Gideon rolls her eyes so far back into her head that she swears she should be able to see her skull, before allowing her hand to drop away from Harrow's shoulder. Instead she sidles over to one of the uncomfortable looking beds that occupy their otherwise dreary little cell, and looks up at the other woman with an annoyance that's only half feigned.

"Thanks so much for saving my life, Gideon. I owe you big time, Gideon. You're the hero we all need but clearly don't deserve, Gideon. That's what I should be hearing right now. I didn't need you to get me unkilled," she says, despite the fact that gears are already turning in her mind, the steady processing of everything Harrow has just told her. So it had worked. Harrow had become a Lyctor. Camilla was alright. Even that slippery Third twin was alright, despite that she hadn't been looking so hot the last time Gideon had seen her. There's something in that, some unnamable bright spark of feeling, at knowing that what she'd done had meant something.

And finally her brain catches up to her mouth when she says, "so hold up, you're saying I could be unkilled?"

It might be something of a redundant question, given that she's standing here right now. Feeling far more alive than a dead person has any right to.