Wisely, Sextus chooses retreat, getting his bag and saying his goodbyes, the front door closing with a decisive click behind him. A childish part of Harrowhark wants to start after him crying under the mercy of the Emperor, take me with you, aware that once left alone everything Gideon's managed to keep in check--everything they both have--is liable to erupt. It always has. It always will.

The door shuts, and Harrow looks up from where she's sitting surrounded by bloodied towels and bits of gauze, all the wreckage of the surgery still scattered around the chair. "Nav..."