Abigail was standing at the entrance to the alley.

She pulled out the knife. Her special weapon, tied to her. The blade of the knife flashed under the light of a lamppost.

It seemed that outside this alley there was another world. Far away, full of strange sounds and shadows. Different worlds that would never meet.

That sense of disconnection, however, was not strange to her. On the contrary. She was used to feeling like she was an alien being. Because she was the closest thing that existed to that.

On the other side of the alley were three men. They wore black from head to toe. She couldn't see it with the naked eye, but she was sure they were carrying weapons. That they were of the Empire, even if they were born here, especially if they were born in what was now called the kingdom of Albion.

They were watching the target. Of course.

Her child.

She had accepted what the boy wanted from her. The role of mother. What kind of mother would she be if her child's safety wasn't the first priority?

They hadn't even seen her. With any luck, she could finish this fight before it even started.

Luck usually wasn’t on her side. But some might disagree with that statement. Since, being immortal, time was. No matter how many times she fell, she could keep trying, she could keep fighting. Because she had all the time in the world.

Now, on top of it, strength was surging through all her body. She had finally found him, after all. The boy who would free her from her curse, carrying it instead. Finally, after so long, victory was at her fingertips.

In exchange for that, she was willing... no, she felt compelled to give that boy the best life she could give him. In her position, it would not be a very good one, probably the best thing she could do for him was to disappear from his life until the time came.

But, if she really wanted what was best for him, that time would never come.

She wanted the best for herself. And she wasn't ashamed of it.

Still, she felt the need to make it up to him for what he was going to do for her. He wasn't going to pat himself on the back for it. It was the least any decent person would do in her place.

If anything she had to pat herself on the back for, it was for finally doing something typical of a decent person even though, treated like a monster, she had had no choice but to live the life of a monster.

For far too long. To the point of getting sick of it as with everything else she had that life had to offer. The good and the bad.

Long, long ago, when she was full of fear for the wrong things, she would have laughed at the idea that immortality was a curse. She would have thought that, just as death robbed you of the chance to experience good things, it also protected you from the tragedies of fear and pain and everything bad. But immortality was not the greatest salvation.

Immortality was but a continuation of life. Of the same days, over and over again. The dark valleys were deeper. The moments of happiness, even more passing, lost in the tireless flow of time.

Immortality saved nothing, but locked it in amber. Like an insect extinct centuries ago. An immortal being had no more life than the portrait of a smiling woman displayed in a museum.

That was the truth that only immortals experienced and could accept.

While humans, driven by fear as always ever, would invariably chase their own doom. Desmond would have to endure this, as she had endured it for so long that she had lost count centuries ago. He would have plenty of time to learn these lessons, forget them, and relearn them.

That was the life she had "chosen" for him.

That was what she was dooming him to.

So what she was about to do would not make up for anything. She would only be helping herself as usual. She had lived alone and would die alone. But...

I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry. I hope you have enough time to understand me, if not forgive me.

Yes. She wouldn't dare ask for forgiveness. She knew she was doing something absolutely unforgivable. But she believed that, as a human being, she deserved at least to be understood by another, even if it was after her death. At least that much.

Abigail moved forward. Swiftly, but in complete silence. Like a panther, she slipped through the darkness of the alley to surprise the armed men who were watching the hospital.

The silence was broken by the sound of a sharp knife cutting flesh.

The enemy opened his eyes wide. Blood gushed from his mouth. The blow had been inflicted with precision. She was here to kill them, but not just kill them, their deaths had to be quick.

She was already taking too much of a risk, after all. Going out in the sunlight, doing things like this.

They wouldn't risk trying to capture Desmond again so soon after last night's catastrophic failure.

They would just watch. They would make sure no one noticed their presence, and they would continue to watch quietly as they had been. At least for the time being. So this was, in a way, unnecessary.

But she didn't mind in the least. She had already tried staying out of it, for Desmond's sake. To divert attention from this organization to her. In that naive hope. Since that hadn't worked, now it was her turn to change tactics.

Yes. This was not because she had to act immediately to save Desmond's life. If that was all it was about, she could still afford to wait. This was about protecting him, but in a less direct way. It was about sending a message. To prove to them beyond any doubt that they should fear her, not just covet her.

They were calling her a witch while seeing her as the most valuable person in this world. It was time to show them the dark powers of the witch.

She grabbed the soldier drowning in his own blood from the collar of his shirt. She pulled her arm back, and the soldier went flying. She heard a hard impact. From the sound, she judged that he had hit the lid of a dumpster, not the wall or the floor. It was appropriate even though she hadn't aimed there. Well, she hadn't aimed at all.

Abigail assumed a combat stance. She backed up with slow but sure steps. The enemies followed her without drawing their weapons. They were armed, no doubt. But they could not afford to start shooting in the middle of the city. They would be discovered and then they would have to make a run for it without their target.

Even though they were unarmed, even though there were only two of them, they hoped to get her out of the way.

To continue with their mission without any problems. In other circumstances, Abigail would have laughed. It was ridiculous how reckless these soldiers were. Yes, she definitely had to show them that this was not the right attitude to take. For their own good.

Unfortunately, they would not be able to put that lesson into practice. They would die before they had a chance to make the wisest decision.

Abigail didn't laugh. But she couldn't help smiling as if the fun had only just begun.

They threw themselves upon her. One on the right, one on the left. They really did look confident. As if, because of the difference between them, victory was assured.

Because they didn't know who she was. Or maybe because they were simply idiots.

By difference, she didn't mean the existing but meager numerical advantage. Two against one. She was referring to a more fundamental fact. Impossible to change. That they were men and she was a woman.

She had known too many men who had absolute confidence in that. Men who had tasted the soles of her boots. She knew that the men of the Azure Empire were especially susceptible to that. Since they lacked magic, their conception of common sense was different.

Unfortunately for them, the scenario of a woman besting several men in combat was no fantasy reserved for plays. Magic aided or not, even. While it was true that men had more physical strength, women also had natural advantages.

Such as resistance to pain, for example. Superior flexibility of muscles and joints. Among other things.

The lion was known as the king of the jungle. However, the females were the ones who went hunting. The females were the true rulers of the jungle.

This jungle is mine. And Desmond is my cub.

She dodged the punches that flew at her. She didn't try to fight back yet. Backing away as she dodged the punches, she was driving them deeper into the darkness of the alley, where no one would bother them.

She moved on to the attack about the time they reached the middle of the alley, judging that it was more than enough. The next time she dodged she did so by throwing herself to the ground. She arrested her fall with the fingertips of one hand. In the other was the knife. She brandished it, cutting the tendon in one leg.

The soldier collapsed. Almost on top of her, but Abigail rolled to the side across the dirty floor before that could happen. Before she could sit up, the one who remained standing attempted to kick her in the head. Abigail didn't dodge the blow.

Not because she couldn't. Because it wasn't necessary. She grabbed his leg with both arms. And, pulling it, she dragged him to the ground with her. Twisting it, she broke it.

A dry snap echoed through the narrow walls of the alley. To his credit, the enemy made no sound. Speaking of sounds, those gurgling sounds were no longer audible. The one stabbed in the neck had expired without it being noticed at last.

On top of the soldier lying on the ground with a broken leg, Abigail pounced. She put her hands on his neck and broke it. The neck was more important than a leg. However, the sound was incomparable to before. The cracking of the leg was like a shotgun blast, while that of the neck was like the sound of someone tripping over a box containing something heavy.

The last enemy rose to his feet. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, restricting her movements, but not immobilizing her. Her hands were still free. If she had the knife, she could have simply stabbed him several times in the chest, pushing him back.

But she didn't. By grabbing her from behind, he managed to make her drop the knife. Right now it was definitely out of her reach. But she was being underestimated again.

She wasn't dangerous because she had a knife and they were attacking with their bare hands. Abigail's entire body was a weapon. Incidentally, she didn't need the immortality curse she had to carry either. They hadn't had a chance of getting out of this alley alive from the start.

Abigail swung at the enemy that had her pinned. Driving her elbow into his sternum. Once, twice, three times. Until he had no choice but to release her, staggering backwards and coughing as if trying to expel something blocking his throat.

Abigail lunged for the knife. So did the enemy, of course. But she was ahead of him and she was faster anyway. So she won the race.

She grabbed the knife. Spinning on her heels, holding it in both hands, she plunged it into his throat. Gurgles filled the air again. The enemy was drowning in his own blood and would soon be dead. He had no escape now. But, in spite of that... In spite of the fact that he was in that state, he grasped the knife with both hands. And he looked at her fiercely. As if she was more important than his own life.

He was mad. Each and every one of them had lost their minds, or had never had any. What could be more dangerous than a madman who thought he was a hero? Who had nothing to apologize for or repent? That, no matter how far it went, it was justified?

The answer was simple. An organization full of lunatics with that very nature.

But, like all the organizations she had seen come into being, this one would die. Through its own fault. Since they wouldn't stop, this battle would only end with the extermination of the other side. She was sick of shedding blood, but she was left with no choice.

She had already been too magnanimous, standing aside for a decade. If they had left Desmond alone, she wouldn't be here. They had brought this on themselves. Each and every one of them would get what they deserved.

"Die at once," Abigail said. It sounded like an order.

She pulled the knife from the wound. Blood spurted out. Finally, without taking his eyes off her, the enemy collapsed. But he wasn't dead. Not yet.

He spent a few seconds shivering on the ground like a worm before he left this world. Abigail bent down and wiped the knife on the clothes of her fallen enemy. It was already covered in blood. The blood staining the knife was also hers, so it made no difference.

She had won. Without her blood being spilled, without a single drop of the enemy's blood touching her. Had it not been for the corpses scattered around the alley, it would have been almost as if she hadn't entered a fight at all. The corpses and the smell. She had spilled seas of blood, so the smell of blood no longer affected her. She almost didn't notice it, in fact.

But she could never get used to the smell of what happened when someone died. Not always, but often enough. Especially in situations like this. Spontaneous emptying of the bladder and stomach.

The smell of shit and the smell of urine were more natural than the smell of blood. However, she detested them. Since they reminded her that there was nothing dignified about death. Even though that was the one thing she was desperately searching for.

What made her heart beat almost as if she were alive. As if she were something more than a portrait. A memory of the woman who might have been named Abigail or might not have been.

She lived to die.

She was aware of how pitiful that was, but there was nothing she could do to change it. Her time had come long ago, after all. Every second of her current existence was borrowed time. A being who had died could not go on living as if nothing had happened.

From the darkness of the alley, surrounded by the filth in which she had been submerged for much of her life, Abigail watched the boy walk into the light. Along with his two companions. The girls he had begged her to save. If she let him loose for too long, he would learn how good life could be and leave her. Especially considering how tenuous the connection between them was.

She knew the best thing she could do was to act quickly. She knew she should approach him and push him. Risk that, before the boy changed his mind. Drag him into the darkness before he decided to stay in the light.

However, she was incapable of forcing herself to do that. That she had to force herself was strange in the first place.

She had attributed it to her sense of duty. But, being honest with herself, it wasn't just about that. It was about something she shouldn't even dare to dream about. Her life had stopped. Therefore, it was not incorrect to say that she was dead.

The closest thing to the truth was that she was frozen in time, but there was no need to be so picky. The point was that something that couldn't die wasn't alive. But Desmond knew the truth and had said he would release her from her suffering, even if he had to carry it. In the eternity that he had been allowed to experience immortality that had never happened, not once.

For the first time in thousands of years, she could look forward to her own death. By gaining the possibility of dying, perhaps she had regained the human heart she left behind. Yes. That must be it. That's why she was getting weird ideas.

Like how she wanted to live one last life. To make up for everything that had been taken away from her, everything she had never been able to have. And then to die peacefully, without remorse, passing her curse on to someone who had chosen to accept it. Someone who would undoubtedly come to hate her, as time passed.

Desmond's love would turn to burning hatred. But she would be at peace then, and she wouldn't have to worry about that.

It could simply be said that she had nothing to feel bad about since the boy had accepted knowing what was in store for her, though that wasn't true at all, it couldn't be.

Of course not. How could something like that heal her wounds, make up for nothing, knowing what would happen when she died? The role Desmond would play, the same role she once played.

She felt like the Witch they said she was. Just like the monster that had done this to her, the monster she had hated all this time.

But what if it was fake? What if it was nothing more than a dream?

What was the problem with allowing her to dream it to the end? She deserved at least that much after an eternity of suffering.

The boy disappeared from her sight. And with him, those dark thoughts.

No. His leaving had only pushed them to a corner of her mind for the moment, but they would come out again. It was only a matter of time.

She would worry about her sanity, except that she believed she had lost it long ago.

■

Desmond turned around.

He saw nothing back there. Nothing, that is, except what he could expect to find. The buildings that towered skyward. The steady stream of people going back and forth. But he'd definitely had the distinct feeling that....

"Is something wrong? "Amy asked him, turning on her heel to look at him.

Desmond swallowed.

"No, everything's fine. It's just that I thought… I thought I felt the presence of my" Abigail." They were connected, so it wasn't out of the question that the sensation wasn't his imagination. However, why would she be in this town? Why, when she was so wanted, would she risk showing up in broad daylight? "It was nothing."

And it was true.

It was nothing. It couldn't be anything.

If Abigail had wanted to contact him, she would have done so precisely through their special connection. Appearing before him without the need to show herself to anyone else. Of exposing herself and taking a risk.

So, no matter how hard he looked, he wouldn't find her around. Just around the corner, waiting for it. Besides, why had he gotten so excited thinking about it? He had made up his mind with determination. If he only wished to stay by his savior's side, then he would have done so last night. He would have disappeared along with her into the darkness of the night. Without looking back.

Looking for her here and now was like wishing to turn back. To make a different decision. He had already wasted too much time with that nonsense. He had made the only right decision for Desmond Orosco. The one decision he wouldn't regret. Therefore, the only decision he could make. To keep dwelling on it was futile.

Someday he would be reunited with his savior, but today wouldn't be the day. There was still time. Many battles to fight. Battles with which he would earn the idyllic life he wanted to share with his savior. Although, well, even a life where they couldn't stop running away was appealing to him.

"Desmond? Are you really okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

He shook his head. He turned around and continued walking alongside the two. Leaving the ghost of his wandering conscience behind.

■

On the moving train, the city he saw through the window was an indistinct blur. It gave him the feeling that he could reach out and touch the passing buildings, even though they should be too far away. Touch them and knock them down, as if he were a giant monster. It gave him the feeling that everything was like the set of a play.

Maybe because the fact that the three of them had survived to see the next dawn seemed like a dream to him.

Things had been so close to being over, after all.

For good. Maybe he was unable to believe it yet.

The only passengers on this train were the three of them. Not counting, of course, the staff needed to handle this junk that was also inside. And there was really no reason to. They were staff, not passengers.

That contributed. This oppressive silence, which didn't exist because there was nothing to say, oh no, quite the contrary. None of them spoke. Since shortly after they had left the hospital, they hadn't opened their mouths, and someone had to.

It wasn't his thing. But, if it had to be him... He had no other choice.

He decided to break the ice. Was that how young people his age said it? Eh, in any case, he obviously didn't mean to bring up the really important issue. That Amy felt left out and all that. A mess of complicated feelings that he didn't quite understand.

He wasn't ready for it, as he had said. By trying, he would surely make things worse. But at least he could get them to start talking. Maybe that would bring things to a good conclusion.

Well, they probably wouldn't talk about it in front of him, but....

Desmond swallowed, steeling himself.

"I, Christina. I've been wondering..."

"What's the matter?"

"Well, how come you still have the book? It's your weapon. The first thing those sons of bitches would want to do is take it off your hands. They'd have left me without a sword, except... Whatever I have. But you..."

"Oh, that. The answer is very simple. They couldn't get their hands on it."

"How's that?"

"I hid it inside my shadow."

"Ah. I didn't know you could do that."

"You don't know a lot of the things I can do. One of these days, soon, I should give you a refresher. I haven't done it until now because... Well, I don't know. But I should and I will. I promise."

"In your shadow," Amy repeated. "Literally in your shadow? Like it's... a pocket?"

Christina nodded.

"And can you do that with larger objects? Or with, say, people?"

"Yes. Both, probably. But, as for people... I'm sure I could get some of them inside. But get them out? Get them out right? I'm not so sure about that."

"Why is that? You risked your spell book on that and, as far as I know, nothing happened to it. Or did it? "She frowned. "Is that what you told Desmond? That the outside is intact but the words are gone, or something like that?"

"No. If that's all it was, I would have told you, but I didn't. I wouldn't have dared to hide the book like that if I thought there was the slightest chance of that happening. I tested that ability extensively, with all sorts of objects, and nothing ever happened."

"Then I don't see what the problem is."

"I'm not willing to take the risk of doing the same thing with a person, that's all I'm saying."

"Okay. I don't see why it wouldn't work the same way, but okay, I get it. Still, it's very helpful. "Amy sighed. Seriously, what can't shadow magic do?"

"Lock people in ice, for starters. We all have our talents."

"Yeah. I didn't mean it that way, but yeah. You don't have to worry about me."

"You're my teammate."

Worrying about you is my responsibility.

"Let's just drop it, okay? I'm fine. I'm fine. It doesn't bother me that you trusted Desmond with anything and not me. I mean, it's natural. People aren't the same. I'll have to earn it. Your trust for that and deeper issues. It's natural," she repeated, "I wouldn't be willing to tell you... a lot of things about me either. We're practically strangers. It's only natural. But time can remedy that."

Christina nodded her head.

"Well said."

But Amy's eyes rested on him, for prolonged seconds.

■

Returning to the academy, they spent the rest of the morning together. But in the afternoon, after lunch, they separated.

On the one hand, Desmond didn't want to be separated for a moment from Christina, now that they had her back. As if there could be anything threatening her at the academy... But that was the same thing he had thought just a few days ago.

Because of such naive thinking, he had thought Laura was an intruder from the outside and had been captured, putting everyone's lives at risk.

His own, Amy's, his savior's.

But most of all Christina's.

Still, there shouldn't be another infiltrator. If there had been, they would have surely helped Laura when her plans were thwarted and she had to improvise.

Besides, it's not like Christina needed his help.

She wasn't a helpless little girl.

In fact, she was far more powerful than he was. She could crush any enemy that got in her way like a bug.

His faith in his own strength had weakened last night.

But Desmond still had faith in her, because he knew it was the truth.

That was why he separated himself from her.

That and why he began to consider it in the first place. That he needed a moment to himself.

Like last night, he walked into the woods, gun in hand.

He hadn't lost the gun not because it was strapped to him, but because he'd left it laying ginned up next to the corpse of that professor whose name he couldn't manage to remember, even though he was sure he'd heard it at least a couple of times, and how disrespectful he thought it was.

He was very grateful for the impulsive decision he had made at that moment.

If he had kept the pistol with him, well, maybe it would have brought him only trouble as he had imagined and he would surely have lost it forever.

His magnificent sword had been a gift to him.

But this gun was something he had bought with his own money, despite his precarious economic situation, which forced him to live in an apartment as small as a jail cell, supported by a shitty job he no longer needed.

It meant a lot to him.

And it was necessary for a ritual that helped him relax. A perfect ritual for moments like this.

In the middle of the forest, Desmond sat on the ground.

He carried out the trick, then raised the pistol and passed it over his temple.

Closing his eyes, he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Of course it didn't.

The gun wouldn't fire unless he wanted it to. But one of these days, if he kept it up, he would do the trick again and accidentally blow his brains out. The stupidest death he could imagine.

Probably because he didn't want to waste time imagining more stupid ways he could die.

In any case, it was certainly in the top ten, easily.

He would be the first to die shooting himself with his own gun that hadn't done it on purpose.

Click.

Click.

The sound of the trigger, of the repeated shots ending in nothing, was the only sound to be heard in the stillness of the forest. He had no people or animals to worry about now.

Why this little ritual relaxed him, he could not say.

To anyone who saw it, it would seem silly. No, that would be what they would think later, if he had time to explain to them that no, he didn't have a death wish.

And he agreed. Even he himself couldn't make sense of it.

But it made him feel better, somehow.

It reassured him. It helped him focus.

Sometimes he needed such an effect and few things could give it to him. This was the most reliable among those few options.

The one he could turn to in any situation, regardless of the circumstances.

And that was because...

Even though he didn't understand it at all, Desmond struggled to look for words that weren't there, as if they were just hidden.

As if he was hiding them even from himself.

Well. It wouldn't be the first time you've lied to yourself without knowing it, he thought.

Like he wasn't even in control of himself. It sounded like that, but he wasn't.

He himself was the only person he could control, and the only person he wanted to control, anyway.

As he had said, he was alone in the forest.

Not even the chirping of birds, the sound of crickets or the buzzing of flies accompanied him.

So he noticed immediately when that changed. He heard footsteps behind him, approaching. His senses were not sharp enough to say something silly like he recognized the person just by the way they walked. Nor was he a spiritual master who could sense the people around him by their soul.

To check who it was, he had to open his eyes and turn his head toward the sound of footsteps.

Amy appeared before him, coming through the undergrowth, almost at that very instant. They were almost in sync. Amy looked him up and down and wore an expression of.... not irritation, not exactly. She sighed.

"Still with that?"

"It helps me relax. What are you doing here?"

That was why he had turned so quickly, so as not to scare anyone unnecessarily.

Had it been someone else, he would have lowered the gun and pretended he was practicing with the weapon until said person walked past him to wherever they were going. But since it was Amy, he could relax.

It could also have been Christina, who had never seen him do this.

But he wouldn't have faked anything.

He wouldn't tell her for no reason that he was so messed up in the head that this seemed like a relaxing activity. But if she caught him redhanded, he would have no choice but to do it. He would owe her.

"Kicking me out already?"

Desmond reddened - had he really sounded like he was saying that?

Or was she just messing with him?

"That wasn't what I meant."

Amy sat down next to him, crossing her legs.

"I want to talk to you."

Is the same thing going to happen to me twice in one day? That was the first thing he thought of.

Only when Amy told him what she wanted did he realize what a fool he had been. Of course that's what it was all about.

"What did you talk to Christina about?"

There was silence.

"You said it didn't bother you."

"And it doesn't bother me."

Desmond looked at her, incredulous. Did she really intend to keep going on about it even though she had made it so obvious that it wasn't true in the slightest?

"It's just that I think I should know... that I have a right to know, and that it would be best for all three of us. Think about it. You don't have to agree with me, but think about it carefully. What does Christina gain, what does anyone gain by keeping whatever it is she told you a secret?"

And Desmond thought about it, as she had asked him to.

"Nothing," he admitted. "The truth is, I don't even understand why she wants to keep it a secret. It's nothing special or unusual."

"Then I'm right."

"But I'm not going to tell you anything. No, I can't tell you anything. Do you realize you're asking me to betray Christina's trust?"

Amy looked back at him.

Her eyes were like the ocean.

A huge body of crystal clear, shimmering water.

It gave him the feeling that he might sink into that water and drown if he didn't look away soon. He didn't look away, though. He just couldn't move his head. As if hypnotized.

"What about mine? You're both keeping me out of it. Christina insisted it was unimportant, but, if it wasn't important, she would have told me. Of course it was important!"

Desmond was speechless.

She wasn't wrong. Now he didn't know what to do. Telling Christina's secrets was obviously the wrong decision, but, no matter how he looked at it, not relieving Amy's anxiety didn't seem right either.

This was one of those moments where there were no good and bad decisions.

Not even bad or less bad.

He couldn't qualify the decisions before him, laid out on the table, that way.

And, of course, he also didn't have the luxury of at least being able to make the decision he wasn't going to regret. He would regret both decisions to a greater or lesser extent.

Only time would give him that measure.

From his position in time, he didn't have a clue how things would turn out after either of those decisions. He couldn't even imagine.

Christina didn't want Amy to know of what she called her weakness.

She didn't want her to lose respect for her, or anything like that.

And what about Amy?

What made her want to know this so desperately? To what extent did it hurt her that she had been left out in the cold, as he had expressed?

To him that seemed like a complete exaggeration. But it was evidently of great importance to the girl.

Yes...

The only thing that was clear to him was that he was stuck.

"Are you not going to say anything, Desmond?"

"I'm thinking about what I can say. What I should say..."

"Should, eh? "I see. "She clenched her fists, stood up suddenly, in a hurry. Desmond didn't understand her sudden agitation. Even if he understood her, he couldn't have changed anything, he'd already screwed up. "The damage was done. That, at least, he could understand. I see. So, as I imagine.... It's not something that would be pleasant to my ears."

She said it in a stilted way as if trying to soften the impact.

Judging by her expression, she didn't succeed.

Quite the contrary. She had only fanned the flames. That was all she had achieved.

"No. No, no, no, no, that's not what I meant!"

"No need to make excuses, Desmond. I understand. Everyone has their priorities. That's something I understand very well."

Amy left the place, walking quickly, almost running, without giving him a chance to explain himself.