"Hm." Landel had a sense of humor, it seemed. There were a lot of convicted murderers Skulduggery had gotten put away over the years. If he ever received a letter and photograph from any one of them claiming to be a friend, regardless of the circumstances, he'd probably just laugh and throw the whole thing away. Or burn it, depending on how angry he was. "What did the letter tell you? Was there an address on the envelope, or a stamp?"

He was slowly becoming an expert in eating egg. It had a taste, which Skulduggery still considered a luxury. It wasn't a half-bad taste, either. He was halfway through chewing his next mouthful when a small commotion elsewhere in the cafeteria made him look up.

"That would be a doctor, then?" he asked as he watched a man in a white coat storm over to one of the nearby patients. Skulduggery's face almost seemed to fall a moment later. "Please tell me the pretense ends at mandatory therapy."