"Nav," says Harrow, her cheeks flushing dark before she can get control of the bloodflow and purge it. She takes her fingers from Gideon's hair and flicks her hard on the temple. It's childish, exactly the kind of thing both of them had done countless times to the other growing up; the startled flash in Gideon's eye is still as gratifying now as it had been then.

"The movie was your idea, first thing," she says. "Not that I have much hope in the merit of whatever kind you're interested in watching."