Gideon glances at Harrow, remembering how messy harbingers had been. "I can," Gideon says, "It only takes time." She still sheaths the machete and faces him with bare fists. "Time someone else might not have." She looks at him, waiting for him to choose. Fight, not fight. Machete, no machete. She's faced worse with less. With Harrow here, she doesn't have to worry.