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"Careful, Griddle."
Gideon jumped so hard she almost dropped her torch. She swung the beam around until it landed on Harrow sitting against the wall, one leg stretched out in a very un-Harrowhark-like manner.
"These catacombs are full of spirits," Harrow continued. "Wouldn’t want one to get you."
After weeks of searching the school grounds each night Harrow's bed lay empty next to hers, Gideon had finally found her.
"What are you doing down here?" Gideon's voice echoed against the stone walls.
"Waiting," Harrow drawled. An open bottle of vodka stood on the ground next to her. (Since when did Harrow drink?) She snapped her fingers, conjuring a flame to light a cigarette. (Since when did Harrow smoke?)
"For what?" Gideon wished she were holding her sword. She hovered her hand over her hip, considering casting the incantation, but Harrow didn't seem to be an immediate threat.
"To die, of course. I'm long overdue."
Normally, Gideon would agree with her. How many times had Gideon tried to kill her? At least twice last year. But somehow, here in the dust and dark surrounded by the school's dead, Gideon couldn't find it in herself to wish Harrow among them.
"What are you talking about?"
Harrow waved the cigarette around as if to say all of it. "Black magic. Broken oaths. Heinous crimes against humanity. You know."
Gideon didn't, actually.
"I don't, actually."
Harrow actually giggled. The hair stood up on Gideon's arms.
"Oh, of course you don't," Harrow sighed. She leant her head back against the stone wall and brought the cigarette to her lips again. "God, to be so ignorant."
"Alright, you little…" Gideon took a step forward and started to say the words that would make her sword material, but as her torch shone on Harrow's face, she saw that Harrow's eyes were wet.
"Have you been crying?"
Harrow sniffed and drew a dirty hand across her face. It left a streak of dirt across her cheek.
"Don't be ridiculous." She reached for the bottle, and Gideon almost laughed when she realized it was still nearly full.
Then she tensed again, in case Harrow was only faking being drunk, but when Harrow dropped the bottle back to the floor, her head lolled and her eyes shut.
"Just leave it, Nav," she said quietly. "You're better off not knowing." And then her whole body seemed to go slack.
Gideon took a few steps toward her, still wary, but Harrow didn't stir, even when Gideon brushed a knuckle against her cheek.
Harrow's cigarette had fallen from her limp fingers into the dust. Gideon stamped it out and sighed.
"You're never going to forgive me for this," she muttered, and picked Harrow up.
She weighed about as much as a wet cat, and Gideon got her to their room without much trouble.
Later, Gideon would find out what Harrow was keeping from her. But tonight, in the moonlight, she just kept watch, and wondered about the girl who was waiting to die.