I'm leaning against the stone bannister edging the Malfoy's back patio, swirling a small glass of brandy in one hand. Next to me is Antonin Dolohov – a rather robust, black-haired Death Eater with a zest for conversation regarding the comparison of curses I have never fucking heard of. On my other side is Narcissa Malfoy and Gaia Zabini. A few paces away, his conversation companions frequently flitting their eyes to me, stands Viktor – along with Lucius, McNair, and Rabastan Lestrange.

Dolohov was invited to join our interrogation once my affiliation with the American wizarding government was introduced. It's been over an hour and a half since we were originally held at wand-point, but somehow it feels more like ten.

I'm not certain why we are being kept several feet from each other. Having eyes on my date is slightly less stressful, but not being able to hear what the wizards all murmur to one another worries me. My professed affiliation with the FBI, and anti-muggle sympathies, indeed garnered the kind of attention from these sons of bitches I had hoped, but they're holding on to Viktor a little too tightly. Maybe to see if our stories match?

Well, they fucking will. Douchebags.

"So you came all the way out to Britain to see the Quidditch World Cup? It's a pity we didn't meet then," Gaia interrupts Dolohov's verbal thesis regarding the merits and drawbacks of something called the Fiddlyfungus Curse. Narcissa sips her champagne as she regards me with ice blue eyes set deep in her thin face. Where Gaia is fiery and seductive, Narcissa acts as her exact foil, distantly cool and collected.

I keep my expression slightly detached, almost bored, as I respond, "No offense," I gesture halfheartedly, "because I'm extremely stoked to be meeting you now, but there's no way we would have met back then. Your whole movement was-" I wince apologetically, "-a bit on the disorganized side, if you catch my drift." Narcissa smiles thinly, clearly affronted, but Dolohov nods almost understandingly.

"It is where I met Viktor, though," I add, trying to lighten the subject. "I originally met that awful teacher of his, Kakabreath, or whatever-," Gaia snorts, looking evilly delighted. "-so I gave him my card, I knew that he would be an amazing asset to any organization he chose to be a part of. I honestly was hoping to recruit him myself-"

"Lucky for us, you didn't," Narcissa's thin smile widens and turns a little gloating.

"Lucky for me," I insist, widening my eyes. I take another hearty sip of brandy and then continue, "Viktor told me all about your reemergence once your Dark Lord was resurrected, and I just knew I had to liaise with you all. You're on the verge of something truly world-altering. Absolutely brilliant stuff."

"On the verge?" Narcissa hisses, no longer pretending to hide her affront. "The Dark Lord is the most powerful wizard this world has ever seen, and if he so chose to cross the ocean, he would-"

"THAT-," I interrupt her, pointedly, "-is precisely my point, dear Cissa." A muscle in her jaw twitches, but the other two continue to regard me with interest. "The question," I continue lowly, "is not if. It is when."

Dolohov inhales through his teeth with unconcealed excitement, but Gaia chooses this moment to point out, more than a little accusingly, "My impression has always been that the Federal Bureau of Investigation is a muggle-run organization, part of American muggle domestic affairs." She raises a delicate black eyebrow, as though daring me to correct her. Instead, I smile sweetly, "You are intelligent as well as beautiful, Ms Zabini."

Abruptly, I sharpen my consideration of them, as though to illustrate an important point. "But it has always been the opinion of we American witches and wizards of a particular – ahem – mindset – that the most efficient and satisfying way to truly illustrate our dominance over the no-majs is by doing so in plain sight."

The three of them look intrigued, but confused. I ask innocently, "Your no-maj, pardon me – muggle Prime Minister – he is still a muggle, correct?" Dolohov's brow furrows as he catches my drift. "Baby steps," I whisper to him. He looks awed.

I take a dramatic pause before elaborating, feeling like a Shakespearean diva, "The most rewarding part of my job is recognizing that not only is the true master race holding nearly every position of power available within my country, but that the lesser beings actually elected us there."

I take another sip of brandy, having made my point. "B-but, I've visited the States," Gaia is regarding me with wide, disbelieving eyes, "I think I would have known-"

"I understand that subtlety isn't necessarily the vibe you all are going with here in the UK," I nod and shrug, "And I respect that, I really do. It must be loads more satisfying to just string them up or body-bind them at your parties for sport when they particularly annoy you."

Somewhere far to my left, closer to the main house, a set of party guests has begun beating and torturing one of the statue captives. The sounds of jeers and sparks of light from the various spells have been assailing my periphery vision. My inner demon is clawing at the left side of my body, struggling to break free of my control and launch itself in that direction with every ounce of firepower it can reach.

I keep my face collected, if politely interested, as I continue, "But I must be honest, there's something so delightfully fulfilling in exercising your power over them with not only their consent, but their cooperation." I force out a chuckle, "It's positively pathetic."

Narcissa is looking thoughtfully over towards the dance floor, gazing unseeing at her own soiree as she thinks over my words. Gaia is looking like she wants to strip my dress off of me with her teeth, which is interesting. Not sure what to do with that just yet.

Dolohov, though, frowns. "I see the appeal," he rumbles out, "I really do." His dark gaze shifts to regard the captive nearest us, the boy who looks to be my age. His sandy blonde hair is greasy with his sweat, and the freckles on his face and shoulders stand out sharply even in the dim light due to his fearful sheen.

Before I can even blink, Dolohov plucks his wand from inside the sleeve of his dress robes and points it at the boy. "Avada Kedavra!" he bellows, and the pale muggle crumples off of the pedestal from which he stood for god knows how long. He lands in a graceless heap, eyes open and mouth agape, upon a thorny rose bush.

I have no idea how I stayed silent. Yes, I have seen death. Yes, I have seen unjust acts committed in front of my eyes. But never in such a way that I felt so powerless to do anything. I choke back a keening, agonized wail which threatens to morph into a battle cry if I let it emerge from my chest.

"Well," Dolohov turns back to us women, grinning, "That answers that question about which method is more satisfying." Gaia giggles, and Narcissa grins into the rim of her champagne glass.

Fuck the plan. Fuck this stupid, inconsequential cover story. I'm gonna kill everything.

Before I can twitch, however, a salmon-puff hors d'oeuvre careens towards my mouth, stuffing its way between my lips. I chew it angrily, and a baked truffle mac n' cheese ball follows it shortly after – banging against the edge of my mouth until I eat it, too. Fuming, I flick my eyes to Viktor, who is clearly behind this appetizer assault. He is already watching me, his dark gaze sympathetic but hard.

I sigh internally. Externally, I turn my quickly-composed face to my conversation huddle and manage a small smile. "Oh dear," Gaia smirks at me knowingly, "I fear we've put our guest off her game. She may not be able to keep up with our play." Dolohov looks triumphant, while Narcissa looks coldly boastful. "You may be right," I tell them, as though admitting defeat, "It would seem my ideal for play fits a slightly different definition."

Gaia's pupils dilate visibly, and Dolohov smirks. "In fact," I murmur conspiratorially, "I was previously afraid to ask, but is there any chance you're selling some of these specimens?" My eyes flicker unbidden to the small girl captive, positioned across the patio.

Narcissa sighs, glancing around her immaculate gardens, "That was the original intention, but it would seem their purpose has devolved into no better than common party favors." Her nose wrinkles with dislike at anything from her party being described as common.

She is not wrong. Of the eight muggle prisoners I had counted when I arrived, only three now remain untouched on their original pedestals. My stomach gives a heave of pure, unadulterated loathing. "That is a shame," I answer carefully, "I was quite hoping to see if I could persuade Viktor to make an offer on that small one on the far side." I daintily point to the child in chains, as though picking out a set of curtains. "She would go very well with…others in my collection," I sip my brandy furtively.

Narcissa gives me a genuinely regretful smile, it would seem my mention of collecting human beings has finally softened her to me. "I'm afraid Misters McNair and Nott have thoroughly laid claim to that particular muggle," she leans over and pats my arm sympathetically, "I wish I would have known sooner, but they are quite fond of the-," she clears her throat delicately, "-young ones."

I give her my warmest smile, "Well, I'll just have to be quicker next time."

Her pointed face darts towards the back entrance of the manor, and her cold eyes narrow. "If you would excuse me," she murmurs, "it would seem my house elves are either blatantly incompetent, or willfully attempting to make a fool of me." Without further explanation she strides away at a brisk clip, her shoulders stiff with irritation. Gaia starts to follow her at a more leisurely stroll, but, a pace or two away, she turns to me over her graceful shoulder and purrs, "My dear Sjofn, would you quite mind if I call on you some time?"

Oh, shit. Does that mean on a date? Like, is that wizard-speak for Netflix-and-chill? Fuck, I don't know.

Deciding this bridge is best left unburnt, I smile a small, flattered smile. With an exaggerated sigh I joke, "If you must." Undeterred, she gives me a slow wink and continues gliding after her friend.

I let the weak smile linger for another moment before a singular, ringing alarm bell of a thought wipes it off my face.

Where is Viktor?

I stiffen, scanning the immediate area in front of me. He and his huddle are gone.

Where the fuck is Viktor?

Panic swells in my chest, choking me. Attempting a façade of unruffled curiosity, I turn in an almost complete 360, cataloguing each and every wizard I can see. None of them are my Bulgarian escort.

Ice chills my veins; something is wrong.

Deciding not to play dumb, I grit out between my teeth without looking at him, "Dolohov, where is my date?" The hulking wizard hasn't left my side with any excuses yet, I'm guessing he's meant to be my chaperone for the time being.

Dolohov likewise does not play dumb, "He'll be back soon, Miss Sjofn."

In less than a second, I've whipped my dumb-ass, redwood wand out of my glittering clutch and hold it poised in my fist. "Do not fuck with me," I hiss, facing him as though ready to duel. How could I have misread this so badly? Fuck. FUCK.

He does not draw his wand in return, but looks at me sidelong from an almost secret-service-esque position. His stance is shoulder-width, his hands clasped in front of him. "We answered every question you could think to ask," I remind him, bitingly, "Now you will answer mine. Where. Is. He?"

"He's in no danger," Dolohov begins, but abruptly stops on a chuckle, "No, I'm sorry, that's not precisely true. If your intentions are really what you both say they are, then he will be in no danger. Quite a lot of discomfort, pain even, but no danger."

My stomach drops to my feet. What in the hell is he talking about?

"Take me to him," I say, my tone hard, "This is an extremely fucked up way to commence what promised to be a favorable friendship." I allow the dark, oily cloud living inside of me access to my fingertips and arms, preventing it from fully changing me. My muscles vibrate with adrenaline and possibility, positively itching to launch themselves at the blundering Death Eater to break his neck. As I had hoped, the threatening power which now hovers just beneath my fingertips twinges his danger-instincts, making him take me more seriously.

"They should be about done," he frowns, looking me up and down with ill-disguised intrigue. "Why don't we meet them at the front door? You'll want to be getting him home."

I think about stabbing him in the eye with my useless fucking stick for one more millisecond before he begins his lumbering gait towards the back of the manor, where I had originally entered. Snarling under my breath I follow, my 'wand' still clutched in my fist at my side.

As we stride quickly down the length of the remaining festivities, the pedestal of the little girl catches my eye. It's empty.

Fuck.

Dolohov doesn't once glance to make sure I'm still behind him as he winds us back through the hallways leading to the front door. Upon reflection, I stash my useless stick back into my clutch and poise my hand above my ring's tag instead. As we pass the silent paintings lining the shiny, green-embossed walls, Dolohov murmurs something into the tip of his wand under his breath, waves it once, and a large, inky black ram billows forth like a shadow. It doesn't resemble a patronus in color, and I briefly wonder what kind of magic conjured it. It pays me no mind as it charges past, disappearing abruptly through the wall to my left, presumably to deliver Dolohov's message to its intended recipient.

My hand with Sirius' ring on the thumb spasms into a fist. My only method of communication; I'm woefully underprepared without Krum's magic.

Shit. Fuck. Balls.

Still moving swiftly, we emerge into the grand foyer of the house. The lights have been dimmed, giving every ounce of décor an even more sinister air. The black and white marble tiles practically beg for splashes of red blood – or so my pissed-off, violent instincts tell me. Dolohov makes to walk all the way to the mahogany front doors, their ornate brass handles glittering invitingly, beseeching me to make a run for it.

But I stop short, rooting myself. I've just opened my mouth to spit more venom at my worthless chaperone when a hidden door opens. Disguised as a particularly tall painting, located in the farthest corner of the space, it swings forward to reveal several indistinct figures standing within.

Two of the figures are hooded, wearing sweeping cloaks which drag several inches as they make their way across the expanse of floor which separates us. They're wearing what must be their Death Eater masks. One chalky white with grotesque red filigree, the other matching but graphite-colored, I nearly twist the tag on my ring right then and there.

A third figure, standing slightly separate from the other two, cloaked but unmasked, is Lucius Malfoy. His long blonde hair catches my attention, as does his smile. His smile is the only thing which gives me pause. It's not threatening, or predatory – it's excited. My confusion lasts only a millisecond before my mind finally registers that the two hooded Death Eaters are dragging a prone figure between them.

Seemingly unconscious, bruises beginning to blossom all along one side of his face and jaw, is Viktor. Alarm dominates my consciousness until I notice his eyes fluttering with signs of life.

Frozen to the spot, still extremely wary – not to mention face-meltingly furious – I pin Lucius with a glare. "This is how you treat your guests?" I spit at him, unable to rein in my fury, "Your Dark Lord receives pledges of support and abuses those sources of support in turn?" His smile falters only minutely, his eyes appraising me. I sneer, "What a fabulous discovery. I'll be sure to pass that expectation along to my colleagues across the pond."

"Calm yourself, dear Sjofn. We did nothing to Mister Krum that was not expressly permitted," Lucius' smile has calmed to self-satisfied sneer. My shock must show on my face, but as they come within spitting distance of where I stand, one of the masked Death Eaters pushes Krum towards me, propelling him the remaining three feet.

Instinctively, I open my arms to catch him and stumble backwards as his full weight crashes into my front. A pained groan is torn from his rapidly swelling lips, and I frantically amass all of my strength in order to keep us upright. Somehow, during my staggering, the front door was silently opened and we practically fall through it.

My balance regained, my stance braced, I hold Viktor the best that I can in the awkward manner that he had fallen into me. I flit my wide, frightened eyes back through the front door to where Lucius is standing. If they attack us right now, we're done for. Fuck, fuck, FUCK.

My heart is beating rapidly with fear and adrenaline, not at all comprehending what's going on. Lucius takes a step closer to the threshold and looks down on us with a coolly distant expression, "Make certain to stay with him," he tells me, lowly, "Our…inauguration method is not easily survived."

Chilly fingers creep across my breastbone as understanding dawns. I glance down at the broken wizard in my arms.

"Y-y-you...you didn't…," I whisper, horrified.

But Lucius ignores me, his cold, dead eyes still on Krum. "It is my dearest wish that you do survive," he states matter-of-factly, speaking to Viktor. "We will be in touch…brother."

On that note, the mahogany double-doors swing slowly shut, occluding me and my half-conscious escort in relative darkness.

"Fuck," I hiss.

I stand frozen for a handful of seconds, scared out of my brain. But a pathetic moan from the Bulgarian in my arms wakes me up. Shaking my head to clear the haze of fear and anger, I widen my stance in my unforgiving heels in order to rearrange Viktor's body weight. Hopefully, if anyone is watching, they'll think I was just too frightened to remember to use magic, because this is going to be rough.

Winding one arm around his tapered waist, I hold him firmly against my body as he struggles to help by holding any of his own weight. I wind his left arm around my shoulders, heaving my right shoulder beneath his armpit for more leverage. Leaning heavily into the bannister on my left, I stagger us down the stone steps one by one.

We stumble off of the final step, both gasping with exertion. Closing my eyes, I focus on the roiling power in my chest, allowing it access to my arms and legs. It helps a little, I feel steadier. But without transforming completely, the benefit is minimal.

We begin to shuffle along the pebbled drive, towards the guardhouse from which we entered. I'm breathing slowly through my nose to conserve my strength, and Viktor seems to be doing the same.

Still silent, we reach the cultured stone guardhouse. With a grunt, I push Victor to a leaning, slumped position against the tunnel wall. Hands on my knees, I try to stop the shivers of shock and rapid heartbeat betraying my previous terror.

"Sjofn…," Krum mumbles weakly from his slumped position against the wall, "Sjofn, I am so very sorry..."

He coughs, and a dribble of blood drags sluggishly from the corner of his mouth. There are abrasions and emerging bruises covering almost every ounce of flesh I can see. "No, Viktor," I sound choked, "No. I'm sorry. I never even saw…I never even noticed you had…" I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling overcome with guilt.

"It vos contrived so that you vouldn't," Krum spits out harshly, "They gave me no choice." Unsurprisingly, this does not make me feel better. "Ve must continue, Sjofn," Krum sounds exhausted, but his voice is hard with conviction, "Ve must get to the barrier, and attempt to apparate."

I nod, knowing that while we're still on the grounds we will be in danger. I start to straighten, and reach for him to resume our balancing act when his left sleeve catches my attention. It is completely soaked through with blood – dark blood, bad blood. I glance to my shoulder where I had had his arm slung previously and notice that I'm covered in it too. It's stained my hair and dripped down my dress front.

Quickly, I snag the wrist of his left arm and slip the sleeve up past his elbow. Viktor hisses in pain, and gives a start, but I hold him firm. Stark against his skin, red and weeping his lifeblood, is the dark mark tattoo.

"F-f-fuck…," my voice shakes, and becomes choked with tears, "V-viktor, oh g-god…"

"Ve. Must. Move, Sjofn." Krum bites out, impatiently. "I do not know how much longer until the effects of this dark magic vill overvhelm-" His body suddenly heaves, and he vomits violently. His blood seems to be weeping out from every source I can see – his mouth, his eyes, even his ears. Alarm has me scrabbling to secure my hold on him, my arm behind his back and his over my shoulder. We need to get the fuck out of here. We need help.

Shuffling through his blood and sick on the concrete, I move us as quickly as I can. We clear the guardhouse and start loping gracelessly through the dewy grass – the forest from which we can apparate about 600 meters away. Despite my haste, we move slowly, laboriously. The wards which had hindered our progress on our path towards the house are barely noticeable as we leave the grounds.

I struggle to keep us both upright, for with every few feet Viktor's command over his body lessens. He vomits twice more, and I notice more blood in each. He must have lost an extremely dangerous amount by now, and as though confirming my fear, about 200 meters from our goal, he collapses.

I stumble hard, breaking the heel of my shoe. Both of us sprawled on the ground, I struggle to stand back up, and I realize that the tears I've been holding at bay have finally broken through. I wipe my muddy hands on my muddy dress and stoop down to haul Viktor up to my chest from under his armpits.

I stagger, his weight overwhelming me. I gasp out tears of panic and despair, but resolve to drag him to the property line. Step by aching step, I torturously make progress, all the while silently begging the universe to keep Viktor alive long enough for help to come. With only a few feet left, I start crying out, "Padfoot, I need you. Padfoot, I'm in trouble. Padfoot, I need you. Padfoot, I'M IN FUCKING TROUBLE." I feel heat sear the ring around my thumb, illustrating its strobe-like changes from red to black.

With an wordless exclamation, highlighting the final vestiges of my strength, I heave Viktor's body over the line of the forest floor, finally off the grounds.

"FINNIE!" I hear the sweet sound of Sirius' low voice, husky with fear, as he crashes through the underbrush. I can't respond, I can only pant, still holding Krum's broken and bleeding form. Thank fuck I had been right about his ring being able to trace my location. Thank FUCK.

Sirius finally emerges in my line of sight, darting out from between the thick tree trunks. His muscled frame is tense with anxiety, his wand held tight in one hand. His handsome face stiffens with shock as he takes us in, still moving swiftly towards us. "Please," I rasp out, so relieved to see him I barely process how I must look – covered in mud, blood, and tears. "Please get us back; he's not strong enough."

Sirius says nothing, but practically barrels into me. In less than a second he heaves Viktor up by the waist, throwing him over one shoulder. I hear Krum inhale sharply, then cry out in pain. So fast he's a blur, Sirius darts a hand out and cups the back of my neck. Hauling me forward, I collide with his warm chest, and instinctively throw my arms around him. I clutch the back of his sweater as the air is sucked out of my lungs, and all three of our bodies bend and tighten, as though preparing to get stuffed into a tube. Just before my lungs start to ache with air deprivation, the world bounces back, righting itself.

I stumble, still clutching Sirius, who quickly maneuvers the three of us through the front door of Grimmauld Place.

"Shit!"

"Oh, sweet Circe, what happened?"

"Someone floo Madam Pomfrey, immediately."

A chorus of concerned voices shakes me from my relieved stupor. I detach myself from my long-haired, white knight, and turn to the room in time to see McGonagall and Kingsley have already relieved Sirius of Viktor's body. They float his bleeding form onto a table which Moody has just conjured, and I glimpse Molly shuffling from the room while intonating shrilly about hot water.

Arthur and Bill are suddenly in front of me, looking me over. "I'm fine," I tell them, "I'm not hurt." Just as quickly, they round away from me to join McGonagall and Kingsley in assessing Viktor's injuries.

As the wizards and witch twitter and raise their voices, chanting spells and binding wounds, Sirius lifts a wordless hand to my cheek. He's still standing just behind me, and I keep my eyes glued to the scene in front of us as he strokes downward once, from cheekbone to throat. I shiver, and Sirius crowds behind me even more closely. He takes his hand off of my skin, showing me the blood that had been stained there.

"It's not my blood," I whisper hoarsely, gazing at his outstretched hand, "It's his. It's Viktor's."

I feel Sirius release a deep breath which ruffles my hair, making me want to lean backwards into his warm strength. Just before I'm about to give in to the indulgence, I hear Moody begin to question Krum, his voice gentle, but insistent, "Madam Pomfrey is on her way, boy, just hold on. Tell us what happened, while you still can." Viktor's eyes flutter open, and he mumbles out, "S-Sjofn…"

"She's right here, lad. You did good, she's safe," Moody assures him, and I feel tears prick the backs of my eyes once more. "But tell us, what did they do? How did you get separated?" Moody fixes me with a sharp, accusatory glare with his non-magical eye.

"What's going on? What's happening? Remus just started getting very agitated-" Tonks emerges at the top of the staircase, but her words halt at the sight of Krum covered in blood. Her eyes flick once to me, and upon seeing me safe, she switches straight to auror-mode. "FRED," she bellows over her shoulder, "GEORGE! GET THE ESSENCE OF DITTANY AND BRING IT DOWNSTAIRS." She begins descending the steps two at a time, her gaze fixed on the Bulgarian wizard fighting for his life.

McGonagall has her eyes closed, and is hovering her wand over his body while humming some spell, when suddenly the wand tip gravitates unerringly towards Krum's left forearm. The sleeve of his dress robe has all but dissolved, and as she turns his wrist over she lets out a small shriek.

I close my eyes. It's too much. How could I have let this happen?

I hear the rumble of more steps hit the top of the stairs – Fred and George hurrying to be of assistance.

"They vanted her," I hear Viktor croak out weakly. The room goes silent as everyone stares transfixed at the Dark Mark staining his pale skin. "Ve vere too convincing, it vould seem. They vanted her to take the Mark, but I insisted it should be me."

With effort, he turns his dark head to find my eyes from where I stand, still near the door. "You vould not have survived this, Sjofn. Do not blame yourself. Ve vould not have left that place vithout one of us being branded-" He coughs, more blood gurgling in his throat. Luckily, abruptly emerging from around the corner, trailed my Mrs. Weasley, is a matronly-looking witch with grey hair and a medi-bag.

"Poppy," McGonagall greets briskly, "Viktor has been cursed with the Dark Mark. He is one of ours, we must make sure he survives."

Madam Pomfrey wastes no time in hauling Viktor onto one side, to clear his mouth and lungs. The other occupants in the room attempt to assist her by collaborating via their collective knowledge regarding Death-Eater magic. As their voices rise and fall, I stand numbly by.

Stupid, brave, Bulgarian fuckhead...

"Sirius," Tonks calls from the huddle, "Would you take Molly to your storeroom? Get the shit we need for blood-replenishing potion."

Sirius glides his fingertips along my back as he steps around me to comply. He still hasn't said a word. Based on how anti-Finnie-going-to-Malfoy-Manor he was, it may be just him holding his tongue.

As soon as Sirius is across the room, heading with Mrs. Weasley toward the kitchens, Moody appears at my side. Both of his eyes consider me, and his grizzled face betrays no emotion. "Well?" he growls softly.

The numbness in my core has begun to thaw, and is heating rapidly. I clench my fists and allow an intoxicating wave of fury wash over me, coating my mind and limbs until I'm practically vibrating with impatience. "Take me back," I grind out, through clenched teeth.

"Back where?" Moody asks, muttering so that we're not overheard.

"Back to Malfoy Manor," I respond, already turning and preparing to make for the door. I flick my eyes up to meet his as I hiss, "I think I may have noticed an opportunity."