"The 'I'm going to tie my soul to pieces of my body' part. I knew you could do it," her faith in him was a firm thing, unshaken, "but the official confirmation's nice."

A hypothesis needed testing before it could become a theory, but this one was untestable and unverifiable, until you actually died. Entirely uncharted territory, and a wholly radical application of the River and spirit magic. The Archivists would've had a fit if they knew. Either from the risks involved or the fact that they hadn't thought of it first and couldn't write a paper on it like Palamedes theoretically could; either/or.

Camilla flexes her fingers inside Palamedes' grip — savouring the touch, as she has savoured so few touches in her life — and then finally, grudgingly, removes her hand. She's too fidgety and restless to stay in the same position for long. But she can't stop looking at him, either: her dark eyes drinking him in as if she's afraid to look away.

How are you here is probably a useless road of inquiry, since she can't even answer it for herself. So she suspects the next most sensible question is: "Did you meet a thing in robes too? Called the Ferryman?"