Stephen arches an eyebrow, perhaps surprised at the commitment. And she knows him well enough, and her arguments are logical enough, that they’re finding their mark, squirrelling in beneath his skin.

“Hm. Run over your arm with a cart, shatter the bones, so it seems medically necessary to amputate?” he repeats, floating the thought. Then: “Apart from me, how many people have you already told about your desire to cut off your arm?”