"If you've seen a blacksmith, let me know," Gideon says. It's snark but serious. She twirls her machete casually, catching it by the handle. The temple is hard to judge. She's not sure whether she could get another one.

Gideon rolls her head in a circle, keeping loose and limber. "Broody better-than-thou weight of the world on your shoulders type," Gideon answers. If she keeps going on much longer, she'll only describe Harrow. "In case you didn't notice, we're dead. No more world to worry about."