Palamedes is in the middle of offering Harrow his handkerchief when the blood flakes away, briefly scattering confetti-like on the couch and carpet, and then disappearing. Looking increasingly baffled, he takes the towels and the first aid kit from Gideon and goes to sit beside Harrow.

“The Lyctoral process removes the brakes from necromantic power,” he explains for Gideon’s sake, sounding surprisingly calm, all things considered. “Essentially. So accelerated healing makes sense…” He frowns. “Which, as you point out, doesn’t explain the cerebral hemorrhage. Reverend Daughter, did someone try to crush your skull?” He’s half-joking, but frankly, it’s the only possibility that makes any sort of sense. Maybe she had been able to heal her skull itself, but the internal damage remained.

He exhales through his nose. “Harrow, I need to take a closer look—“ Without giving her the chance to object, Palamedes lightly presses his hands to her scalp. About five seconds later, he jerks back as though he has been burned.

“ Nonagesimus.” His hands are actually shaking a little as he takes off his glasses and cleans them on his sleeve. “What the fuck—"