Still trying to breathe, Solomon thought back on the way the pair's souls had interacted. The way they had painted the air gold. The way Saint Gabriel's wing had reached for Skulduggery. The way Skulduggery's soul had lightened, not just on the outside but inside, whenever the Archangel was close. The connectedness which indicate a mutual choice, not just one-sided yearning.

"I'd--say so, yes."

Finally his body decided it could cope and Solomon straightened up again, his laboured breathing easing, but still a bit raspy. He was rattled enough to let the curse slide, even though it brought sharply to mind the puncture-scars in his palms. Solomon closed his fingers on it, hiding the recent metaphysical wound, and shook his head.

"The first time I saw them metaphysically, I noticed an attraction. I just thought it was because Saint Gabriel rescued him from Hell."

Skulduggery. And Saint Gabriel. Together. He needed his glass back, and yet at the same time, after a few moments' thought, Solomon could only shake his head and say wryly, "Typical."

Typical of Skulduggery to break all expectations, all the rules, and come out the better for it.