A bunch of little implications all stacked together. Hopeless caught them, made the connection. Why didn't Ghastly? Why didn't anyone else? Even with Hopeless's propensity for knowing things about people even they didn't know, he couldn't read Skulduggery's mind. He'd had no way of knowing anything beyond what was immediately obvious. How did he make connections and see implications that every single other person missed?
With the danger of being right, why didn't he tell anyone other than Dexter? He'd had a duty, a responsibility, to report any potential dangers or traitors. Lord Vile being in the middle of their camp... why didn't he say something? Why didn't he ask Skulduggery? Why didn't he, at the very least, tell Corrival?
More and more questions spun, each with obvious answers Ghastly knew and just didn't want to admit to. Because he didn't want to believe two of his closest friends had known the truth for years and never breathed a word of it. Because he was feeling betrayed on all fronts now, betrayed by the very people he'd put most of his trust in, and that feeling was somehow the most comfortable of everything plaguing Ghastly because it didn't bring with it more cold, but heat. It burned. It lit a furnace in his mind and happily burned there, destroying most of what Ghastly thought there used to be in the ragtag group of brothers.
"All those times," he said, "we broke protocol, and took stupid risks in battle because we were sure Vile would show up, we were sure we had to plan around him, people that we needlessly lost and you never said a word?"
He wasn't quite so calm now. Skulduggery not saying a word, Ghastly could understand. Hell, the detective had done more good in the world since the war ended than he ever would have managed if he were imprisoned - or worse. But Hopeless? Dexter?
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With the danger of being right, why didn't he tell anyone other than Dexter? He'd had a duty, a responsibility, to report any potential dangers or traitors. Lord Vile being in the middle of their camp... why didn't he say something? Why didn't he ask Skulduggery? Why didn't he, at the very least, tell Corrival?
More and more questions spun, each with obvious answers Ghastly knew and just didn't want to admit to. Because he didn't want to believe two of his closest friends had known the truth for years and never breathed a word of it. Because he was feeling betrayed on all fronts now, betrayed by the very people he'd put most of his trust in, and that feeling was somehow the most comfortable of everything plaguing Ghastly because it didn't bring with it more cold, but heat. It burned. It lit a furnace in his mind and happily burned there, destroying most of what Ghastly thought there used to be in the ragtag group of brothers.
"All those times," he said, "we broke protocol, and took stupid risks in battle because we were sure Vile would show up, we were sure we had to plan around him, people that we needlessly lost and you never said a word?"
He wasn't quite so calm now. Skulduggery not saying a word, Ghastly could understand. Hell, the detective had done more good in the world since the war ended than he ever would have managed if he were imprisoned - or worse. But Hopeless? Dexter?