"Everyone in that creepy space station had a plan!" Gideon announces. "Not one group plan. A bunch of individual plans. More plans that people actually. They all fucked each other up while there was this little thing called a resurrection beast outside the window." Which Not Her Dad Gideon—something.

She facepalms. "We could have died a lot fewer times if you had done pushups or pull ups or regular practice of any kind," Gideon slides her hand off her face to look at Harrow. "No. That wasn't it. Though while we are on that—do you hate my sword? Do you not want it to work as a proper sword? I know I didn't have time to go through all that with you, but you had multiple people who'd been alive and using swords for thousands of years. They could have told you." She waves a hand and takes a bite of the food. Even anger takes fuel. She hasn't eaten in ages.

"Eat me," Gideon says. "I died so that you could live, and all you had to do was live."