shoved the mop off his lap with a clatter, bracing his hands against the wall and, without opening his eyes, working his way slowly and shakily to his feet.

"We'd best start looking, then."