Cheating her way past puberty has not improved Harrow. The hormone-saturated girl manages to look down her nose at Gideon literally. “I’d be in the Cohort if I were in the Fourth House,” Gideon declares as evidence she is totally not a child.

She steps back instinctively. “I don’t need them to match,” she says. “And I don’t need more face paint.” It’s not up to Ninth standards, but it’s grimy and gross and forced upon her against her best efforts. There’s a zit forming under it, and it’s sure to have followers. “Fix your own face. Crux ought to make you clean the steps for that.” Gideon’s sure that somehow the marshall (a skeleton overdue for freedom from its meat prison) will still blame her.