God, she'd missed that look on Harrow's face. Even though it was usually a prelude to some kind of cruel and unusual punishment, at least it had always meant that, for a moment, Harrow was completely focused on her and whatever shit she'd just pulled. Something settles and clicks back into place in her chest.

Through the door, she drops her keys on the table by the front door.

"I'll get you clean clothes," she says. "You can't stay in what you're wearing. You're gross."