She can’t see that face. She can’t read Harrow here at all. The kiss has her confused, but maybe Harrow’s just mirroring her own action from earlier. It could mean anything. She grunts an affirmation and pulls back to wash her own hair.

Or at least, she tries. There are a couple of awkward, aborted movements as she realizes she can’t lift her arms up with her chest still freshly healing.