Ghastly's words rang in Solomon's head. Or maybe that was just his heartbeat. He wasn't sure, and his memories of his childhood--they were slanted. Old. He knew what he remembered in retrospect: he remembered trying hard to please someone whom he respected, and that person humiliating him at every turn. And the worst part was that Solomon walked into it, knowingly.

Why couldn't he have just said no? Solomon didn't know. He just couldn't. The first time he'd really, truly said no was when it came to leaving the Temple. The only thing Skulduggery had been definite about, the only thing he hadn't treated flippantly, and thus the only thing which Solomon clung to as his means of independence.

Stupid. It was all so stupid.

Part of him wanted to reject the idea that Skulduggery might have genuinely cared about him, but he couldn't. Ghastly had been occasionally longsuffering about his best friend's tagalong, but he wasn't a liar. And he was an objective observer.

Solomon heard it all, but he didn't move until he felt like he had some control over his emotions. So that when he spoke, thick though it was, his voice was even.

"It isn't enough. Having a life isn't worth anything when I don't know how to live it. And I don't, Ghastly." The admission almost made him choke. "I don't. I gave up a lot more than just my magic that night." He gave up the reason for his whole existence. What did he have left?