Chapter Text
Personally, I’m a mess of conflicting impulses—I’m independent and greedy and I also want to belong and share and be a part of the whole. I doubt that I’m the only one who feels this way.
The only reason Gideon Nav downloads a dating app is that Dulcinea Septimus – one of her two close friends and probably the only brain cell she has left – asks her to.
“That’s the only way I can send you profiles to approve,” she explains one morning, sprawled out on the bench outside the school library, legs outstretched in the sun, breath only rattling a little in her lungs. It’s a good day. Gideon is glad. “I don’t want to go out with just anyone, and I know you’ll stalk me on the date if you don’t get a say.”
“Damn right.” Gideon flips open her silver switchblade. Open. Shut. Open. Shut. The snick of the metal is soothing. “But I really don’t want to make a profile.”
Dulcinea tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Please? For me?”
Gideon knows from years of experience that the battle of the wills is one she has already lost. “You’re lucky I love you so much, Septimus,” she grumbles, pulling out her phone and thumbing it open. “I swear, if I-“
“And would it be the worst if you met someone?” Dulcinea barrels on, acting like she hasn’t heard Gideon at all. Gideon just goes with it, as per usual. “Really, Gideon, aside from Camilla and me, you don’t get very much social interaction on the regular.”
Gideon snorts, typing her information into Tinder and adding exactly two pictures from her camera roll: a blurry photo Dulcinea took of her during her last fencing meet, and another of her in the only formal suit she owns from the last time she went to an athlete awards gala. “There. Send away.”
Dulcinea smiles prettily, the kind of smile that would’ve disarmed a weaker woman (including, but not limited to, Freshman Year Gideon) and looks down at her phone, the smile fading from her eyes before it slips from the rest of her face.
“What?” asks Gideon. She isn’t super well-versed in plumbing anyone emotional depths, least of all her own, but knows Dulcinea well enough to know that something is bothering her. “You okay?”
Dulcinea starts to nod, then sighs and shakes her head. “No. It’s just… Never mind.”
"What?" Gideon hikes up her foot and bends her knee to rest her foot on the bench. Dulcinea watches her with detached amusement. "Come on."
"First of all, can you ever sit like a normal person?" As Gideon shakes her head, Dulcinea continues, "second of all, it's nothing."
"What's nothing?" Camilla Hect appears behind the two women so silently that Gideon nearly breaks her neck twisting around to stare at her. "Oh chill, it's me."
She rounds the bench and plops down between the two of them, dropping her book-laden backpack on the ground between her feet and leaning back with a cardboard carton of food in her hands. "What's nothing?" she asks again, shifting her weight slightly when Dulcinea leans her head on Camilla's shoulder.
"Dulcinea made a Tinder profile,” Gideon says, poking at Camilla’s box of food until Cam slaps her hand away.
Camilla snorts. "Why?"
Dulcinea says something so soft Gideon can't make it out. "Huh?"
"Because I'm trying to get over someone," she repeats, color high in her cheeks. She lifts her head from Camilla's shoulder and pointedly doesn't look at the other girl.
"Palamedes," Camilla says, as if that conveys both the long and the short of it. It kind of does, Gideon guesses. "He and Dulcinea were- alright, alright!" She moves away from Dulcinea's none-too-gentle whacks on the arm. "Chill!"
Gideon blinks at both of them, leaning forward and letting her foot drop to the ground in favor of resting her feet on the pavement, her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. "Dulcinea, I don't think another guy - or girl, whatever - is going to help you get over someone you so obviously want to be with."
"That was surprisingly emotionally mature for you," Cam unwraps the fork and knife she'd stashed in her pocket and opens the box to reveal the most disgustingly healthy salad Gideon had ever seen in her life.
"I can be mature. I have depth." Gideon takes a carrot sliver from the salad. Camilla stabs at her hand with the fork. "Hey! Save the stabby-stabby for practice!"
"If you keep being late in the mornings, I'm going to make you do drills," Cam says around a mouthful of greens. "Although you'd probably enjoy them."
Gideon doesn't say anything back, partially because Cam is right, but mostly because Harrowhark Nonagesimus is currently exiting the campus library across the street and Gideon is more interested in watching the scrawny black-clad figure struggle under a pile of books than anything else.
"What's with you two, anyway?" Cam asks. It takes Gideon a second to realize she's addressing her.
"They have some rivalry going back ages," Dulcinea answers for her, probably assuming Gideon's lost whatever small amount of rational thought she possessed prior to spotting her arch-nemesis. Across the street, Harrow plops her bony butt down at the nearest table outside the library and spreads out, books and papers everywhere, her tiny black laptop careening precariously near the table's edge.
"She's so weird," Gideon says. Camilla nods. Dulcinea gives her a reproachful look. "What?"
"Be nice, Gideon."
Gideon snorts. "No thanks. I'm good."
There was a time when Gideon was nice to Harrow. More than nice. Gideon has been really good about not allowing herself to think of that time, because Gideon isn't the type to rehash pain over and over until she's numb to it, which probably would be a horrible strategy and would certainly undercut her previous claim to Camilla about emotional maturity and depth.
Dulcinea and Camilla take their leave, ambling slowly away and talking about the class they share this semester. Gideon stays on the bench and opens her phone, figuring it was past time for her to check her school email the two times a week she actually remembers. Her phone opens to the Tinder screen when her phone unlocks, and in a moment of equal boredom and weakness for the potential of attractive women, she opens the dating view.
She's only swiping for a few seconds before she comes across a profile that nearly makes her drop her phone.
"Holy shit!"
There are few things that can make Camilla Hect break out into genuine laughter. She has just seen one of those things.
The only problem with that is that she's in the middle of English 1302 when she gets the text. Dulcinea, who sits next to her in perfect stillness and contemplation the entire time, gives Camilla the most scathing look possible for someone who weighs about 100 pounds soaking wet and fusses over every little injury one of her friends sustain.
"What is so funny?" she asks, sotto voce, after Camilla's shoulder keep shaking. "Stop it!"
"Look," she whispers, turning her phone to Dulcinea under the table. Dulcinea's eyes narrow, then widen. "Gideon matched with her on Tinder."
"Oh my word," Dulcinea breathes, eyes dancing a little, lips twisting up in a barely-stifled smile. "That is hilarious."
Camilla ducks her head in deference to the glare the instructor sends her way and pockets her phone. She spends the entire class trying not to lose her mind over that screenshot, and FaceTimes Gideon immediately after class lets out, walking arm-in-arm with Dulcinea and holding the phone so Gideon can see both of them.
"Is that legitimate?" is the first thing Cam asks, laughing out loud when Gideon nods her head morosely. "You're so dramatic, Nav, don't you think texting me ‘what the fuck’ in all caps five times was overkill?"
"To convey this level of shock and terror? No." Gideon's voice sounds tinny through the phone speakers, but her dulcet tones are loud and clear. "Why is Harrow on Tinder? How is Harrow on Tinder? I thought humans were the only demographic allowed, not eldritch horrors."
Despite herself, Dulcinea snorts, clapping a hand over her mouth right after. Gideon cracks a smile. Camilla rolls her eyes. "You two are insufferable."
"What do I do? Like, do I swipe right?"
"Do you like her?" Camilla asks.
"Uh, no," Gideon says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I- Shut it, Dulcinea," she says in a hurry when Dulcinea opens her mouth.
"Then don't swipe right!"
A moment of silence. Gideon gets that look on her face, the determined mischievousness Camilla has seen during fencing tournaments moments before Gideon takes on whatever the day's unbeatable opponent is, and undoubtedly wins. "I'm gonna swipe right."
“NAV!"
"Oh come on, Cam, it's just another way to fuck with Harrow. I'm not going to pass that up."
Camilla feels like she's aged about 10,000 years in the last five minutes. "Fine. Whatever. Have fun playing gay chicken."
"That's not what that is-" Gideon starts to say before Camilla hangs up on her. Dulcinea lets out a tiny chuckle. Camilla is torn between laughing and wanting to smack Gideon into next Sunday.
"I can't believe I'm eyeing her for team captain after I graduate," is what Camilla settles on as the two set off again, navigating around students and through shiny glass double doors out into the brilliant fall sunshine. The second month of the semester has not yet yielded to winter-cold temperatures; Camilla is delighted she doesn't have to mess with coats and can just run around all day in a sweatshirt or sweater stolen from her roommate's closet and a pair of jeans.
But she knows the cold makes Dulcinea miserable, so she picks up the pace to match the wind as the two of them scuttle to the dining hall just up the block. Dulcinea's light, fine hair blows in the breeze, nearly smacking Cam in the face a couple times.
It's only when they're sitting down, cups of tea cupped in their hands and a tray of food before Dulcinea, that Dulcinea speaks. "I don't think it's a good idea."
"What's not a good idea?" Camilla takes a sip and only burns her tongue a little.
"Gideon doing...that."
"What, swiping right on Harrow Nonagesimus?"
Dulcinea nods, chewing pensively for a moment. "You don't know? She never told you?"
Camilla shakes her head. She'd only met Gideon last year; the younger girl was an unnecessarily aggressive freshman who tried way too hard to prove herself with and without a foil in her hand. Though they are now friends, there is little Cam knows about her personal life. Quite frankly, if the state of Gideon's locker, bedroom and mind are any indicators, that may be the best decision for everyone involved.
But "Gideon's not exactly forthcoming," is all Cam says, taking another drink and burning her tongue again. Shockingly, the tea hasn't cooled in the span of 30 seconds.
Dulcinea, clearly relieved that the many years of her brain cells dying at the hands of Gideon Nav were not spent in vain, twirls her hair around her finger. "Gideon and Harrow went to high school together."
"So they knew each other? That explains their bitter rivalry." Cam says it with heavy sarcasm, which she feels is appropriate for the situation.
Dulcinea looks like she wants to say more, but when she looks up from her food, her entire face shifts into something cautiously gleeful. "Oh, Cam, I should-"
"Camilla?"
Camilla resists the urge to thump her forehead against the tabletop. "Go nowhere, Septimus," she hisses at Dulcinea before turning around. "Hey, Corona."
Corona Tridentarius rounds the table to make herself comfortable in a seat across from Camilla, giving Dulcinea a grateful smile when the other girl scoots over. "Didn't expect to see you two here."
"We eat here every Tuesday and Thursday."
"Yeah, but you've skipped the past two days."
Camilla bristles under the observation. "We've had things to do."
Corona meets her eyes for a long moment, purple ringed with violet. Camilla forces herself to not look away, buoyed by determination and a little bit of spite, spite that's misdirected to Corona but really meant for herself. Camilla knows more than anybody how bad of an idea one-night stands are, and the fact that she had made that mistake with Corona was, in her opinion, one of the worst decisions of her life.
"Where's the third part of this unholy trinity?" Corona breaks their staring contest and looks around, probably for Gideon's unmistakable shock of red hair.
"At home." Camilla lifts her cup to her lips. "Disappointing God."
Corona lets out a startled bark of laughter. Camilla can't help but smile into her tea.
"That's how she spends most of her time, I think," Dulcinea says, taking a demure bite of food to hide her grin. "What brings you by, anyway, Corona? Before we digress too far into making fun of our friends."
Corona rests her elbow on the table, drumming her fingers on the plastic top. "The honor society is hosting a gala at the end of the semester." Camilla barely represses an eye roll, while Dulcinea's eyes light up. "I'm helping organize it, so you both should come. And," she adds as an afterthought, "bring Gideon so she can disappoint God in front of me."
Camilla feels the skin between her eyes creasing. "I don't really think-"
Dulcinea kicks Camilla, hard, in the shins, and beams over at Corona. "We'd love to come."
Corona smiles at Camilla, a bright and shining thing that makes something uncomfortable curl in Camilla's gut. "Fabulous," she says, flamboyantly waving her hand in the air. "I'll tell Magnus - he'll be thrilled."
"You've got a PhD student suckered into this?" Camilla gives up on sipping the too-hot tea and settles for wrapping her sweaty hands around the cup. "How?"
Corona shrugs elegantly. "He wanted to help. His wife is our faculty sponsor anyway, so..."
Camilla lets Dulcinea take the reins of the conversation; the two of them talk about the dress code and food and something about making sure there isn't a repeat of the freshman honors dinner outfit mishap, which Camilla thinks she's heard about before but probably won't ever ask about. She’s about to take her leave when her and Dulcinea’s phones go off in synch with another chaotic text message from Gideon.
WE MATCHED DOES THIS MEAN SHE SWIPED RIGHT ON ME TOO?
Camilla starts laughing so hard her tea nearly comes out her nose.
For possibly only the third or fourth time in her entire life, Gideon has no idea what to do.
She likes to think she has a pretty decent handle on her life, her emotions and even her finances. You don’t make it through 18 years in the foster care system without developing awesome problem-solving skills and really shitty coping mechanisms.
But none of that helps her now. She stares at her phone and the cheerful screen letting her know that she and Harrowhark had matched and briefly contemplates throwing it out her window.
Once that reflexive response dies, she screenshots the screen and sends it to Dulcinea and Camilla with what she thinks is a suitable amount of panic attached. However, neither of them are helpful above and beyond telling Gideon that’s what she gets for swiping right and trying to mess with Harrow, which is useless because Gideon regrets nothing…
Until Harrow messages her, that is.
Griddle, what is the meaning of this?
Gideon doesn’t expect her heart to twist and flip at the mention of her old high school nickname. It was ridiculous, but it was how Harrow preferred to refer to her, somehow making such a silly name sound scathing and regretful.
You tell me, scrawny weirdo. A weak nickname, but the best she can do. Finally decided to play the field?
Gideon can hear Harrow’s derision in the Hardly. she texts a few moments later. It’s for an anthropology class project.
Oh, you’re observing straight white men in their natural habitat?
Harrow doesn’t reply to that. Gideon stares at her phone, trying to decide whether or not she’s willing Harrow to text back or not, when the phone rings.
“What’s up, Sex Pal?”
Palamedes’ sign rattles through the phone. “Gideon, I swear to God Almighty-“
“Sorry, sorry. What’s up, Pal?”
He hesitates like he’s about to argue with his abridged nickname, but thinks better of it. Smart man. Gideon isn’t known for her restraint, something in which she takes some measure of pride.
“Has Camilla spoken to you about the gala?”
He’s so weirdly formal all the time. It stresses Gideon out. “Uh. No. What gala?” she says cleverly.
Palamedes sighs again. “Apparently the honors society is hosting an event. I just found out about it this morning even though I’m in the honors society.” Gideon can hear the eye roll in his voice. “I wasn’t sure if Corona Tridentarius had invited Cam yet, or if Cam had invited you.”
Gideon probably could be in the honors society if she cared enough to apply; she carries a fairly decent GPA despite her iffy class attendance and personal policy of reserving homework for 2 a.m. the morning before it’s due. However, it’s another set of boring meetings and rules she has to follow, and she has enough of that, what with the fencing team and being friends with Camilla and all.
“She’ll probably invite me tonight when I see her again. She’s out with Dulcinea right now.”
Gideon didn’t realize she’d opened her mouth and shoved her whole foot in it until the silence on the phone was deafening. “Shit, Palamedes, I’m sorry, I didn’t-“
“It’s fine.” It clearly wasn’t fine.
“You know she’ll probably come too, right?” she asks, ignoring the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Camilla, which was saying this line of questioning was a supremely bad idea.
“I am aware.”
“I just don’t want you to be blindsided.”
Palamedes’ voice was decidedly neutral when he says, “Thank you, Gideon, but I will be fine. I’ll probably be too busy to attend.”
“Mmhm. I’ll tell Cam you said hi if I see her first.”
Palamedes barely spares her a curt “thank you” before hanging up. Gideon stares out the window near her bed for a minute, feeling sufficiently bad about herself, before her phone vibrates and startles her out of her self-pity.
No. I don’t have to explain myself to you.
You do if I’m part of your experiment, chilly weirdo.
That’s a redundant insult. And you are not part of my experiment.
Then why the hell did you swipe right on me?
Leave it alone.
Gideon can’t make any promises, so she leaves the message unread. The temptation to fuck with Harrow is strong, although, admittedly, her plan had already surpassed its limits. She didn’t expect to match with Harrow; she simply wanted to enjoy knowing that someday her face would flit across Harrow’s screen, filling the smaller girl with enough rage to probably power a solar car or something.
But instead, they were here. And Gideon had no idea how the hell to feel about the ache spreading slowly through her chest as she stares down at the little chat bubbles.
Overcome with either nervous energy or nostalgia, she wriggles from her chair to the floor and squirms around on her stomach until she finds and fishes out the Nike shoebox crammed under her bed, sharing space with dust bunnies, tennis shoes and her backpack that probably contains nearly-overdue homework.
Gideon hasn’t opened this box – the physical one or the mental one – since she graduated high school. When she opens the shoe box, the cardboard cracks loudly and kicks up dust. The contents rattle. Gideon realizes her hands are shaking.
She picks up the faded photograph rattling around in the box barely full of memorabilia and stares at it. Her face is slightly motioned-blurred, but Harrowhark’s is crystal clear. She’s looking up at Gideon, black eyes gleaming, lips pulled back in an almost-smile and pale cheeks flushed. Gideon is laughing at something, her large hand over Harrow’s where it rests on her shoulder.
That was the last night they were happy, the night before everything went to shit. When Dulcinea had the pictures developed, she gave the photo to Gideon with apologies, telling her she wouldn’t blame Gideon for wanting to throw it away.
But Gideon didn’t. She kept it buried in her locker, hidden in her dorm and now hidden here, in this hole-in-the-wall apartment that was officially the first place she could confidently call her own. Well, she shared it with Dulcinea, but this room was hers. Same thing, as far as she’s concerned.
She drops the photo back into the box, her fingers brushing the lanyards from high school fencing meets, the medals and championship certificates, and the folded papers that once constituted most of her Department of Child Protective Services file. If she died tomorrow and someone found this box, they’d be able to figure out almost everything about Gideon that ever mattered.
“Well, that’s sad,” Gideon says aloud, kicking the box under the bed and grabbing her backpack. No sooner does she unzip it and reach for her binder than Dulcinea comes barging through the front door, the noise she makes belying her tiny frame and normally-gentle demeanor.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she asks Gideon before she’s even all the way into her room.
“Doing homework?” Gideon holds up the binder.
“That’s not- On the floor? You’re going to hurt your back.” When Gideon raises an eyebrow, Dulcinea continues, “I mean with Harrow! Gideon, this is such a stupid idea!”
“Relax. I messed with her. That’s it. Promise.”
It’s pretty clear Dulcinea doesn’t buy it. She gives Gideon the most scathing look the gentle girl can possibly give, and gracefully hikes herself up to sit on Gideon’s lofted bed.
“You’re going to break your own heart,” she says, softly, breaking off to cough into her hand. Gideon doesn’t move, knowing Dulcinea will kick her in the head if she does anything even remotely resembling checking up on her. When she doesn’t hear anything sounding like blood being hocked out of lungs, she stands up, brushing off her pant legs, and sits beside her roommate.
“There’s nothing to break. She’s just Harrow. My rival. The tiny, dark thorn in my side. You know.”
Dulcinea looks like she wants to argue, but another coughing fit interrupts that. Gideon thumps her soundly on the back, then regrets that decision when a clot of mucus goes flying onto her pant leg.
“Ew!” she shouts, half-teasing, as Dulcinea apologizes between coughs. “It’s fine, I’m joking,” she’s quick to reassure, passing Dulcinea a tissue.
“That’s disgusting,” Dulcinea says morosely. “I’m sorry.”
Gideon shrugs. “I’d rather see that than blood.”
Dulcinea wipes her nose, then her lips. “That’s true.”
Gideon sits back down. Dulcinea leans her weight against Gideon’s side. Her warmth radiates through Gideon’s body, quelling the leftover anxiety that had rattled her earlier.
“Corona invited us to a gala,” Dulcinea says softly. “The honors society gala at the end of the semester.”
“Oh.” For once, Gideon remembers the golden rule of Thou Shalt Not Tell Your Friend That Her Ex Called, and shuts up.
“I kind of want to go, but Palamedes will probably be there.”
“Oh,” Gideon says again, not really sure how to navigate the post-break-up thing, and not sure how to advise anyone else either. Clearly, she isn’t in the best position for pep talks. She wishes Cam was here.
“Should I go anyway?”
Gideon nods. “Hell yeah. I’ll come too, if you want. I’ll be your trophy date.”
Dulcinea laughs a little. “Okay. I’d like that. Corona said we could invite you anyway.”
Gideon tips her head to the side, resting her cheek against Dulcinea’s soft hair. “Sounds fun. Do I have to dress up?”
“Mmhm.”
“Mkay.” She feels her eyes start to droop a little and sits up straighter, lifting her head. “Want food? I’m hungry.”
Dulcinea shakes her head. “I just ate. I’m gonna go lie down.”
Gideon lets her slide off the bed and pull her along by the arm. “Sleep well.”
Dulcinea pauses at the door to her bedroom. “Gideon… Just be careful.”
Gideon doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Dulcinea disappears into her room, the door creaking closed behind her. She stares into the dark for a second before traipsing into the kitchen, successfully putting Harrow and dating apps out of her mind in favor of trying to remember the best way to cook - and not burn - noodles.
And if she set off the smoke alarm later because she got distracted reading through Harrow's messages? That's no one's business but her own.
Harrowhark Nonagesimus is many things, but she is not a coward.
If she was a coward, she would not be standing at Gideon Nav’s door, hand raised to knock, mind already rehearsing the speech she had prepared during her three-hour long anatomy lab. This is the price she must pay for her foolishness, after all, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t attempt to pay it with a little bit of pride left over.
It’s been three days since the ill-fated Tinder match, and Harrow can’t stop kicking herself for every event that led up to that tragic exchange. She knew it was a bad idea to swipe right on Griddle the second after she had done it; her emotions had run away with logic, leaving her momentarily floored in the face of Gideon’s annoying grin staring up at her from her phone.
Stupid class assignment. Stupid Griddle. She feels like a petulant child, stomping her feet and shaking her fists at the cruel twists of fate that led her to this doorstep.
Steeling herself, Harrow knocks. It’s a few moments later that the door rattles open, and Harrow is face to face with Dulcinea Septimus.
Immediately, the girl’s face goes dark. Harrow isn’t surprised. It’s exactly the reaction she expects from Dulcinea, and the reaction she tries to earn from anyone else that tries to get close to her.
“What are you doing here?” Dulcinea couldn’t sound mean if she tried, but her tone is very guarded.
“I need to talk to Gideon. I know she lives here.”
Dulcinea steps aside wordlessly. Harrow takes two steps into the room and waits for Dulcinea to close the door.
“Is this about the Tinder match?” Dulcinea asks, her voice soft, her eyes unreadable.
Harrow nods, once. “Yes.”
“Hey, Dulcinea, who was that? If it was- Oh.”
Harrow rolls her eyes at the sight of Gideon. She’s standing in the hallway, face red and hair dripping water onto her shoulders. She must have just gotten out of the shower. “Griddle.”
“Harrow.”
“I need to talk to you.”
Gideon’s annoying yellow-gold eyes flit back and forth between Harrow and Dulcinea. She heaves a sigh and pads toward the kitchen. “Fine. Come on.”
Harrow steps carefully through the cramped living space, taking note of the trappings of domesticity: Gideon’s jacket on a chair, Dulcinea’s backpack on the table, their dishes and mugs in the tiny sink.
“So talk,” Gideon says, interrupting Harrow’s observations. She lifts herself up to sit on the kitchen counter, showing off her arm muscles in a way that was probably unintentional. Maybe. Harrow could never tell with Griddle.
“I don’t understand what the purpose of you matching with me was,” Harrow says, disarmed by Gideon’s narrow gaze and Dulcinea’s presence, completely forgetting her entire speech in the process.
“I did it to fuck with you.” Gideon kicks her legs in the air. “I didn’t think you had swiped right too. What’s that about, Nonagesimus?”
“None of your business,” Harrow snaps, chest warming. She is grateful that her high-necked blouse is opaque; she is almost certainly flushed. “I just wanted to ensure that you weren’t going to instigate some insipid game that would distract me from my research.”
“No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” Gideon says, deadpan. Harrow bites the inside of her cheek to keep from retorting. “Relax, gloom mistress. Your study’s safe with me.”
“I want nothing to do with you,” Harrow snaps reflexively, aggression not matching the tone of the room at all. In her periphery, she sees Dulcinea tense up.
To Gideon’s credit, she doesn’t even flinch. “The feeling is mutual. Believe me.” She gestures to the door. “If that’s all.”
Harrow turns on her heel and stalks toward the door, heart beating so loud she feels she must drown it out with her footsteps. “Goodbye, Griddle,” she snaps without turning around.
Gideon says something, but Harrow can’t hear her over the blood rushing in her ears. When the door slams behind her with a comforting final sound, she leans against the wall and buries her head in her hands, fiddling with the black studs in her ears.
“Harrow?”
Harrow gives one of her studs a yank as she lifts her head; the pain grounds her as she comes face-to-face with Coronabeth Tridentarius.
“Corona,” she says curtly, pushing herself off the wall. “What are you doing here?”
Corona has the grace, at least, to look a little uncomfortable, though Harrow went to school with both Tridentarius girls and knows firsthand how well they can act. “I’m supposed to have dinner with Dulcinea and Gideon. It’s our Friday night tradition.”
Harrow can tell she almost reflexively invites Harrow to join, then remembers herself. The rejection doesn’t sting. She wants nothing to do with Griddle and her asinine friends. The only one she even sort of respects is Camilla Hect, and that’s only because she is more prone to reason than the others are.
“Well,” Corona says awkwardly. “I guess I’ll…” She motions to the door. Harrow steps aside to let her pass. “Have a good night, Harrow.”
“You as well.” Harrow turns abruptly for the second time in two minutes and beelines out of the building, not stopping until she’s out on the street, the cold night air blowing in her face.
“Stupid,” she hisses. “So, so stupid.” She starts walking fast, as if power-walking can help her walk off her shame and anger, but all it does is wind her, which in turn makes her angry.
She hates Gideon Nav. Hates her with her entire heart. Harrow hates her bright yellow eyes and startling humor, hates her bravado and strength.
But more than anything, Harrow hates the way Gideon Nav makes her feel.