Gideon stares at the plate. Tress made her a sandwich. No one's ever made her a sandwich before. Half an hour ago she was throwing herself headlong into death by impalement and magical cannibalism and now she's sitting in a kitchen in a world so alien it might as well not be part of the universe at all, and a cute girl made her a sandwich.

Gideon, you useless bitch, she tells herself, do not fucking cry.