Ash waited outside their room, glancing out the window at the rapidly setting sun. The Presentation Ball was supposed to be taking place that night; Chioni had told them to be there by sunset. Sunset, at the latest. It was already sunset, and he was nowhere near the ballroom.

  But he didn’t want to show up alone. Chioni would probably be waiting there, but wouldn’t it be better if he made sure Zeid got there relatively on time, too? He didn’t know if any of his thoughts were making sense. Worse-case scenarios were flitting through his head. He had expected to be nervous — but instead, some sort of cold, heavy dread had settled as a pit in his stomach.

  A brief, fantastical thought entered his mind. For a moment, he almost let himself believe that, maybe, she’d be there. At the ball. His father was still out on his trip to Synoro. But maybe, just maybe, she’d heard about it — about the fact that he’d been claimed by the Change Stone, and . . . and what? And she’d be proud enough to come see him? After eight years? How would she even be let in?

  All his speculations over the years came rushing back in his head — where she was, what she was doing, why she’d left to begin with. What he could do to bring her back. What he could’ve done to convince her to stay.

  The door opened, and Zeid stepped out. His slightly oversized shirt was untucked and rumpled up with the position of his hands in his pockets. A black watch gleamed on his wrist — Ash’s wrist felt kind of itchy just looking at it, so he stopped looking at it.

  “Ready?” he asked. He glanced back out the window. “Great, we’re running kind of late . . . the princess said to be there by sundown, and the sun’s already . . . down . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, then realized too late that he’d messed up his bangs again after combing them neat for the fifth time. Then he realized Zeid’s tie was noticeably untied. That . . . is that a look? Is that purposeful? I mean, if it is, he pulls it off pretty well . . . but aren’t ties supposed to be tied? Isn’t that the point? “Er, Zeid — your tie.”

  “Sorry, I have literally no idea how this works,” Zeid said, shrugging.

  He paced around a few steps, mulling over this dilemma. Chioni’s waiting — don’t keep her waiting — agh, don’t make it weird — just tie it, quickly, and move on. He shoved away his thoughts and stopped in front of his roommate to tie the tie for him, and tried not to die internally as he realized his hands were shaking. Stop, he ordered them. His hands did not obey. He tugged on the tie twice after he was done, partly due to habit and partly due to superstition, and hastily backed away. “Okay. Okay. Ah — sorry if that was weird. I should have — never mind, let’s — let’s go.”

  Zeid didn’t seem affected much by it. “How do you learn these things?” was all he asked, as they went down the corridor. “Does everyone get this stuff . . . zapped into their brains or something?”

  “Uh — my dad taught me,” Ash responded. For the last Heritage Meeting. Three years ago.

  “. . . Ah. Makes sense.”

  “. . . Do you know where Asimi is?” he asked. An entire month, and he hadn’t seen her step foot in the room they were meant to share.

  “Only Asimi knows where Asimi is.”

  He did a weird, small, awkward laugh before he cleared his throat and looked back at the floor. “Fair enough.”

  “There they are,” Zeid said as they entered the Portrait Hall. He waved at Asimi.

  Chioni stood further down the hall, her bracelets still glinting on her arms. Her dress was a shade of deep blue, with a high collar and a skirt sporting swirls of silver embroidery. She looked different from the way she’d seemed yesterday, sitting on the balcony and eating a tomato, complaining about the event. Now, she was poised as a princess. But she glanced at Ash, and then to the window, silently reminding him of the position of the six moons outside, and he saw his friend still there.

  He wished it made him feel better.

  For some reason, it just made him feel worse.

  “Heyoo,” Asimi called. “Ready to party?”

  No, his mind went, immediately, but it was far too late to escape.

  ?????

  The ball was worth it for the food alone. Asimi stuffed her face with cream puffs and chocolate croissants and pineapple bread. The only downside was the people. They kept flitting over to her, moths to a flame. Very stupid moths to a very open flame.

  She knew the look in their eyes; she’d seen it before. The twisted curiosity of watching a bar brawl, or a train crash. The judgement, the disgust, and that horrific inability to look away. They looked at her like a disaster, like a mystery. How in the world had Ftero’s stone chosen a criminal off the streets, the daughter of a murderer?

  She smiled and laughed with them, entertained them, discussed museums in Exedra and dances in Fidi. She’d play the well-adjusted socialite if only to watch them struggle to mask their shock. More than once, she was given the compliment of being ‘surprisingly articulate’.

  Just wait, she thought, biting back a thousand sardonic remarks. Just wait until you need me to save your precious kingdom. She found herself glancing over again, the princess’ talk of duty and loyalty and whatnot ringing in her head.

  The princess looked over at her and looked away again, fingers pressed against the blue stone at her wrist. Her face was flushed red. She still had that angry look — Asimi supposed it was her normal expression.

  Kingdoms and ruins, Asimi thought. Didn’t expect our prim proper princess to be drinking so soon.

  “The legacy jewels offer such unique opportunities,” the man in front of her laughed. She’d forgotten his name already — hadn’t cared enough to listen. “You must be grateful for this chance to turn your life around.”

  “Yes, so extremely grateful,” she gushed. “I can finally live an honest life full of piety and service.”

  He nodded solemnly, completely missing the sarcasm. “I was worried, when I heard,” he confided in her. “Aconite’s daughter — I thought, ‘surely this is a mistake’. An illusion of sorts, you know. Such a prestigious role . . . But you seem very fit to serve it. And our princess is still alive, so you must bear no ill will. The two of you must work well together — Ftero and Statheros were good friends in life.”

  “All the Founders were close, no?” she questioned. “All four were tightly knit together. Statheros in his letters to his sister constantly praised Gennaios’ courage and Resta’s kindness.”

  “Oh, I’m certain,” he agreed readily. “I have no worries about the other holders.”

  “Just about me?” she asked. “I’m so special.”

  He laughed. “Your situation certainly is.”

  She sighed, bored already. If he mentioned Aconite again, she might lose it and snap his neck or something. That would be so annoying to clean up. She glanced back at the princess, wondering if she could gibe her into a fight, and found her stepping away from the crowd. As she watched, the princess pushed open a glass door leading to the grassy slopes around the gardens, and disappeared into the dark.

  The man was still chattering. She gave him her best stage smile. “My sincerest apologies, but this cake isn’t agreeing with me,” she told him. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be taking my leave. It was such a pleasure meeting you.”

  “Of course, of course,” he said.

  She curtsied. He bowed. Then she headed for the glass doors, biting back a laugh as the man reached in his pocket. He felt around for his pocket watch, and drew his hand out holding a red onion instead. She slipped through the doors as he blustered with surprise.

  ?????

  Chioni sat on the stone steps leading out of the ballroom, grass brushing against her ankles. She pried her slippers off one by one and tossed them down the slope, sorely missing her boots. She should’ve found a pair of dress shoes instead. She held her elbows, looking out at the empty field. The sky above was covered in a swarm of grey clouds, blotting out the stars. If the moons weren’t a bad enough sign, this was disastrous. A storm? Statheros might as well show up in person and tell her the kingdom was doomed under her reign.

  The door opened behind her. She suppressed a groan and waited for the lecture. She’d fetch her slippers and return to the fray — she’d only wanted a moment, but that itself was an admission of weakness. Her advisor was right, as he always was. She was shirking from her duties.

  “They’re afraid the queen’s death has destroyed you.”

  They’re wrong.

  “Escaping your own party?”

  Her head snapped up.

  This was worse. This was much worse. She could feel the blood rushing to her face again.

  Asimi Dilitirio stood, leaning down to face her, hands propped on her knees. That choppy skirt of hers glittered, a thousand stars stitched to black fabric. She plopped down with an exaggerated sigh and began undoing the straps of her heels.

  She’d been following Chioni around the entire night, like a strange phantom. At first, Chioni had been almost relieved — at least this way, she could keep an eye on Dilitirio, make sure she didn’t murder anyone during the celebration. As the night went on, Chioni had felt the ground shift under her.

  Dilitirio seemed to charm everyone with an odd, crazy charisma — Chioni didn’t know if everyone found her entertaining, or if they were just all relieved to have someone talk about more than the weather. She talked in a way that seemed so vibrant, so fantastical, that Chioni found herself drawn in even if she weren’t paying attention and had no idea what was being talked about.

  But the way Dilitirio kept glancing over at her, with this sly look on her face . . . Chioni didn’t know how to respond. It seemed she was only following her around as an attempt to annoy her, and Chioni didn’t even know if it was working or not.

  Every time she glanced over, her insides flipped.

  She was looking at her now, violet eyes piercing, and Chioni almost felt dizzy.

  She was the reason Chioni had left, at all — ducked into the gardens to try and breathe air into her lungs. Breathe in the cold, try to clear the muck from her head.

  “Not so perfect after all,” Dilitirio said, with a maddeningly triumphant look.

  “I needed a breath of fresh air. And now I've had that breath. If you'll accompany me back inside —"

  "Oh, look at those stars," Dilitirio interrupted, prying off her shoes. She wriggled her toes. "Man, these fancy shoes are not comfortable. I should've worn my boots."

  "You would have worn those scrappy shoes of yours to an event like this? You would stick out like a raven in a dove's nest." Chioni glanced at her again. "Though, I suppose . . . the rest of you already does that."

  "I can't help that I have amazing fashion sense."

  She snorted. "You look like a five-year-old who found a pair of scissors."

  "Must be an awfully stylish five-year-old." She put her feet down in the grass below the steps and smiled. "You have to admit the outfit's pretty unique, at least."

  Chioni looked at the uneven edge of the skirt, carefully hemmed to avoid fraying. ". . . It's certainly . . . something."

  “Made it myself.”

  “You sew?”

  “Not a lot of clothing stores in a tower. Hey — you haven't yelled at me yet," she commented, looking up. "Run out of fire, princess?"

  "Please. You're the one who always starts it."

  "'You started it'," she mimicked. "Real mature."

  "I'm too worn out to argue with you right now," Chioni responded, crossing her arms.

  "Not enjoying your own event?"

  "Not with you following me around."

  "I thought you might get lonely without me."

  "Keep dreaming."

  "I still think I'm more entertaining than half the people you talk to."

  "That's not much of an achievement."

  "Oho, are you agreeing with me?"

  ". . . Perhaps." She looked away, ashamed of her own admission. Her advisors, the noble council, the exchange from Allisora — they weren’t meant to be entertaining. They were meant to serve a purpose, and they did it, did it well. So do that, she told herself. She’d go back inside, fill the role of heir, host. She would not be distracted by charming girls with absurd statements. Girls who might be responsible for the downfall of your kingdom, she reminded herself sharply.

  ". . . Wait, really?" Was that a hint of surprise?

  She stood abruptly. A better soldier would have stayed, garnered information, but Statheros knew her strength was slipping. "I'll be heading back now."

  "Why?" Dilitirio's smirk was gone. Her violet eyes were wide.

  She paused, looking back. "They'll be expecting me."

  "So?"

  "'So'?" she repeated. "So, I need to return."

  "No you don't."

  "Yes, I do."

  "They're not going to fall apart just because you fail to grace them with your presence for five minutes, princess."

  She huffed, turned despite herself, arms crossed. "Then what do you suggest I do instead."

  Dilitirio contemplated for a minute, then stood, arms spread wide. "I can teach you how to dance —"

  An incredulous laugh escaped her. "Teach me?"

  "Your dancing sucks."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "I'm better than you —"

  "Then prove it," she said, purple eyes gleaming.

  She’s goading me. She knew that. Statheros, she knew that. She’s a liar and a thief. Don’t play her games. She clutched her hands into fists, steeling herself. "I thought your feet were in pain."

  "No shoes, no problem." Dilitirio ran barefoot down the slope, a mirage in the dark.

  ". . ."

  "Backing down from a challenge?"

  "You wish." She turned away from the gold light of the ballroom. Thoughts of her advisors and responsibilities and the Service Stone faded as she stepped onto the grass, damp and cold beneath her feet.

  Rain was beginning to drizzle from the sky, tiny pinpricks on her skin, but she'd gone too far to back down now. She took a deep breath, the frigid air entering her lungs and clearing her thoughts out of her mind. She heard a giggle and opened her eyes to Asimi twirling around in the rain, head thrown back, laughing with her mouth wide open. She found herself staring, devoid of thoughts, a skip in the steady thrum of her heartbeat.

  "Look at this," Asimi beamed, turning to look back at her. She was drenched, her bangs plastered to her forehead, the puff of her sleeves soaked and deflated. But that smile . . . Chioni had seen that smile, when she took a bite of cake or thought of an infuriating joke to share. As though she were savoring it, savoring everything, the rich taste of cream or the thrill of a secret. "It's perfect."

  Chioni couldn't find the words to disagree.

  The enchantress’ daughter held out her hand as lightning streaked through the sky behind her, illuminating her in silver. "Ready?"

  ?????

  Zeid wasn’t sure where everyone had gone.

  He’d lost them as soon as they’d stepped off the stairs into the crowd.

  There were people surrounding him, clamoring for his attention. The stone apparently had the side effect of making him popular.

  He gave a generic greeting and started commenting on the details of the palace; the murals on the ceiling, which, now that he looked at them, were genuinely cool . . . vibrant colors, not just blue, with various scenes that might’ve been from Tessera’s beginnings. Images of dragons painted along the edges, in the shadows of the people. Probably something symbolic, like human triumph through the natural disasters brought by dragons.

  He looked away from the ceiling, and back at the partygoers. Beyond their shoulders, he could glimpse more people decked out in fancy costumes; dresses that swept the ballroom floor in gaudy, flashily bright hues. The glint of the clustered light crystals lit the rims of dozens of wine glasses.

  He was beginning to smell it — that lingering sweetness that choked up his brain. He continued his conversation without hearing anything that was said, and watched the glasses empty and refill, empty and refill.

  We’re in the palace. Royalty and their rules — nobody’s going to try anything. Right?

  The sound of chattering seemed to die down as his heartbeat started pulsing in his ears.

  Alcohol eliminates consequence.

  There are guards.

  He excused himself from the discussion he had apparently managed to hold, as they started talking about marriage or something, and edged to the wall. Where’s Ash? Asimi? He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heartbeat and ground himself in the present. Chocolate . . . If I find chocolate, I can probably find Asimi. She seems pretty obsessed with that stuff.

  He sidled along the wall to the tables covered in white cloth, supporting fountains of fondue and piles of fruit and finger foods. Beyond the food were assorted bottles of wine and beer, empty glasses filling with drink.

  He searched the room, trying to find any sort of familiar face, and came up empty. People were beginning to approach him again. He had to find a way out, quick.

  Bathroom, he thought. Say that, then go somewhere else. Maybe he’d find someone along the way. He wondered how angry Chioni would be if she found he’d ghosted the party, but he didn’t care. Let her be angry. He couldn’t stay here.

  He edged along the wall to the nearest exit, and disappeared out the door.

  ?????

  Ash was trying not to throw up.

  It had been fine, at first. He could keep it together. He could get through it. But somehow, two little words set him off on that spiraling track of panic, and he’d ended up here. Two little words — “good luck” — and suddenly, he couldn’t.

  He paced back and forth in front of the sinks, trying to breathe. “Breathe,” he said. “Just breathe.” Why are you overreacting? Nothing’s happening. Nothing happened. It’s just people. You see people every day!

  It’s too many variables. Too many variables. I didn’t —

  You had time to prepare for this, didn’t you? Why are you still doing this? Why are you crying?

  “I’m not crying,” he said aloud. “I’m not.”

  The door shook slightly, and he froze, but the broom jamming it in place held, and he heard footsteps walking away.

  You’re fine. You’re FINE. “I’m fine,” he repeated. “I’m fine!” Ceteris Paribus. Ceteris Paribus. Just focus on what’s in front of you. Don’t try to think outside of that. Just focus on one variable. One thing.

  But regardless of his thoughts, his chest was still too tight, and the ringing in his head stabbed at the inside of his skull. Everything was too much. Too much. Too much.

  All you have to do is stand there. Just — just stand there, act presentable, nod to people. You’re the heir to the Evgenis name. You’re the Change Stone. So just CHANGE.

  Stop being like this.

  Stop being so weak.

  He gripped the sides of the sink, cold seeping into his fingers, and wrenched on the faucet. He dunked his hands in, trying to stop them from shaking, then splashed water on his face. Cold dripped from his chin and his messed-up hair, soaking the sleeves of his suit. The water kept running, background noise to the turbulence of his thoughts.

  Block it out.

  Block it out block it out block it out BLOCK IT OUT block it out BLOCK IT OUT —

  There was a knock on the door.

  “What the —” came a muffled voice from the other side, as the handle rattled. “Well, I guess you’re not in here, then.”

  . . . Zeid? What is he doing —

  He sucked in a deep breath and pushed back his mussed hair, then splashed his face again and went to the door, ignoring his thundering pulse and his screaming thoughts. Block it out. He took another breath and opened the door.

  Zeid stopped with his hand mid-knock. “Oh, hey — uh, Ash, are you . . . okay?”

  No no I’m not. “Yes,” he said. “Fine.” His brain warned him: If you throw up right now I will literally die.

  “Uh . . . you sure?”

  “D — did you need me for anything?” he asked. Why are you stuttering?

  “No . . . ”

  Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. “Uh, well, in that case . . . See you later,” he said, closing the door again.

  Zeid grabbed it before it clicked shut. “Ash, are you sure you’re okay? You’re —”

  “I’m fine,” he repeated. His hands were shaking uncontrollably again. “Really.”

  “Do you want to talk?”

  He shook his head. Please leave. Please, please, please. Any moment now, he’d collapse, he’d forget how to breathe, he’d break. Block it out. Block it out. Block it out.

  “Okay. Uh . . . I’ll be outside. If you need anything.”

  He managed a weak smile, and then the door shut.

  He jammed the broom back in place and sunk to the floor.

  What is wrong with you?

  Just get over it. Block it out. Block it out. Block it out.

  He didn’t know how long he was there. But he stayed, huddled on the floor, until the cold seeped into his bones. Hours passed in blurs, before he finally felt pieced-together enough to face the world again.

  He stood up, brushing his hair back again, and opened the door.

  “Better?”

  He yelped.

  “It’s just me, don’t worry,” Zeid said, standing up. “So . . . How are you feeling?”

  “Zeid — what are you . . .”

  “I said I’d be outside, right?”

  “. . . How long has it been?”

  “Three hours, give or take,” he said with a shrug.

  Ash stared at him.

  “They’re still at it. Apparently fancy people party for a really long time. So, do you wanna go back, or . . . ?”

  “We have to,” he said. “The whole point of this is to introduce us to the kingdom. We have to be there.”

  “We can take the long way back,” Zeid suggested. “You look like you need a breather.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay. Down the stairs, to the right, past the murals. Yes. Okay. That’s — that’s okay. It won’t take too long. We should get going. Three hours . . .” He cursed inwardly.

  “Hey, calm down, it’ll be fine.”

  Wow, if only I’d thought of that, he thought, and immediately felt guilty. He’s just trying to help. He doesn’t know how messed up I am.

  Three hours. I can’t believe I was in there for three hours.

  I can’t believe he waited for three hours.

  “Sorry,” he said, as they went down the hallway. “I . . .” I didn’t think you’d actually wait.

  “Nah, it gave me an excuse to stay out of there. I don’t think parties are my thing.”

  Ash navigated through the corridors, still trying to regain his senses and stability. His mind was still shaken. He was sure he looked like a mess, or a madman; face still dripping with water, red eyes, messy. How was he supposed to go back, looking like this? Being like this? Wouldn’t it be worse than not showing up at all?

  They got to a set of doors; inside, he could hear the music and the laughter. He tried to steel his resolve, find his determination, but instead found a sense of hollow desperation.

  “You go on ahead,” Zeid told him, backing away from the door. “I’m gonna go look around the palace some more.”

  “You’re not going back?” he asked, surprised.

  He shrugged. “Like I said . . . not my thing. There’s . . . a lot of drinks in there.”

  Ash paused, and realized Zeid also seemed slightly shaky. He almost wanted to laugh. A party thrown for the holders, and none of them seemed to like partying. “Oh,” he said, quietly.

  “See you.”

  Panic rose in his throat again. “I’ll go with you.” He winced and waited for Zeid to question him or remind him of his responsibilities, but he just shrugged and smiled again.

  “Okay.”

  It’s — it’s going to help in the long run, he tried to tell himself. Even if I’m not fulfilling my duties of, um, greeting . . . people . . . I’m . . . I’m spending time with another holder, right? That’s . . . something . . .

  Coward, his brain responded.

  He couldn’t argue.

  He glanced back at the door — there was still a chance; he could go back, right now, and redeem himself. But his hand never went up to that handle, and he found himself walking down the hallway instead.

  Maybe he was still too new at this — maybe by the time the next celebration or ball or party happened, the Change Stone would have helped him become someone more confident, more charismatic, more normal. Maybe he needed more time to get used to this. He would make up for it next time. He’d slipped up this once — no more. He’d learn from this mistake, and be prepared in the future.

  He’d find a way to make himself better; someone worth talking to, someone who didn’t panic or worry as much, someone worth his title. Someone the kingdom and his father and the princess could be proud of.

  He’d told himself this before. He’d told himself this, every time it had happened.

  He tried not to think about that.

  ?????

  Zeid glanced over at Ash, whose eyes were still on the floor.

  They had been walking in silence for a while now.

  Should I say something?

  He searched his surroundings for some conversation topic, some sort of opportunity.

  They were entering another hallway now — one filled with huge portraits of stern-looking figures. Every one of them had a shade of bleached hair and blue eyes — Ash had told him that those were the traits that marked the holders of the Service Stone.

  Each person in their portrait seemed to be posing near a piece of furniture, holding papers or swords in a different dramatic manner. He found it kind of funny — like the statue of the king in the throne room, the one with his eyes closed. Whoever had designed the place had obviously meant for the king to look serious or intimidating, but Zeid found it hilarious. It looked like the king had decided to take a nap instead of listening to whatever his advisors were saying, and they were all staring at him as he dozed off on his feet.

  The paintings had a similar feel — they were obviously detailed and painstakingly made, to look serious and display power, but it all made him wonder how long each subject had been forced to pose solemnly whilst carrying an inanimate object. How had they chosen their inanimate objects, anyway? He wondered if royal people had a closet or something filled just with things to hold and get painted with.

  “Look at these paintings,” he said aloud, pointing over at the wall.

  Ash glanced up, then over at Zeid, questioningly.

  “They’re massive,” he continued, grinning. “Must’ve been a paint to make all of them.”

  It was like some sort of light came back into Ash’s eyes, as he bit his lip and started shaking slightly.

  “If I’d tried to paint something like that, I would’ve blue it. Do you think the artist had to canvas the royalty to be able to paint them? Do you think any of them drew inspiration from past portraits?”

  Snickering, then cackling, then that beautiful laugh was back. Ash seemed to wobble on his feet before propping himself up against the wall, his laughter turning breathless.

  “Art you feeling any better?”

  Ash looked up for a moment before he started wheezing again.

  “Don’t go having a stroke on me.” His mind was whirring, searching for more puns and possibilities.

  This moment, this little moment, seemed so real to him. So real, and yet so . . . not, at the same time. Like a fever dream. His brain was suddenly registering everything in such a sharp focus — the light crystals mounted on the walls, the glow reflecting off the glossy tiled floor, the texture of the paint of the portraits.

  Everything seemed so bright.

  He wondered where Asimi was, and thought about their list of pranks. He thought about his mother, and suddenly felt sad. He knew exactly where she was.

  He looked back at Ash, and wondered what he was doing. Collecting another heart to break? Wasn’t one enough? Why had he felt the need to go around, making all these plans that he might never finish? Asimi, Ash . . . why had he felt the need to get them tangled up in the mess of his life, too?

  “Hue really picked up the puns fast,” Ash said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “. . . Are you okay?”

  “What?”

  “Your, uh . . . you looked a bit . . . despondent, I suppose.” He hesitated. “For . . . ignore me, maybe I . . . I don’t know what I’m saying, sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Zeid responded. He glanced at the floor and found his smile intact in his reflection. Huh.

  He looked up and found Ash still looking at him, coffee-brown eyes dark with concern.

  I find him sealing himself in a bathroom for three hours, and he’s worried about me? “Really,” he insisted. “I hear the palace has some pretty cool gardens,” he commented, trying to change the subject. “Have any idea where they are?”

  “. . . There’s an entrance that’s actually pretty close to the ballroom,” Ash responded after a moment.

  “Wanna go check it out?” he asked, relieved.

  “We could,” Ash said, still looking a bit uncertain. He shook his head, and seemed to try and shift his expression into a smile. “I mean, okay. Yes. It may be nice to get some fresh air.”