Between your frantic research, frantic training and the assassination attempts of your peers, Harrow, you haven't slept deeply nor well in more than a month and it's beginning to show: you've always had confidence in your necromantic strength, in your skill with bones and marrow, but now even you can't tell if you've wrought genius or madness and it's not like you're going to ask the others for a second opinion.

It's probably madness, since you do seem to have gone completely fucking crazy ever since that event you refuse to think about, but you can make it work anyway given the tiniest sliver of the tiniest chance.

You're going to go back in time and fix things, even if you have to kill yourself to do it like the self-sacrificing lunatic you are, so it's damn lucky for you that you've got me and that I can remember everything for both of us.