Palamedes takes a breath, reasserting calm. He thought he’d known what to expect. He’d known the damage would be severe; he hasn’t expected it to be so clearly deliberate. Now he turns to face Harrow where she has scrabbled to the other side of the couch, gazing at her like she’s an uncontrollable child or a spooked horse. Absently, he taps his glasses against his knee.

“Someone has attempted to remove portions of the Reverend Daughter’s temporal lobe.” Though he’s speaking to Gideon, he hasn’t taken his eyes off Harrow. “Badly, I might add.”