Gideon shifts, weirdly reluctant to move too far from her necromancer, and stretches until the tips of her fingers brush up against Harrow's horrible leather-bound journal. A brief scuffle later, she has it in hand and gives it to her adept, trying not to think too hard about a. why they're sitting here on the floor, curled together; and b. that fact that apparently she is willing to trust Harrow. At least a little.