Harrow watches the descent of the water line while Gideon hurries out of her clothes, her face burning at the tense feeling of shock that pervades the room in the wake of her acquiescence. She replaces the plug as Gideon steps in behind her and keeps herself rolled tightly forward, the water lapping at the taut, thin curve of her back with each of the movements behind her as Gideon settles. Her mug rattles on the edge of the tub, forgotten.

"You were birthed on the shuttle," she says, though the old story rings more hollow now, given the scant details the both of them have towards a fuller picture. "Your pod flung free when it crashed on the Ninth. Whatever rebel base or colony planet your mother came from, you never set your feet on its soil."