Ortus stays focused on Gideon's soothed little face, her sharp infant nails scratching at his nose as she grabs harder than he thinks a baby her size ought to be able to.

He doesn't mind. His only worry, fleeting and irrelevant, is that she might scratch herself with them - but her face is free of blemish, so she must not be in danger of hurting herself.

"Gideon Nav," he tells Ezra, voice faintly distorted by the bend of his neck and the closure of his nose. It stings to pull away for more than one reason, but he trades his nose for the bottle, which Gideon latches onto with ferocious intensity. Her eyes shut in concentration as she sucks noisily, little palms clasping at the sides of the bottle that Ortus holds at the angle he'd been taught in this room not so long ago.

"The same one you might know. Only smaller."