"It's barely dark outside and there are questions I still have not had answered to my satisfaction," Harrow says, merely for the comfort of being contrary. She is weary, in every way she can be weary, and the thought of sleep is a relief. It occurs to her, with all the surprise of an unasked-for gift, that she can finally sleep here; deeply and well, with no need of blood wards or other failsafes. It's a realization she doesn't quite know what to do with, but it drives the slow, reluctant nod of her head.

"Fine. Where am I to sleep for tonight?"