As soon as he does this, I feel like I can sense Gideon in a new dimension. I can feel the presence of not just his person, but of his life that has existed for however many decades before this moment, and that could last for a few more after. It’s strange; his life presents itself to me as if it is a soft but solid thing—as soft and easy for me to slice through as butter. The edge of my own life has always felt so far in the future, so impossible for me to tempt closer to where in my life I am now, but I see very clearly the edge of Gideon’s life. It’s in me, in my teeth, in my body, which could drain him entirely of everything that keeps him moving forward. His neck is close to me; he’s brought it to me himself; he has given me his life. It’s just there, inches from my face.