Love is so stupid. It's placed them both here in a softly but practically lit bathroom, and Gideon still doesn't want to move even an inch.

(Unless it's to make use of that tub which she and Harrow are both here. That might be worth moving.)

She likes how Harrow clings softly to her, like silk caught by a breeze against a statue. She likes how Harrow feels in her arms, she likes the thrill that scrambles along her nerves when Harrow says she loves her. She likes being on the same side as Harrow; she likes no longer watching every step she takes, wary of traps set in the night.

"Thanks for letting me feel useful," she says, softly.