Gideon lets her head hang back over the back of her seat, staring at the ceiling. None of this makes any sense to her. It's not the kind of stuff that's supposed to make sense to her. She can hear Harrow now: You're going to try to solve this mystery, Griddle? You? How's that going to work, when all your grey matter turned to muscle years ago?

"Well," she says, finally. "You just let me know where to start digging."