She doesn't dignify that observation with a response, but something about it warms her as deeply and fully as that sleepy smile from only a few minutes before. Her cheeks flush a delicate pink, and she doesn't will it away. Taking another sip of her tea, she rolls her eyes as Gideon keeps talking.

"You will be shocked to discover it's a choice that predates even the marshal," Harrow says, a faint smirk on her lips. "And yes, there was such a time. Crux is ancient, but he is not immortal." Unlike me, she thinks, though who can say if that's true? Here, Gideon is whole; here, she is still a Lyctor, in some new fullness of her power. Anything and nothing could happen. "The cells were designed from the start to be places of contemplation and prayer, not comfort."