Darcy can't help but think of resting her head on Skulduggery's lap after the party, the soothing of his quiet presence, of brushing her hair out of her face. Her heart aches to want it again, though she won't let herself. She's not a baby.

"He's really nice like that. He's a good friend," when he's not getting on her nerves, and when they're not squabbling. She doesn't pry for details, making the safe assumption that it was something to do with the horror of those days.

"Have you been sleeping better since then?"