"Idiot," she mutters, her eyes lingering for a moment on the wide, delighted quirk of Gideon's smile before she looks down and takes a sip of her tea. Faint though it is, the grassiness of the leaves still floods her senses for a moment. It reminds her as much of Canaan as it does the festering, living mess of her fourteenth murdered planet, and neither memory is one Harrow entertains for longer than a moment--not here, or now.

"This is a universe away from a Drearburh cot, I'll grant you that."