A/N: I'm afraid we're going to have to ask our lovely readers for a bit of... suspension of disbelief from this point on. As you all know, the series Power Rangers: Time Force took place in the year 2001, but Supernatural is set years later than that... so, for the purposes of this story, these events are taking place in late-2007.

Chapter Seven

Clock Tower

12:38 PM

"Here it is!" Trip proclaimed, opening his arms to display the enormous clock tower that stood tall and looked out over the city. The Hunters gazes followed the line of his arms, surveying the building with interest, muttering quietly to one another; Jen brushed by them, still helping along Wes, who was growing weaker and weaker by the minute.

"Tell me there's an elevator in there," Dean sighed, wearily.

Lucas chuckled. "No such luck."

The eldest Winchester groaned audibly as he followed them into the tower, a duffel bag full of weapons slung over his shoulder; behind him, Sam, Buckshot and Celia climbed out of the Silverado, pausing a moment to check out the place for themselves. Above them, birds chattered loudly and palm trees swayed gently in the breeze, pasted against the blue, afternoon sky -- just like a still-life painting. The scenery was certainly different than the far-as-the-eye-could-see plains Celia was used to, and very unlike the many unique places Sam and Dean had visited on their travels.

Upon entering the building, their eyes took in a tiny room with a large counter-desk set up on the leftside, and a staircase toward the right leading up too far to see clearly; all the way to the right, work tools were hung on the wall and placed neatly on the floor -- brooms, mops, lawn mowers, and the like. An empty pizza box sat on the counter next to an open cash register, void of any money; there was a cream-colored, old telephone beside the register, and a stack of white papers with hastily scribbled writing on them. Dean scratched his head in confusion, while Sam glanced back at the door and read the words written there:

"Nick of Time Odd Jobs?" he inquired. His hand instinctively dropping down to pet the German Shepherd as Buckshot rubbed against his legs.

"Keeps the cash flow going," Katie said.

"Huh," Dean grunted, " ... so you guys, pay rent for this place?"

"No," Jen answered as she took on the overwhelming stairs, "Wes' dad owns the building."

Celia blinked, then exchanged glances with the boys. Dean was the only one who voiced his thoughts: "Rich kid, huh?"

Wes snorted, a vague smile briefly appearing on his face. "Not anymore."

The long trek upstairs seemed to take forever, but after only five minutes or so, they reached the top and Trip excitedly showed the Hunters their living area; there was an old TV with a beat-up couch facing it, a picnic table cluttered with leftover food and some books, a loft above was set up with mattresses on the floor. A point of interest for Sam was the metal cabinet that had three different locks placed on it, he walked over, curiosity painting his face.

"That's where we keep the ones we capture," Trip supplied.

"Who are you Hunting... gremlins?" Dean chuckled at his own joke.

"Ransik escaped from our time," Jen explained, "using a prison ship. The prison contained hundreds of mutants stored in cryogenic containment. He releases them and sends them into the city whenever he wants to."

"Cryo--?" Dean trailed off, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion.

"The mutants are shrunk down to about twelve inches in height," Jen said, "and stored that way for whatever length of time they were sentenced to. Ransik was supposed to be away for life."

"What happened?" Sam questioned.

Jen sat down at the picnic table, rummaging through a First Aid Kit, for a second Sam thought she was going to ignore him, but she spoke, her voice quiet: "He escaped." Without another word, she pulled down the sleeve to Wes' button-down red shirt, lightly swabbed the wound with alcohol and placed a bandage securely on his battered shoulder; he winced, a tiny whimper escaping from between his lips before he suppressed it.

"That looks like it might need stitches," Sam offered, going to the two and inspecting the jagged wound carefully.

Jen sighed and leaned in to look at the injury again, this time she gently pulled away the skin, bringing another gasp from Wes; at her look, he shut his mouth, pressing his lips together firmly. But she reached up and placed her hand on the arm he had rested on the table, squeezing it gently in comfort before returning to her work.

"It should heal on it's own," she said.

"What happened!?" A mechanical voice chirped loudly. Dean's head whipped around and he lurched back and out of the way, Sam having to do the same when a blue and silver owl swept passed them to land on the table next to Trip. The owl blinked large mechanical eyes and flapped it's stiff wings.

Buckshot's ears pinned back hard and his lips curled back. His hackles rose and the snarl the rippled from the dog's throat was borderline hatred over warning. Sam's hand wrapped tightly around the dog's collar and tugged him back.

"What the Hell is that?" Dean asked coolly, his eyes locked on the robotic bird.

"This is Circuit!" Trip beamed, clearly proud. "I built him!"

"You do know you can buy a toy like that at Target right?" Dean grumbled.

"I'm not a toy!" Circuit chattered, swiveling his head around to look at Dean.

"Sorry. You look like a Furbie to me." Dean shrugged his shoulders and looked towards the silent Celia, their eyes met but she seemed to look right through him.

"And who are you?" Circuit chirped.

"I'm Sam and that's Dean and Red over there, and Buckshot." Sam gave the dog a little jerk by the collar, Sam's blue eyes were flashing with curiosity. He looked towards Trip. "He has a form of intelligence, is it artificial or can he actually learn?"

"So before you geeks start talking 'bout comic cons-" Dean rolled his eyes at his brother, "-You guys are... Power Rangers?" Dean was speaking to Lucas, who eyed him still rather suspiciously.

"Yes," the Blue Ranger said, simply.

"Huh... Sam never believed me when I said you guys existed." Again, Dean laughed. He shot a glance over at Sam, who was watching him and rolling his eyes. "And," he continued, " ... you really wear spandex?"

Lucas glared at him, speaking volumes without saying a word; Trip once again spoke up for the entire team: "They're not just 'spandex'. It's like armor... our suits protect us."

"Armor? You mean like... bullet-proof?" Dean asked, his eyes widening slightly.

"Bullets will hurt us," Trip said, "but not like if we weren't morphed... depending on the caliber, and the range, the bullet might not even pierce our skin."

Dean whistled in admiration, and even Celia looked impressed, but there was obviously something weighing heavily on her mind; she looked around the tower, pausing at the giant bell that hung overhead rather precariously, then again at the multiple bright orange boxes that were just as heavily locked as the cabinet. Letting out a long breath and leaning against a wall, she grumbled, the first time she spoke since walking on the property; then turned her attention to Dean, speaking what had clearly been on her mind. "How the hell did he know 'bout Eli?"

"Who... Eric?" Jen asked.

"Who's Eric?" Celia asked a little harshly.

"That guy that flipped you, asked about a Marine... Elijah Greer," Jen informed.

"His name's Eric Myers, he's the leader of the Silver Guardians," Wes said, rubbing his shoulder gingerly.

"Is Elijah Greer really your brother?" Trip asked.

"Yeah, he is," Celia said absently.

"He must have looked up the license on the truck." Dean shrugged. "Why else would he ask about it?"

"He seemed pissed as Hell, askin' if I killed Eli."

"Maybe he knew him," Wes put in. "Your brother's a Marine?"

Celia narrowed her eyes, clearly unhappy about the idea of sharing more information about her family. "He is."

"Eric was in the Marine Corps... he went in right after school. I kept track of him a little after he disappeared," Wes explained at the looks from his friends. "He did a couple tours overseas. Iraq."

"Damnit, he must've met him," Celia snapped. "Ya know Eli, all he has to do it look at ya and ya'd die for him. No wonder the kid freaked." Celia pushed herself off the wall and started for the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Trip asked, hopping up out of his seat, ready to follow.

"I'm goin' to fetch the kid. I don't feel good about him on his own with his scent floatin' all over the place. Valentine's good, but he's still just a dog."

"You don't even know where he lives," Lucas said, calmly.

"I'll track him."

"He doesn't want your help," Jen said, looking over her shoulder toward the other woman.

"Doesn't matter!" Celia called back as she disappeared down the stairs. The Rangers looked toward Dean and Sam.

"Semper Fi," Dean said calmly. "The three of us never enlisted but our dads and her brother, all Marines. We were raised like 'em. Plus he's got her dog... "

Happy Teeth Toothpaste Offices

1:43 PM

Ransik leaned against the desk, more observing than conducting over the vampire pack. Outside there was the odd rumble and the chatter of rain, the storm had come back in. Dominique had fallen into silence, leaning against a far wall while Dante held court, his twin's casual speech sometimes drifting into insane babblings.

The mutant leader seemed unshaken but his daughter, Nadira, seemed to be growing paler and more sickly as Dante described in detail what happened to every single Hunter that the pack had encountered, right down to the finer details of Gordon Walker's life as a vampire specialized Hunter, before Dixon himself turned him. And how Ol' Sammy Winchester killed the son of a bitch with his hands and a piece of steel cording. Dominique was half waiting for Nadira to vomit, but she swallowed and held herself together, he had to admit that the mutant had a strong stomach.

Dominique's silence snapped suddenly.

"Which of them put up the most fight?" he asked, tonelessly.

The pack went silent and turned their attention toward Dominique.

"Of the Hunters?" Peter asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"We've gone through that before with Walker... vamped Hunters just end up dead," Dominique said, "Fallen on the knives of other Hunters."

"That first male," Dixon snorted, "... the bigger one, Eric, I think they called him."

"And that brunette bitch can scrap," Dante sniffed.

Dominique nodded his head slowly, the rest of the pack waited, tense for command.

"Something in mind, Dominique?" Ransik tisked with a twisted grin.

"I want them for the pack." Dominique growled.

The smile slipped from Ransik's lips.

"What?" Nadira asked, quietly.

"Bring them in... I'll turn them. Kill the rest," Dominique commanded. The pack rose as one and walked out of the room, Dante snagging a black T-shirt and pulled it over his head as he went.

"What are you doing?" Ransik snapped.

"I want my seven back," Dominique replied, coolly.

. . .

Residence of Eric Myers

1:56 PM

Eric waited for a second, sucking in shallow breaths to try and control the ache that burned just below his skin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd fought like that, taken a beating like that. The sharp, throbbing pain racing over his ribs, stomach and especially around his eyes and damaged throat refused to ease, no matter how many aspirins he downed. Everything -- even his teeth -- hurt. He swallowed, flinching in pain.

And he still hadn't figured out that bitch... or her friends.

His eyes turned down at the soft whine that drifted up from the white German Shepherd standing at his hip,

he hadn't noticed the dog 'til after ignoring offers from fellow Silver Guardians and paramedics for help and hauling open the door to his SUV. The animal had almost knocked him over vaulting over the driver's seat and sat in the passenger spot.

Eric had barely controlled his surprise and anger. Still holding to his tortured torso he tried to order the dog out, coax him out, even reached to pull him physically out. Almost getting his hand bitten was enough for Eric to grudgingly get into the drivers seat, call in to clock out of his shift and head home. He even did the dog a favor and rolled down the window. Now the dog was standing patiently at his side in his kitchen, listening and watching with an intensity that gave Eric a mild case of the creeps. The way the dog moved, acted and reacted gave the impression of deep intelligence, he was too smart for Eric's taste.

That didn't change the ball of gratefulness that was settled in his stomach. The dog had literally saved his life and in the aftermath stayed with him.

"Hang on, buddy," Eric croaked, his voice damaged by Dixon's grip. He hoped it wasn't permanent. To him it sounded like he was speaking with a throat full of gravel: Hoarse, almost whispered and in cracked and broken speech. And it hurt like hell.

The white dog eased down to sit on the tile and waited quietly, he finished filling the large plastic bowl and putting it on the floor; the dog arched his neck and took a few laps of water before licking his lips and looking back to Eric. The man carefully eased himself down, flinching in pain until his legs were crossed and he got the chance to breathe a little easier; thankfully he had traded out the Silver Guardians uniform for a loose pair of jeans and a large T-shirt, the lighter clothes and looser fit eased the few ounces of extra weight that made all the difference. He rested for a second before reaching up to the counter top and drawing down a small towel.

"Alright, come here," Eric coaxed. The dog rose to his feet stepped over and sat back down again within Eric's easy reach. "Gotta get cleaned up."

The dog sat still while Eric dipped the cloth into the water, soaking it, then leaned forward and carefully started to wash out the dog's snow white fur. The German Shepherd's coat was streaked with pink and red, especially around his jaws and muzzle. Blood left on him from mauling that... thing.

"You did a good job out there, pal," Eric rasped quietly, focusing on putting the white shine back in the dog's fur. "Hell of a job."

The dog let out a soft wuffle of noise.

"What's your name anyway... " Eric hesitated and reached for the two collars around the dog's throat, he surpassed the metal links of the prong collar and went for the thick leather band. He twisted it around in his hands, looking for some defining mark. Instead of a set of tags there was a small silver plate screwed into the leather with a single word engraved into the surface.

"Valentine, huh?" Eric said softly and went back to washing the blood out. "Not bad. Bet you're with those guys, huh? The redhead and her buddies?"

Valentine shifted, licked his lips and thumped his tail. He liked the soft tones of Eric's voice.

"What you'd run off for then?" Eric scrubbed the blood out of his throat fur and worked toward his front paws. Valentine lifted a large paw and scratched at Eric's knee and whined. He couldn't help but smile and reach to scratch Valentine's chest.

The dog suddenly went still and cocked his ears toward the door.

"What is it, Valentine?" Eric asked, turning to look toward his door.

Eric glanced up when the sound of knuckles rattled across the wood of the front door. He twitched and stared at the door, not remembering the last time he'd gotten a visitor. It sent a prickle up his spine and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, he tensed up and carefully pushed himself to his feet, stalked forward, twisted the knob and pulled the door open.

He jumped inwardly and out, caught completely off-guard, then hardened, he practically bared his teeth at the redhead standing in the doorway, rain falling down behind her. Her clothes had changed, clean jeans, tee shirt and an unbuttoned flannel shirt of red and black plaid... a black Stetson hat was perched on her head.

"Hey, kid. How's tricks?" She flashed him a casual smile and shoved her way passed him into his home even as Eric reacted to the term 'kid' with an angry snarl. Valentine barked happily and rushed up, wagging his tail and rubbing himself against her legs. "Hey Val. Go wait in the truck." The albino barked, brushing against Eric's legs as he galloped out the door and out of sight. Eric's teeth ground unhappily.

"What the hell do you want!? Get out!" He spat.

"Nice place," She ignored him and scanned the room. She seemed to be soaking in every detail from the center of the room.

"Get out," Eric snapped again, his grip in the knob so tight his hand was almost white.

"Bachin' it right? Good job on the theme it's very... " she said, continuing to ignore him. She reached for a small book about criminal law, lifting it off the coffee table and looking at it and the rest of the décor of the room. "…driven. Driven is a good word." She tossed he book back onto the table top.

"Leave!" Eric snapped violently, his throat protesting in pain.

"... could be law enforcement material. Thing is would ya pass the psych eval?" She stepped casually passed him into the kitchen. He had enough. He jumped in front of her, blocking her path.

"Leave. Now."

She cocked an eyebrow at him then stepped around him so smoothly he practically missed the movement, he twisted in time to watch her pull open his refrigerator and stand back to look at it for a few a seconds before swinging it shut again.

"Ya eat like a rabbit, kid," Celia sighed.

Eric grit his teeth. "It's healthy. What do you want?" he growled, figuring that he wasn't going to get her to leave unless it was by force. She shrugged one shoulder and started toward the back rooms, she froze at the soft sound of feathers ruffling and a chirp. Eric tensed so tightly he almost bit through his cheek.

Celia twisted all her attention toward the small metal cage sitting on its stand in the corner of the living room, she moved toward the cage, her blood colored eyes flashing in interest. "These boys yers?" she asked and bent to look into the cage a little better.

"Yes," Eric said, flatly.

Celia let out a soft whistle, the finches returned it. Her smile widened. "How sweet." She turned to look over her shoulder at him and rolled her eyes at his face. "Look, kid," she grumbled, standing to her full height, rolling her shoulders back and stuffing her hands into her pockets. "There's trouble comin'--"

"I can handle myself," Eric said, cutting her off.

"No, ya can't. Ya might be the chief of some pricey corporation's personal security thing but it's still Wackenhut. And these ain't some punk kids in the local mall. These are animals. Monsters--"

"I've handled monsters before."

"Not like this!" Celia said sharply, her control snapping and her red eyes flooding black for a moment. She took a deep breath, red settling back into place before she spoke again. "These things... this is not a loner sport and I swear to God I'll tell ya everythin', but ya have got to trust me."

Eric snorted. "Trust? 'Cuz I have every reason to trust you."

"They got yer scent, Eric."

All his attention snapped to her at the use of his name... the statement sank in and he shivered involuntarily at the idea that was behind those few short words.

"They don't never forget a scent. They will hunt ya down, destroy everythin' ya have and butcher ya like an animal. I'm just askin' ya grab a couple things and ya wait it out a couple days at the Clock Tower--"

"I'm not going there," Eric said, quickly. "You can forget it."

"Fine. Ya can crash in the room me and the boys got, we won't be sleepin' much anyway. Soon as the packs dead you get yer life back. Three days tops."

"Pack of what?"

Celia swallowed thickly and shook her head. "I'll tell ya in the truck. It's either crash with us or... " She looked him over; the kid was clearly unafraid of death, that was one threat that wasn't going to budge him. "... or I crash with ya."

"What?"

"Ya get yerself yer own personal Hunter houseguest." Celia smiled at the clear distress on his face. "I'll eat yer food, and use yer shower and scratch yer DVDs--" she looked toward the couch and TV set, amending her statement: "Or... ruin your videos."

"No."

Celia paused and waited. Eric's eyes boiled with hatred. He was sure that he would be able to handle himself, but he didn't have a clue what he was fighting. And she promised to tell him everything. Still... he couldn't just trust some random chick off the street. Especially one who was driving a truck that didn't belong to her.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, firmly.

Celia sighed impatiently. "Well then... I'm staying here."

"The Hell you are!" Eric came toward her quickly. He slammed his fist against the wall behind her, his arm inches from her face. "You either get out of my house, or I call the cops right now... unless you can give me a reason to believe a word out of your mouth."

Celia's eyes flicked down his arm then back to his face, narrowed at the threat if only the kid had the slightest idea the kind of threats she'd gotten in the past. She crossed her arms protectively, then spoke, her voice hard: "What if I can prove to ya' that I'm Elijah Greer's sister?"

"That might help you."

"Ugh... fine." She reached into her back pocket and retrieved a tattered, leather wallet. She flipped through it for a second before finding what she was looking for and producing a tiny picture and holding it out to Eric, who took it and held it in front of his face. The picture showed Elijah Greer, just the way he remembered him, only in blue jeans and a flannel shirt, standing next to Celia with his arm draped around her shoulders, hugging her close with a grin on his face. They were in a field somewhere, miles and miles of brown land stretching out behind them, a buckskin horse at Celia's side.

"That was taken 'fore he shipped out…" Celia muttered, " ...on the deployment he's on right now."

"Where's he at?"

"Where do ya' think?" She snarled, a nerve clearly struck.

Eric glared at her and handed the picture back. "So... you're his sister."

"That's right." She folded her wallet back up and stuffed it into her pocket. "Convinced?"

"I'm convinced you know the guy," Eric said, "That doesn't mean much though. I still don't know who you are."

"Name's Celia... Celia Northwind." His eyebrows shot up, prodding her on. "I'm here to Hunt down those bastards that kicked yer ass this mornin'. An' I know ya don't have a reason to trust me-- or believe anythin' I say --but I don't really care. Yer in a Hell of a lot o' danger here, an' I ain't leavin' ya' alone."

He could tell that she was serious about it, and he had to admit he didn't really want to call the cops on her... didn't really have much of a case anyway, not if her story about being Elijah's sister was true and they could get in contact with him. Besides, there was always that chance she was telling the truth.

"Fine," he said finally, and grudgingly stomped to his bedroom. He could feel the redhead's victorious smile and eyes on his back as he went about digging out an old duffel bag and stuffing a few things into it; a pair of jeans, a few shirts but mostly weapons from his personal collection and ammunition. He wasn't going to play around with laser guns and rubber bullets.

Muttering to himself he stalked back out of his room and nearly jumped out of his skin as he was shoved roughly back against the wall, a hand planted firmly over his mouth and nose. His first instinct to bite down was halted when he met Celia's blood-colored eyes, she gave her head the barest shake and Eric went rigid, pressing himself closer to the wall as Celia leaned her weight toward him. She seemed to be holding her breath so he did the same.

His eyes snapped toward the hall and his living room when there was a soft thump followed by a tinkle of glass breaking. There were low animalistic growls and the sound of more movements and louder, more reckless tossing of his furniture and fixtures. More breaking glass and curses starting to bounce around the walls.

Celia's hand put pressure against his mouth and his hip where she pinned him down, Eric's attention turned back to her, Celia nodded toward the other end of the hall and released him. He resented the idea of leaving his home open to intruders and moved to go after whoever was in his house, his resolve to confront them broke when Celia reached back and sharply grabbed his arm and yanked him after her, leaving his duffel behind. Eric filled his chest silently with air again before holding his breath, and followed on Celia's heels. They maneuvered as silently as they could down the hall, into his "study". Eric's teeth ground together, his carefully put-together work room had been destroyed in the matter of seconds. Papers and shredded fabric all over the place, furniture tipped over. How the hell had he missed the sound of his computer being ripped in half?

Celia led the way through the shattered glass of the sliding doors and into the backyard, she hesitated only a second to make sure Eric was still with her. He read her intentions and they raced at the fence at the same time, lunging up, grabbing the top and hauling themselves up and over together. They hit the dirt of the neighbors yard. Eric quickly checked around for Alice-- the little girl who lived next door and had befriended him --but thankfully the rain kept everyone inside while he and Celia were getting soaked in a hurry. She didn't stop, leading him forward to scale the other fence into one more yard, then they slipped through the gate onto the front lawns of Eric's street.

Eric ducked his head against the rain and followed the redhead step for step, she jogged further down the street, her pace slowing considerably to almost a walk. Eric dropped down to walk beside her, his entire body tensed from the near-confrontation, his cheeks aflame with embarrassment for having run away from it. Celia still didn't speak to him or seem to be breathing much as they swiftly crossed the street to the parked Silverado where Valentine was curled up under the truck's belly, waiting to be rescued from the rain. Then Celia broke into a fit of coughing, slipping the keys out of her pocket and unlocking the truck automatically; Eric, seething, forced himself to climb into the passenger seat and yanked the door shut with sheer violence. He controlled his voice until Valentine had climbed into the backseat and Celia's door was shut, then he let out an almost strangled shout.

"I ran from those things!"

"Kid, trust me... standin' there and gettin' gutted wasn't the best idea," Celia muttered. "It's no big, I've retreated plenty of times, ya just come back stronger and better prepared."

"I don't run," Eric snarled.

She cast her eyes toward him. "And yer still alive?"

Eric glared at her, baring his teeth slightly.

"Whatever, get yer seatbelt on and hold out yer hands." She started fidgeting with the buttons of her shirt pockets.

"Why?" Eric demanded, his eyes still locked on his house.

"'Cause I got yer birds in my pocket."

Eric's head snapped around so hard his vision spun. "What?"

Celia looked apologetic. "Well, short notice, ya got to make due." She extracted the first of the two finches from one flannel pocket, carefully cupping it in her hands. The frightened bird let out a small squeak. Eric instantly reached for the animal, expressing all his care in taking the finch and cradling it in his hands.

His heart thumped wildly, feeling the little heart beating against his palms. He'd all but forgotten the birds in his retreat. Relief flushed through his systems. He looked at Celia expectantly and hopefully as she gingerly eased the other bird free from her pocket and gently passed it into Eric's hands with its cage mate. Terrified and shivering, but alive and whole.

"Nothin' worse than a few bent feathers and scared to death," Celia sighed settling into her seat and cranked the engine of the truck to life. She didn't wait for another second before pulling away from the curb and getting away from the neighborhood as swiftly as possible, not so much obeying traffic laws as just trying to avoid getting pulled over or hitting another motorist. "I wouldn't leave 'em there to get eaten... or worse... " She shivered a little. "... So where's the nearest pet store?"

"Why?" Eric asked, quietly.

"Well, ya can't sit there holdin' 'em all day... plus I need some dog food."

Valentine barked from the back seat.

"About five miles away there's a PetSmart. North."

"That'll work. Call me Red by the way."

"Eric."

"That's what I heard." She steered the truck northward and leaned forward to turn on the radio, switching the station from a classic rock to a quiet country station. Eric listened for a second before his eyes locked on his cupped hands, cradled against his stomach; the finches glared up at him with wide, terrified eyes, as if accusing him of some wrong-doing. He smirked, gently running his thumb down the back of one of them. He'd bought the birds when he was fresh out of the military and lonely, animals were something a man could count on, unlike anything else... he looked over at Celia, who kept her eyes on the road. Never one to not acknowledge things, he found his voice:

"Thanks," he said, softly.

TBC