Gideon kisses the tips of her fingers, and Harrow can't breath, like it's her own lungs she wrung out. Her own bones turned to sand.

She stands up as if the bed is on fire.

"I'll send you food," she says, speaking incredibly quickly. "Get some rest."

She makes it to the door, trailed by one of the skeletons, and halts. "And Griddle?" she says. "Maybe you ought to get used to it." Her expression is intent and dangerous, before she shuts the door.