[ she wants, so badly, to bite back at that. for once? she's had nine months to keep her mouth shut. harrow can handle a few bad responses. but even more than the temptation to be a shit just because she can, even stronger, is the quiet hope that harrow will understand - or maybe even that she won't, that she'll refuse to wrap her mind around the facts presented and chase some other wild theory. so she stays silent when chided, watching harrow's face like a mirror...

and of course she gets it first try. there's a weird sort of pride to the thought, even if it's tempered by something neither of them would ever allow her to call "pity." ]

Yep. The megatheorem.

[ she watches harrow carefully through shaded eyes, waiting for... something. anything. how long does she have before harrow tries something stupid again? she could lie- ha, fat chance, the reverend daughter would never get suckered by something like that. so instead, she grits her teeth and goes for the kidney punch that is truth. ]

No. You wouldn't. I had to kick things off for you. [ there's a distant bitterness to her voice, one that sounds almost at home in harrowhark's acidic tones - but not a regret, weirdly. no time for regret. ] Nonagesimus, before you do something we're both going to regret - that's my job, remember? - you need to promise me something.