That smirk flickers into a smile for a moment before her face relaxes into the touch, gone slack from all its usual creases and concentration. It's nice, nicer than she expected, to let someone else wash her hair like this. She tries to remember the last time her mother did this for her, and can't.

There's a tenderness to Gideon that Harrow wouldn't have thought possible until a very short time ago. It makes her feel very strange to have it turned toward her in such a way.

The question has her heart climbing up into her throat with a metallic sort of ping. She swallows it back down and nods, doing as bid and holding her breath.