"A revenant, yes," she says. "Pent referred to it as an invasive soul, when last we spoke." Harrow only half-regrets the impact invoking the necromancer of the Fifth is bound to have on him, though Abigail's presence in her construct, the cheerful way she'd acted the psychopomp as if born to it, has been a point of discussion between them before. She sees the questions fill his face, the struggle to keep them contained for the sake of staying a more important course. It's painfully familiar.

"There was no time, Sextus," she says, and feels the regret of that anew. "The Sleeper was at the door, we were attempting to hold it back--I was, you were telling me to go--and there was..."

She pauses, then, her dark eyes widening. "Something changed, just before I left," she says. "Your focus...shifted." Her cheeks flush scarlet. "You kissed my forehead."