Gideon turns sharply at the sound--"sound"--of his name. It's ticklish and hesitant, but the voice (if one can call it that) is so familiar that he replies instinctively.

:Felix.:

And then the context of this stumbling conversation returns to him, the knowledge that he is dead and Felix is...another figment to accompany the castle, surely. It's only right that his last thoughts might be of Felix Harrowgate; he is a fate Gideon has been grateful for, particularly when placed against the old specter of the Bastion. Even when he's furious with the man, he loves him profoundly, with a passion he occasionally wishes he had never applied to any other aspect of his life.

Or Isaac's hands found their way around Felix's throat, too. Gideon's minuscule remaining stump of tongue-flesh goes dry, as though he'll be heaving up the contents of his stomach in a moment or two.

Whatever end Felix came to, it was untimely--but not, it seems, reason for his spirits to flag. Gideon watches him with dark, suspicious eyes; this is a welcome he neither expected nor, really, deserves.

:I didn't expect to see you here.: