While Gideon does that, she waves her hand at the garbage can and the refuse rapidly decays to ash. She takes the journal and scribbles a note, face set in familiar hard lines of Nonagesimus determination.

"I must go back," she says. "You may come when you are ready. We are not synchronized, Gideon. I lied to you."

She waits for the protest while she tears the sheet of flimsy out and folds it over itself.