Her heart manages to clench, seeing this cracked-open Harrow. Cytheria had been right- it had been easy to die. It had been easy even knowing Harrow would hate her, even knowing Harrow would never forgive her. Because the alternative was watching her die. And at the end of the day, Gideon was selfish enough to make that choice.

But laying here, insides full of fuck, watching her cry about it wasn't part of the plan. The pain she can take. But this shit? The horror and heartbreak in her expression? It simply must stop. And Gideon's mind is just addled enough to know exactly the wrong answer.

Slowly, shakily, she brings that hand to her lips. They brush the knuckles gently, so gently that if weren't for the sticky friction of blood, Harrow might not believe it's happening at all.