#another one of my white whale spindles too

[viciousewe]

It’s always morally correct to call out of work to spin wool.

[laur-rants]

Fic Update – Wolfbann

Chapter 13 - With Starved Intentions

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: We roll back time to check in on Corvo.

*Note: The read more may not appear for mobile users. For this, I sincerely apologize. The best way to avoid this is to blacklist #long post

AO3 Link

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“Find me. Find Emily.”

Heavy feet hit wet stone, claws crashing into tile and cement high above the city. The beat of the Heart and his own breathing pounded in his ears, shaggy head shaking off rain just to have more fall down, rolling off his fur in waves. His chest heaved, hungering for air, as his senses spread out, combing every potential scent and sound for what he searched so desperately for.

Find Daud. Find Emily.

Despite his earlier eagerness, Corvo Attano needed to concede to the truth that this task of finding the leader of the Whalers was easier said than done.

His lip curled back and he growled out his frustrations as once again his senses led him down another dead end. It had been hours now of relentless scouring and it was sapping away all of his remaining energy in the process. At least his fur kept the rain off his skin-- but for how long? He shook his head again, more to stave off exhaustion than to clear his head of water.

A pack of rats glared up at him from the deserted alleyway, beady eyes watching him in the dark. He eyed them for only a moment before his hungry jaws were moving of their own accord, snapping for a plump rodent body. The rats scattered against his assault: a second attempt hit home and a fat bull rat crunched in his jaws, the sensation fulfilling a deep-seated need, his huge body rumbling in satisfaction.

Void, he was hungry. Enough so that even giant rats tasted like a delicacy.

The first went down easy and he started after another before he caught himself, his muscles seizing as he fought for control. He wasn't here on the streets of Dunwall, getting soaked in the first rains of the season, just to have a literal gutter feast. He needed to find Emily. There had to be a trail he could follow or-

Movement at his feet. His teeth flashed. Bone crunched and a tiny squeal was swallowed up into his jaws and down his throat once again.

The second rat tasted even better than the first did and his body groaned in relief.

Maybe I've pushed myself too hard, Corvo thought to himself, a primal side of his mind taking over with every step towards the next rat down the alley. I can't be of any use to Emily half-dead from exhaustion.

It was sound enough advice and a good enough excuse for him to coalesce into the shadows, chasing the next pack of a dozen brown-grey bodies.

Outsider's ass, he was starving.

“Careful, Corvo,” The Heart whispered in his ear, all but unheard. “The rats carry their own secrets.”

He heard the warning without it registering, his body already working towards its stomach-filling goal. His ears strained against the loud chorus of rain hitting stone and gravel and iron and instead listened for the tiny pitter-patter of feet on the ground, of the high-pitched shrieks of the rats as they traveled in their packs, looking for their own body to devour. The Void let his senses stretch, opening up the trails of the rats unseen by normal eyes, and he beelined to follow them down into the sewers and around multiple bends.

“There is much death down here,” the Heart whispered to him. “Both man and hound, all are feasts for the rats in the river.”

“Which will then be a feast for me,” Corvo growled back to it, brushing aside the disappointment he felt leaking through the connection he shared with the macabre device now lodged in his own chest. “And who are you to judge? You don't need to eat.”

“No judgement passes these lips,” the Heart responded back, “only truth.”

His nose curled back in annoyance; even if the Heart was part of the late Empress, it and Jessamine were barely alike. This fact didn't stop the constant ache of his own heart, knowing the Empress's was beating so close to his own once again.

Small feet scrabbled out of water and against crumbling brick. Corvo's head shot up, listening intently. Somehow, inexplicably, the Heart began to pulse faster.

Was he close? Had he accidentally stumbled on a lead?

The rats held their own secrets, after all.

Slowly, he slunk through the shadows, his huge body smoking like a silent, oily mass through the sewer, following the sounds of the rat pack. His stomach protested but he ignored it, his focus intent on whatever was making the Heart go haywire. Another bend rounded, until finally, Corvo caught up with his quarry.

It was definitely a rat pack-- and from the disgusting, wet sounds they were making, they were eating a drowned corpse. Corvo sneered, ears going back as his body whispered through the sewer opening and into a larger boiler area. At the far end stood a figure near a large furnace; hunched, thin, and feeding the rats in the low light. A soft humm was the only other sound aside from the chewing of the rats and the drip drip drip of the rainwater from above.

Corvo let out a breath -- his body demorphed on the exhale until he stood, human again, the Heart in his pocket as he pulled the mask out to cover his face. Now smaller, he hugged the wall, closing in on the figure the rats surrounded.

“Twenty-two, twenty-three, that's how many have come back to me,” the figure sang in a broken lilt, and as Corvo adjusted his lens he could see it was an elderly woman with a hunched back and greying, done-up hair. She wore the clothes of nobles, but from a bygone era and falling into deep disrepair. When she turned, he saw her eyes were glassed over, unseeing. His breath caught as she looked at him - through him - regardless.

“Where are the other lovelies, I wonder? Did they get caught in a trap, or shot by those nasty watch officers?” She stooped down a gnarled and scarred right hand: a white-furred, red-eyed rat ran up, sniffing and nuzzling her ear. “Infect them all, yes, just like my black-eyed groom said you would.”

Corvo jerked to a stop, breath catching. His body wished to flee but he stayed rooted to the spot. The Heart pounded out a panicked tune. Something wasn't right. This woman knew the Outsider, called him her groom...

He shouldn't be here. This wasn't the nest he was supposed to find.

“What's that my little one?” the old woman cooed as the rat sat on her shoulder, tickling her ear. “They were eaten? By those nasty overseer hounds? Or…”

She stopped. She turned. She took a deep breath in through her nose.

Corvo clenched his fist, gathering as much magic as he could muster.

“Did you bring a friend home, I won-” is all Corvo caught before time stopped, the color of the world draining as silence rushed in on him.

He heaved. His limbs shook as unexpected perspiration beaded under his mask. His hand wavered, his hold on the Void weaker with every passing, hanging second.

He was too tired, too drained -- too hungry. And stopping time was clearly beyond his limit.

Corvo took a step back and reality rushed back on him, sound and color and time hitting him at once as his body staggered. His foot barely hit the floor before he was bodily thrown, claws smashing into his mask with a head-rattling screech.

His head throbbed painfully as the world twisted. His own claws grew, scrambling for purchase on the soft floor of the room, shaking himself from the shock of the blow. Instantly dozens of bites stung into him, claws scraping across any part of his exposed flesh. He yelled out, throwing an arm; it was covered in rats, their beaded eyes bulging, teeth biting, ripping, clenching--

His claws dug into them and ripped two off his arm, just for another to replace them. They swarmed his back and his shoulders, biting at his mask, searching for weakness and openings. He fought with them all, growling, snarling, clawing, throwing-- anything to gain the upper hand. But they just kept coming, covering him, weighing him down until finally his body shuddered under the onslaught.

His form lurched, pulled, grew. The rats squealed in surprise as Corvo roared, bursting from the swarm, sending rats flying as his jaws snapped them out of the air. Bones crunched and rats fled at the sound of it, terrified of joining their dying brethren in the belly of this new beast.

But feeding was the last thing on Corvo's mind now. He seethed, anger coursing his vein as adrenaline pushed his transformed body into action, leaping free of the rats and their plague-ridden bites. He turned towards the door, to the way out, willing his legs to move, his body to turn to smoke.

The scream filling the air and the pungent odor of another was the only warning he had before he was rammed and thrown to the ground. The wind left him just as claws dug deep into the flesh of his deltoid, twisting and wrenching. He yowled, his right hand lashing out to grab the jaws of a greyed, ragged muzzle. Two glassy dead eyes glared through him, unseeing, mouth open and full of needled teeth as the other wolf laughed at him.

“Oh! It’s YOU! My lovelies brought me a real treat today!” That wild, deranged mind slammed into his and he recoiled, the scent of her reminding him of tiny cells and an executioner beating him to an inch of his life. “You, who destroyed my poor Sullivan's pretty face, I hoped so strongly for you to be led here, so I could properly punish you.

The old woman made for a thin, ragged, wolf-- body spindled and bony and greying out -- but her power was enormous. Corvo gaped under it, his own weakened form struggling against the combined weight of her mental and physical energy. He pushed her head back as she shrieked with laughter again, his own snarls completely drowned out. He ripped into the skin of her arm with his left hand, claws raking deep into the thin flesh and she screeched like a dying whale, finally pulling her claws from the joint of his shoulder. He panted, pushing her off of him, wasting no time before lunging on her, hoping to pin her down. He ignored the blood flowing hot down his arm as his jaws found an elbow and crunched.

The old hag screamed, clenching her fist. It glowed bright and Corvo gaped -- she had a mark too. He was stupefied by this fact for a second too long. Suddenly the sound of hundreds of pattering feet reached his ears, all getting louder, rushing their location. He looked, eyes widening and lip curling as a wave of rats appeared from all openings, all coming to the call of the witch-wolf, all under her command. He turned to swipe at the old wolf but she was gone, laughing from a corner of the huge room, humming out her awful tune even while in her hulking, spidery, form.

“Can the lost little pup find his way, or will his bones rest here, to rot and decay?”

Corvo's mind raced as his body panicked, the old wolf’s laughter shaking around his skull as he leapt away and crawled upwards, over a huge processing tank. Steam sprouted as rats poured from holes in the piping, their wet fur matted and their teeth flashing as they honed in on him, screeching and squealing. All the while the old croon hummed her song, perched like a horrible, laughing gargoyle. Corvo snarled and smoked to another vantage point, the siege of rats crashing behind him.

He had to get to her and stop the song. Otherwise, the room would be drowned in the weight of rats and rainwater.

His blood trailed. The rodents greedily devoured each drop, thirsty for more as they snapped as his feet, his fur, his claws. Corvo bit at them in turn, throwing their mangled bodies to the floor, watching as their brethren swallowed them, still screaming. The distractions were small, too small to do much in stopping the onslaught because still they came, while the wolf hummed and howled and sang.

Still the rats lept and snapped and left more and more wounds, taking flesh bit by tiny bit. It was annoying. It was tiring and frustrating and soon his arm was burning from the constant movement, adrenaline and the fear of being eaten alive being the only things keeping him going, until--

He latched onto the old wolf, reaching for her just as the rats reached for his tail, his ankles, digging in their teeth just as he dug claws into her leg, dragging her down.

“If I go down, ” he snarled, triumphant, “you go down with me.”

“Never!” She screeched, long claws slashing from a gnarled, scarred hand, lashing against his grip again and again. He snarled and whined, the burning at his ankles mixing with the burning at his arms but he couldn't let go, he refused--

A flash of gold slammed into the witch, throwing her off her perch and out of Corvo's grasp. The song cut off -- without direction, the rats faltered, confused, swarming in circles and over the bodies of their fallen. Corvo gasped at the sudden loss of the witch-wolf from his mind, the pressure lifting like a curse. He pulled himself from the receding rats, panting, looking for the old wolf and whatever had attacked her.

A screech, a growl, a fight between white and gold as the witch tangled with a new wolf, fangs flashing and eyes glowing. Like a phantom it blinked in and out, striking hard and fast, before throwing her bodily into pressurized piping.

It was all too fast for his tired eyes to watch. His shoulder burned and he wobbled on his injuries, only his residual adrenaline keeping him upright. He panted, the magic of his lupine form misting away; the injuries persisted into his human state and he clutched his shoulder, hissing in pain.

A familiar mind brushed his and he staggered against it as the golden wolf appeared at his side. It's face was sharp and intent, its hazel eyes boring into Corvo's glassy, masked ones.

“Lord Attano,” it spoke to him, and Corvo was reminded of that mind from behind the wall, the one he chased across rooftops just yesterday, though it felt like ages ago. “I apologize for the delay. You were hard to find once Granny Rags got ahold of you.”

“Granny--” Corvo rasped out, his broken voice even more strained from his wounds. The wolf tossed his head and looked down; there the old witch battled with the same golden-furred wolf, near identical to the one standing next to him. “How--”

“My brother, Thomas,” the wolf clarified. “We won't be able to fend her off for long, and she really wants to kill you. Can you travel on your own?”

Corvo's mind reeled with questions, but the pain of his left deltoid made moving his whole arm a taxing chore. He clenched his fist, calling the Void, and nodded. “Enough to get out of here, at least.”

The wolf nodded once before blinking away. Corvo looked around, disoriented for a moment before spotting him on the above piping, leading out of the sewer. His fist clenched; with a whisper of Void he was following, up, up, leaving the angry screeching howls of Granny Rags behind. His entire arm was on fire but he didn't stop, not until they were finally out, the angry rain from the downpour hitting his face and filling his ears. The cold was a shock after the stifling humidity of the sewers below, and Corvo heaved, his whole head swimming. It was only then that he noticed the flooded area he had exited in, the dilapidated buildings reaching for the inky-brown sky, and the large brown wolf waiting for him.

His arms shook. His vision blurred. And he collapsed against the weight of the questions filling his head.

------

“Is he okay?”

“Did he wake up yet?”

“What will Daud say?”

“What about Emily?”

“Emily…”

Whispers -- of the Void, of whales, of voices -- drove him to waking. Consciousness came slowly, but as soon as it did, Corvo was jerking upright, chest seizing in panic as burning pain lanced up and down his left side.

“Lord Attano,” a muffled voice said in a hushed, nervous whisper. “Please, calm yourself or your stitches will stretch.”

Corvo breathed. He turned a wild eye on the man speaking to him only to find a whaler mask and jacket peering back at him, sitting at his bedside. The man's hand was outstretched, as if to catch Corvo should he falter, but he twitched back upon seeing the look on the Royal Protector's face. Corvo's lip rolled back, already feeling his teeth going heavy with fangs. The Whaler coughed, hrmmed, and leaned away.

“Apologies for startling you, but I really cannot afford to have you more damaged than you already are.” He shifted, before bowing his head slightly. “Perhaps this will make more sense if I try a different way--”

Corvo felt a tentative mind brush against his and he stiffened in response to the contact. His instinct was to recoil but this mind was familiar-- he knew this individual.

Corvo squinted. “It's you.”

The Whaler sagged in relief; he was surprisingly expressive for a person who kept his face hidden behind a mask. “Yes, it's me. Or should I say, I'm the one you came in contact with in the Distillery District, and who pulled you from Granny Rags.” He extended a gloved hand. “My name is Connor. It is a, ah , pleasure to make your formal acquaintance.”

More whispers tickled at the back of his skull like a persistent itch, coming and going like flies flitting in and out his vision. He looked down at the Whaler’s-- at Connor's outstretched hand and then looked to his left arm, stuck in the sling as it was. Connor picked up on the cue; he switched hands and Corvo shook it tentatively.

“Connor,” he rasped out. “I don't know if I want to thank you, or kill you.”

To his surprise, Connor chuckled, and a measurement of warm amusement trickled over their tendril of a connection.

“You'd be surprised at how many people meet me and say that exact line.”

Despite himself, Corvo's lip twitched. He looked down to his arm; most of his chest was done up, wrapped tight, the wound under the bandages still very tender. Connor twitched, catching his attention.

“Ah, Lord Attano, I'd leave that be if I were you,” Connor explained. “Misha did his best, but that old hag ripped right at the place where your shoulder meets your chest. You're going to need some time to recover from that.”

Corvo squinted, not understanding. “I recovered from gunshots and dog bites and torture wounds just fine,” he growled out, his voice scratchy and pained. “Why is this any different?”

“Well you were wounded by another marked whale-wolf,” Connor explained as if it was the most obvious thing. “Her magic is in the wound. It will take longer to heal, even for a Marked individual ike yourself.”

“I see.” Corvo swung his legs over the bed he was laying on, righting himself and ignoring the protests his whole left side gave him. The room he was in was cluttered and not the cleanest-- he saw tables on one end where another Whaler dallied in their work and elixirs and assassin's blades alike sat waiting. The shirt and pants he wore were new, as well as dry. He frowned at Connor.

“Where are my belongings?” He growled out. “As much as I appreciate your hospitality, I cannot stay here.” He moved to get up.

Connor stood just as fast, blocking his path. Even while in a pained hunch, Corvo noted he was taller than the Whaler. His eyebrows shot up -- just how old was this assassin?

“I’m well aware of your mission, Lord Attano, but I'm afraid you cannot leave just yet --”

“If you know my mission but keep me here against my will, then you will understand why I cannot guarantee your survival should I attempt-- and succeed -- in an escape,” he snarled, body bristling. The other Whaler stiffened, suddenly attuned to the conversation. Connor stilled as well, as if struck by an unseen force.

“We can't let you leave yet,” he gasped out, as if the mere action of going against Corvo's wishes was having an effect on him. “Because our Master is on his way back, and he has Emily with him.”

Corvo stopped breathing. His brain stuttered. The buzzing of so many unwanted voices rattled in his head until it was impossible to concentrate. Through the haze Connor's soft reassurance tugged him back to reality, buoying him like a lifeline. When he next focused in the Whaler, he saw the mask tugged off and in its place was the young face, dirty blonde hair, and hard hazel eyes of Connor looking back at him.

“Emily? She's here?”

Connor nodded, his sweat-sheened face unwavering in its conviction.

“She will be soon.”

“And your master?” Corvo choked out. “He's--?”

Connor swallowed.

“Yes, he's Daud, sir.” Then, he fidgeted. “Come on. You probably have a lot of questions that will need tending to.”

------

“The Rudshore District wasn't always our base operations. We only moved in a few years ago, before the plague began and after the gangs had cleared most of the leftover belongings. Once the area was well and truly abandoned, it was perfect for our interests.”

Corvo followed Connor carefully down from the infirmary, his whole side flaring with every misstep. He grimaced through it and Connor was patient enough, doubling back and filling the air with chatter as Corvo followed.

“I guess it makes sense that the assassins weren’t always here,” Corvo mused as Connor helped him transverse a particularly flooded building. Corvo huffed in annoyance once they reached the other side. Blinking through space on his own was one thing; transversing space as someone else's luggage was another nauseating sensation altogether. “This would be a lot easier if I could just use my mark to do this myself,” he rumbled out.

“Comes with an attack from Granny; her magic doesn't mesh well with ours. It will be worse for you because your whole arm was near incapacitated. Give it a few days and you'll be able to call for the Void properly.”

“How do you know this?”

“Experience,” was the simple response. Corvo nodded, hating the weariness of his limbs and his own ineffectiveness. It made sense that the greatest threat to an Outsider's monster would be another, different Outsider monster, but another question remained.

“Granny Rags has different magic? Doesn't it come from the Void through the mark, in exactly the same way?”

Connor stiffened, looking uncertain. “I'm not really sure how it works, but I guess it would be like Daud's bond; not all of us get the same powers despite the same origin. The Mark affects different people in different ways. Even your powers are different to Daud's, though very similar.”

Corvo chewed that over silently, flexing the fingers of his left hand from where they sat in their bandaged sling. The pain inflicted from the witch lingered, and the Void fled from his hand as a response.

“So where are we going now?” He queried, after some time spent navigating the buildings and large open spaces. Now that it was midday, the rains had ceased, making travel marginally easier.

“To the Commerce building,” Connor said, waving his hand toward the looming structure. “My brother is there waiting on us, and it's likely where Daud will be once he gets back. His office is on the third floor.”

“And Daud will have Emily with him?” Corvo growled out.

“Yes, I am certain he would not return to Rudshore without her.”

“Why did he care so much to kidnap her in the first place?”

Connor looked back shiftily, unease coloring his young features.

“I wouldn't necessarily call it a kidnapping. Thomas and I got express consent from Emily first and we exposed our true nature to gain her trust. If anything, we saved her from a cruel fate, at great potential cost to our own well-being.”

“You picked her up?”

Connor blinked. “Yes, Thomas and I were asked specifically to go and collect her and bring her unharmed to Daud.”

“So do you know what Burrows originally planned for Emily?”

Connor shook his head, carefully ducking under a passageway. “It’s unclear, but Daud knew enough to be spurred into action and sent us to pull her out of the Tower.” Corvo followed after him, hissing as his arm flared, prompting Connor to send him a mental apology. Corvo shoved it away and Connor stilled, acquiesced.

“Sorry,” he muttered out when Corvo straightened up. “It's…you'll come to understand it's involuntary.”

“Will I?” Corvo said, more defensive in his comeback than he planned to be. Connor sighed nonetheless.

“That is the eventual hope, Lord Attano. Otherwise, well…” he shrugged. “Come on. Thomas is this way.”

They traveled the rest of the way in silence, or whatever silence was in a place like the Whaler base. The buzz remained at the back oh his skull, coming and going like catching snippets of conversation while moving through a crowd. More than once Corvo peered over his shoulder, suspiciously eying one of the lingering Whalers before Connor was tugging him along again. They eventually reached the Chamber of Commerce; a huge building left to rot, with Jessamine's likeness standing sentinel out front. The Heart lurched painfully in his pocket; unseen by the Whalers, it hadn't been removed from his person like the rest of his belongings. It was oddly sobered; when Corvo silently inquired, it responded simply:

“Daud's men. They are shrouded from my sight, their secrets too numerous to speak aloud.”

As they entered the building proper, a single Whaler stood in a training ring, pacing lightly, looking the perfect picture of constrained agitation. Connor made a motion for Corvo stay put before hailing his companion. The Whaler immediately turned to him, striding over stiffly.

“Connor, how is he? And why aren't you wearing your mask, you can't just walk around withou-” the other Whaler stopped dead, the glassy eyes of his mask finding Corvo. The Lord Protector frowned, shifting uneasily before crossing the threshold.

“Lord Attano,” Connor started. “Allow me to introduce you to my twin, Thomas. He can answer any questions you might still have, to the best of his ability.” Thomas bowed, extending a hand to shake, which Corvo obliged.

“You both saved me from that witch, correct?” His voice rasped out, and Thomas was quick to answer with a nod. Corvo's eyes narrowed on both of them.

“Why?”

Thomas tilted his head. He studied Corvo for a moment, his expressionless mask unmoving. Corvo frowned, unsure why this was a difficult question, until finally--

“You're in the hidden base of the Whalers, Daud's assassin group, the extended arm of the Knife of Dunwall. We are all trained killers, Lord Attano--” Corvo visibly bristled and Thomas quickly changed tune “--but you're our guest here; the end goal was always to try and get you into the Flooded District intact. We saved you because we needed you to trust that even among killers, you have nothing to fear. At Daud's behest, you are safe.”

Corvo gaped at him. Connor sighed, his chest heaving.

“You could have led with that, you know,” he muttered to his brother, his own face sneering. Thomas stiffened, mulling that over.

“Ah, yes, I see how that came off as threatening. I simply meant to assure the factual gravity that no one will kill you, not even Daud. Our mission is simply to return Emily safely to you. We've kept her safe until you arrived, as promised.”

Corvo blinked at him, suddenly feeling the ache in his shoulder even more than he when he woke up.

“‘As promised?’ By who? Are you doing this all because Emily asked you to?”

Thomas tilted his head.

“Well no. Mostly, it's because you demanded Daud to.”

Corvo stared at them.

“What?” Corvo growled out, uncomprehending. “I never demanded Daud to do anything of the sort, I should want the man dead, not be looking to him for babysitting favors!”

Thomas studied Corvo curiously. “And yet, you gave him valuable information on Emily's location less than 24 hours ago. This allowed Daud to rush out in time to save her from an untimely end at the hands of a power-hungry and manipulative witch.”

Corvo gaped, his face flushing from anger and embarrassment. The Whalers had been privy to that conversation, he realized. It wasn't a secret; perhaps nothing between Daud and his men ever was.

But him? Corvo? Demanding Daud to keep a promise regarding Emily’s safety?

“But that was just a day ago,” Corvo rasped out, voice breaking as he didn't deny the truth of Thomas's statement. “I never spoke to Daud to tell him to do anything with Emily, not while in Coldridge--”

The look Connor and Thomas exchanged stopped his explanation short.

“About a week after the Empress's assassination we were asked, without explanation, to pick up Emily Kaldwin,” Thomas told him. “At the time, Daud’s request sounded crazy; fool-hearted. Now, however, we know that he turned you, however accidental that was, and since that moment his and your minds have been linking together. This means any stray thoughts or strong emotion you felt, Daud may have felt as well.”

Corvo's head unpleasantly buzzed. He swallowed thickly, the Heart pounding out a stuttered rhythm in his pocket. He remembered those moments of phantom emotion, like he wasn't alone -- perhaps because, for a long time now, he hadn't been.

Connor and Thomas both shifted, watching him warily.

“Was there anything you were thinking about strongly, during those early days in Coldridge?”

Corvo breathed. They knew. They knew because they couldn't not know, with their thoughts linked to Daud. They were just waiting for Corvo to confirm it.

“Emily,” he choked out finally, his ruined throat catching on every word. “I was only thinking about getting back to Emily.”

Thomas nodded, clean and sharp.

“Exactly.”