Grant had learned that telling me an exercise was an assessment made me annoying.
So he stopped telling me.
I figured it out anyway.
There were too many people behind the observation glass.
Sato stood near the Core monitors.
Daniel was beside her with a tablet.
Two medical staff I recognized were waiting near the emergency doors, and Grant had spent the last ten minutes pretending none of that was unusual.
I tightened the straps on my protective vest.
“This is an assessment.” Grant checked the training construct.
“No.” “You’re lying.” “Prove it.” “Sato’s here.” “Sato works here.” “Daniel’s here.” “Unfortunately.” Daniel raised his middle finger from behind the glass.
I pointed at him.
“See?
Suspicious.” Grant handed me a wooden training sword.
“Ready?” I took it.
Sword Mastery settled over me immediately.
Weight.
Reach.
Balance.
Cheap construction.
The blade was slightly warped near the upper third.
I looked at Grant.
“This one’s damaged.” “Still usable.” “There’s a bend.” “Then account for it.” I rotated the sword once.
“You’re doing that on purpose.” “Doing what?” “Giving me worse equipment.” “Maybe the monster will apologize.” I sighed.
The simulation room had been transformed since yesterday.
Concrete partitions created several narrow corridors around a large central space.
Smoke machines sat somewhere overhead.
Emergency lights flashed red along the walls.
Four civilian dummies had been placed throughout the environment, each fitted with sensors that tracked simulated injuries.
A fifth dummy lay near the center.
Already injured.
“Objective?” I asked.
“Unknown threat entered a civilian shelter during evacuation.
Locate survivors.
Assess injuries.
Remove them through the marked exit.” “Threat?” “Unknown.” “Class?” “Unknown.” “Abilities?” “Unknown.” “That’s a lot of unknown.” “Reality is inconsiderate.” I looked at the room.
“Am I alone?” “Yes.” That bothered me more than it should have.
Grant noticed.
“You can terminate at any time.” “I know.” “Say it.” “I can terminate at any time.” “If I call the exercise, you stop.” “I stop.” “Even if you think you can continue.” I looked at him.
He waited.
“Even if I think I can continue.” Grant nodded.
Then stepped through the door.
It closed behind him.
A light above me turned green.
The alarm began.
I hated alarms.
I’d never told anyone that.
Not because it was a secret.
It just hadn’t come up.
Emory’s Code Red had sounded different, but apparently my brain didn’t care about technical distinctions.
An alarm was an alarm.
I breathed.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Core steady.
I entered.
Smoke reduced visibility almost immediately.
Not enough to blind me.
Enough to make everything uncertain.
Good.
I kept the sword low.
First corridor.
Nothing.
Turn.
Civilian.
Adult dummy lying against the wall.
Red indicator on the leg.
Simulated fracture.
Conscious.
Mobile with assistance.
I checked the rest.
No major bleeding.
“One located,” I said.
The system registered my voice.
I could move them now.
Bad idea.
Threat unknown.
Better to establish the immediate area first.
I marked the position and continued.
A noise came from my right.
Metal scraping concrete.
I stopped.
Listened.
Nothing.
Then again.
Farther away.
I moved left.
Second civilian.
Minor injury.
Mobile.
Third.
Unconscious.
Breathing.
No severe bleeding.
I checked the airway anyway.
Grant would complain if I didn’t.
“Three located.” Something moved behind the partition.
I stood.
Sword came up.
A training construct entered the corridor.
Four-legged.
Armored.
Roughly Class II size.
Not the same shape as the beetle.
Good.
I exhaled.
The construct charged.
Sword Mastery supplied the answer.
Step outside.
Redirect.
Cut across the exposed side.
I moved.
Not perfectly.
Good enough.
The wooden blade struck the sensor plate.
Green light.
The construct recoiled.
I didn’t chase.
Civilian behind me.
Objective.
Good.
It attacked again.
I moved backward this time, pulling it away from the unconscious dummy.
The construct followed.
I used the corner.
It turned too wide.
Opening.
I could attack.
Didn’t.
I kept moving.
Grant’s Breakhorn fight replayed in my head.
Objective.
Not opponent.
I drew the construct farther away, then doubled back through another corridor.
Lost line of sight.
Good.
I reached the unconscious civilian.
Lifted.
Heavy.
Not human-heavy, but close enough.
My legs complained.
I carried the dummy toward the evacuation point.
Halfway there, the construct reappeared.
Of course.
I lowered the dummy carefully.
Sword up.
The construct attacked.
Block.
Wrong.
Too much force.
The impact traveled through the wooden sword and into my wrists.
I stumbled.
It attacked again.
I moved instead.
Better.
Strike.
Sensor.
Green.
Retreat.
It followed.
I changed direction.
Pulled it away.
Then ran back for the dummy.
The evacuation point accepted the civilian.
One safe.
My breathing had accelerated.
Not bad.
Core stable.
I went back.
Second civilian.
Safe.
Third.
Safe.
The fourth was harder.
Pinned beneath simulated debris.
I couldn’t lift the slab directly.
There was a jack against the wall.
Too obvious.
I checked it anyway.
Functional.
I positioned it.
Raised the debris.
Pulled the civilian free.
The construct found me while I was doing it.
I heard the steps.
Didn’t look.
Finished the pull.
Then turned.
Too late.
The construct struck me.
My vest flashed red.
“Left shoulder injured,” the system announced.
I swore.
Behind the glass, Grant was probably smiling.
I switched the sword to my right hand.
Not ideal.
My left arm still worked, but the simulation rules treated it as compromised.
The construct attacked.
I retreated.
My foot caught the jack.
Nearly fell.
Recovered.
Bad.
Too much attention on the opponent.
Not enough on the environment.
I moved.
The construct followed.
I let it.
Around the divider.
Away from the civilian.
Then I doubled back.
Grabbed the dummy.
Dragged.
Slower with one arm.
The construct turned.
I was running out of room.
Evacuation point fifteen feet away.
I dropped the sword.
Used both hands.
Drag.
Ten feet.
The construct accelerated.
Five.
I shoved the dummy across the line.
Safe.
Then turned.
No sword.
The construct stopped before hitting me.
Simulation pause.
I breathed.
A light flashed overhead.
“Four civilians evacuated,” the system announced.
I looked toward the observation glass.
Couldn’t see through it from here.
“Not terrible,” I muttered.
Then another alarm started.
Different tone.
I frowned.
The first phase should’ve ended.
Smoke thickened.
The walls shifted.
Mechanical partitions opened.
A larger central area appeared.
And in the middle of it was the fifth dummy.
The one I’d seen before entering.
It was standing now.
Another construct stood opposite it.
Gray.
Six-legged.
Armored.
My body stopped.
Not my mind.
My body.
For one second, everything simply refused.
The shape wasn’t exact.
It couldn’t be.
The Emory beetle was dead.
I knew that.
This was a training machine.
The plates were synthetic.
The mandibles padded.
The black lines beneath its shell were painted.
Fake.
I knew.
I knew.
The construct moved.
The dummy raised its arms.
The mandible drove forward.
Through the torso.
Red fluid burst across the floor.
My lungs forgot what they were doing.
Frank.
Not the dummy.
Frank.
Steel skin.
Confident.
Stepping forward because he thought he could hold it.
Mandible.
Gap beneath the ribs.
His feet leaving the floor.
Blood.
Someone screaming.
Maybe me.
No.
No, that had been Benny.
Or Threya.
Or everyone.
The room came back.
Red lights.
Smoke.
Training construct.
Dummy.
Fake blood.
I swallowed.
“Continue,” the system said.
I didn’t move.
Behind the glass, someone spoke through the intercom.
“Kai?” Sato.
I looked at the dummy.
The construct pulled its mandible free.
The body fell.
Wrong.
Frank hadn’t fallen like that.
Frank had stayed caught for a second.
Longer.
The beetle had turned.
I’d seen the rear plate.
I’d told Threya what to do.
I’d moved.
I had moved.
“Kai.” Grant this time.
“I’m fine.” My voice didn’t sound fine.
I found my sword where I’d dropped it.
Picked it up.
Wood.
Warped upper third.
Training.
I knew where I was.
I stepped into the central room.
The beetle construct turned toward me.
My hands were shaking.
Stop.
Breathe.
In.
Hold.
Out.
Core.
Warmth.
Except it wasn’t warm.
I froze.
Something cold moved beneath my ribs.
Not outside.
Inside.
“Kai, report.” “I’m fine.” Lie.
The construct charged.
I moved.
Too early.
It adjusted.
I barely avoided the mandible.
My sword struck its side.
Red sensor.
Bad angle.
Again.
The construct turned.
Rear plate shifted.
I saw it.
Of course I saw it.
My body knew the memory before my mind did.
Turn.
Separation.
Opening.
I attacked.
Too hard.
The wooden sword cracked against the armored plate.
Wrong.
I hadn’t waited long enough.
Grant had spent months teaching me not to chase every opening.
I knew better.
I knew better.
The construct swung.
I blocked.
The sword cracked again.
“Kai, slow down.” Grant.
I couldn’t.
The alarm was too loud.
The smoke smelled wrong.
The blood looked too real.
The construct turned.
For half a second, the central room wasn’t a government training facility.
Emory.
Broken wall.
Professor Renn on the ground.
Paul frozen in place.
Kenya’s fox.
Emi holding a railing.
Montiro shouting.
Toma.
Beth.
Benny.
Threya.
Frank bleeding.
And beneath the beetle’s armor… Light.
Blue-white veins.
Something pulsing.
Don’t touch it.
Threya had told me not to.
I’d touched it.
Cold.
“Kai!” The construct hit my sword.
The blade snapped.
Half of it spun across the floor.
I stumbled backward.
The broken hilt remained in my hand.
The construct advanced.
Training.
It’s training.
Nobody is dying.
I knew that.
My body didn’t.
The dummy lay behind the construct.
Red fluid spreading.
Frank.
No.
Dummy.
Frank.
No.
“Kai, exercise terminated.” Grant.
The red lights changed.
White.
The alarm stopped.
The construct should’ve stopped.
It did.
Everything stopped.
Except me.
My heartbeat hammered against my ribs.
I could hear Benny hitting the ice.
Akio!
No.
That wasn’t happening.
Not now.
Akio!
Three and a half years.
I couldn’t move.
Couldn’t blink.
Couldn’t scream.
Threya sitting outside the shell.
Can you hear me?
Yes.
I could hear you.
I’d heard everything.
Komi’s hand against the ice.
We’re going to get you out.
I wanted to answer.
I’d wanted to answer so badly.
My fingers tightened around the broken sword.
“Kai.” Grant was inside the room now.
Slow steps.
Hands visible.
“It’s over.” I knew.
“It’s done.” I knew.
“Put the sword down.” I looked at the broken piece in my hand.
Useless.
Again.
Something had happened.
Someone was hurt.
And I was standing there with something useless in my hand.
Again.
The cold inside my chest sharpened.
My breath turned white.
Grant stopped.
Behind the glass, people moved.
“Kai.” I looked at my hand.
Frost covered my fingers.
No.
My stomach dropped.
“No.” The frost reached my wrist.
No.
Not again.
“Grant.” He saw it.
His expression changed.
“Don’t move.” “No.” Cold spread beneath my skin.
I dropped the broken training sword.
It hit the floor.
“Get it off.” “Kai, stay with me.” “Get it off!” Three and a half years.
No.
I clawed at my wrist.
The frost thickened.
“Kai!” “I’M NOT GOING BACK!” Something cracked.
Not in the room.
Inside me.
The cold stopped climbing.
I stared.
Frost covered my palm.
My wrist.
Then it moved.
Down.
Away from my arm.
Past my fingers.
Ice gathered in empty air.
I forgot to breathe.
Grant didn’t move.
Nobody did.
The frost compressed.
Lengthened.
A shape formed against my palm.
A grip.
My fingers closed around it automatically.
Then a guard.
Thin ice extended forward.
One inch.
Three.
Ten.
Two feet.
Longer.
The temperature dropped so fast that condensation froze across the floor.
A blade grew from my hand.
Pale.
Nearly translucent.
Blue-white light moved deep inside it like veins beneath skin.
The same color.
The same light.
The relic.
The shell.
Me.
I stared at it.
Sword Mastery reacted.
Usually there was a moment.
A flood of information.
Weight.
Length.
Balance.
Edge.
Grip.
Possibilities.
Not this time.
There was no introduction.
No adjustment.
My hand was already where it belonged.
The balance wasn’t something I discovered.
I knew it.
The sword felt… Mine.
Not familiar.
That wasn’t enough.
Mine.
Grant whispered something.
I didn’t hear him.
The training construct stood motionless across the room.
Exercise terminated.
No threat.
I knew.
Then its reset system activated.
One leg moved.
Just one.
A mechanical step.
My body reacted.
I crossed the distance.
Too fast.
Not because I’d suddenly become faster.
Because I committed everything.
Legs.
Core.
Sword.
One movement.
The blade cut through the construct’s forward limb.
Not struck.
Cut.
Cleanly.
Synthetic armor separated.
The limb hit the floor.
The ice sword continued.
I tried to stop.
My body couldn’t manage the momentum.
My foot slipped.
Knee hit the ground.
Pain.
The room tilted.
The cold inside me vanished.
So did everything else.
My strength disappeared.
The sword struck the floor beside me.
I heard Grant running.
Then darkness.
I woke up angry.
That was probably a good sign.
My head hurt.
Less good.
I opened my eyes.
Medical room.
Again.
“Absolutely not.” Sato looked up from a tablet.
“Good morning.” “No.” “That’s not usually a response to good morning.” “I’m not doing this again.” “Doing what?” “Waking up in medical rooms.” “You collapsed.” “I sat down aggressively.” “You lost consciousness.” “Details.” I tried to sit.
Bad decision.
Sato pushed my shoulder gently.
“Stay.” “I’m fine.” “Your Core output says otherwise.” I stopped.
Memory returned.
Simulation.
Frank.
Cold.
Ice.
Sword.
I looked at my hands.
Normal.
No frost.
No blue skin.
No ice.
“Where is it?” Sato’s expression changed.
“What?” “My sword.” She didn’t answer.
I sat up despite her hand.
The room spun.
I waited.
“Where is it?” “Kai.” “The ice sword.” Silence.
That silence told me more than an answer would have.
It was real.
I swallowed.
“Where?” Sato set the tablet down.
“Secure examination room.” “How far?” “Two floors.” I looked toward the ceiling.
That felt wrong.
Not painful.
Not exactly.
There was something at the edge of my awareness.
Faint.
Cold without temperature.
I couldn’t point toward it.
Couldn’t tell distance.
But I knew.
“It’s still here.” Sato stared at me.
“What?” “The sword.” “Grant.” She didn’t shout.
She didn’t need to.
The door opened almost immediately.
Grant entered.
His right hand rested near the frame.
He looked tired.
“How are you?” “Where’s my sword?” His eyes moved to Sato.
Then back to me.
“Secure room.” “I know.” Grant went still.
“How?” I looked at him.
“I don’t know.” “Did someone tell you?” “No.” “Can you feel it?” I tried.
That wasn’t the right word.
Could I feel my own hand when I wasn’t looking at it?
Yes.
But not because it was calling to me.
It was simply part of where I expected myself to be.
This was weaker than that.
Far weaker.
But similar.
“Kind of.” Sato picked up her tablet again.
“Describe it.” “I can’t.” “Try.” I closed my eyes.
Nothing.
Then… There.
Barely.
I opened them.
“It’s here.” “In the building?” “Yes.” “Direction?” I looked around.
“No.” “Distance?” “No.” “Can you sense anything about its condition?” “No.” Grant crossed his arms.
“So you know almost nothing.” “Correct.” “But you know it’s here.” “Yes.” “How?” “I just told you I don’t know.” He looked at Sato.
Sato looked like someone had handed her a puzzle she’d be thinking about for the next six months.
I hated that expression.
“What happened?” I asked.
Grant’s attention returned to me.
“You tell me.” “Simulation.” “After.” I looked at my hand again.
“The ice came back.” Sato spoke carefully.
“No.” I looked at her.
“The ice didn’t come back.” “What do you call that?” “You weren’t encased.” “I noticed.” “The thermal pattern was completely different.
The containment event drew heat across your entire body and surrounding environment simultaneously.
Yesterday’s event originated around your Core, traveled through your right arm, then…” She stopped.
“Then what?” Grant answered.
“Then it became a sword.” Hearing someone else say it made it sound ridiculous.
I rubbed my palm.
No mark.
“Is it actually ice?” Sato hesitated.
“Mostly.” “Mostly?” “Don’t ask yet.” “That’s a terrible answer.” “It’s the only one you’re getting until we understand what we’re looking at.” I looked at Grant.
“The construct.” “Ruined.” “Sorry.” “No, you’re not.” “No.” He pulled a chair over.
Sat.
His expression changed.
The humor disappeared.
“Why didn’t you stop?” I knew exactly what he meant.
“Grant.” “I terminated the exercise.” “I know.” “You acknowledged termination protocols before we started.” “I know.” “And then you ignored me.” “I wasn’t trying to.” “Doesn’t matter.” I looked away.
Grant waited.
Eventually I said, “It looked like Frank.” “Who?” I shouldn’t have said the name.
Too late.
“Someone from Emory.” Grant said nothing.
“The beetle impaled him.” I stared at the blanket.
“He lived.” Grant remained quiet.
“I knew the dummy wasn’t him.” “I believe you.” “I knew where I was.” “I believe that too.” “But it didn’t…” I searched for the sentence.
“It didn’t matter.” Sato lowered her tablet.
The room was quiet.
“I saw it happen again,” I said.
“Then I remembered the rest.” “The freezing?” I nodded.
“Benny outside the shell.
Threya.
My mom.” The last word hurt.
I swallowed it.
“I couldn’t do anything for three and a half years.” Grant leaned forward.
“And yesterday?” “The sword broke.” “It was a training sword.” “I know.” “The construct had stopped.” “I know.” “You were safe.” “I know.” Every answer came sharper.
Grant didn’t react.
I looked at him.
“I knew.” My voice cracked anyway.
“That’s the problem.” Silence.
I looked down at my hands.
“My head knew.” Grant nodded once.
“Your body didn’t.” “Yeah.” Sato asked, “Do you remember forming the sword?” “Yes.” “Did you intend to?” “No.” “Did you imagine one?” “No.” “Did you consciously direct the ice?” “No.” “Did Sword Mastery activate before it formed?” I thought.
“No.” That made her pause.
“After?” “Immediately.” “Like other swords?” I started to say yes.
Stopped.
“No.” Grant noticed.
“Different?” “Usually when I pick up a sword, I understand it.” “Meaning?” “Balance.
Reach.
Grip.
Movement.
Everything technical.” “And this?” I looked toward the wall.
Somewhere beyond it, two floors away, the sword existed.
“I didn’t understand it.” Sato frowned.
“I thought you said your ability worked.” “It did.” “Then what’s the difference?” I tried to explain.
“There was nothing to understand.” Neither of them spoke.
I looked at my palm.
“It already felt like mine.” They didn’t let me see it that day.
I argued.
Cross arrived.
I argued with her too.
Didn’t work.
Apparently spontaneously producing unknown Core-reactive weapons from your body earned you twenty-four hours of medical observation.
Government policy was very specific.
I asked who had written that policy.
Cross told me I was the reason someone probably would.
Fair.
They ran tests.
Too many.
Core scans.
Blood.
Neurological.
Thermal.
Nothing dramatic.
My Core was depleted.
That explained the collapse.
The doctors estimated the entire event had lasted less than twelve seconds.
Twelve.
It felt longer.
Grant corrected me.
“Eight seconds from complete formation to collapse.” I stared at him from the bed.
“Nine.” “Eight.” “There’s no way.” “We have video.” “Video can be wrong.” “That’s not how video works.” “I want a recount.” Grant ignored me.
The more interesting part was the sword.
It hadn’t melted.
It hadn’t changed.
Room temperature didn’t affect it.
Heat did very little.
Its surface remained cold, but not cold enough to explain what it was made of.
Sato refused to give me more.
That meant she knew more.
Or knew enough to be worried.
Both were annoying.
I slept badly.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Frank.
Then the ice.
Then the sword.
Eventually morning arrived.
Grant entered carrying breakfast.
I sat up.
“Can I see it?” “Good morning.” “Can I?” “Eat.” “Grant.” “Eat.” I hated authority.
An hour later, they took me downstairs.
Cross joined us.
So did Sato.
Four security officers waited outside the examination room.
I looked at Cross.
“Seriously?” “Humor me.” “I made the thing.” “Exactly.” The door opened.
Cold air touched my face.
Not freezing.
Cool.
The sword rested horizontally inside a reinforced transparent case.
I stopped.
I’d seen it for only seconds.
Really seen it.
Now I had time.
The blade was longer than the training sword I’d been using.
Straight.
Narrower near the tip.
Pale blue-white beneath a translucent surface.
Not decorative.
Simple.
The guard curved only slightly.
The grip looked like layered ice, but I knew somehow it wouldn’t slip.
There were no symbols.
No writing.
No elaborate design.
It didn’t need any.
My chest tightened.
There.
That feeling again.
Stronger now.
Not words.
Not a voice.
Nothing alive speaking to me.
Recognition.
I stepped toward the case.
The sword remained still.
Sato watched the monitors.
“Core activity increased.” Cross looked at me.
“Are you doing anything?” “No.” “Try stepping back.” I did.
The feeling weakened.
Barely.
Sato’s eyes narrowed.
“Again.” I stepped forward.
Stronger.
Not by much.
Enough.
Grant looked at the sword.
“Well.” I walked until only the transparent barrier separated us.
My reflection hovered over the blade.
Seventeen.
Dark hair.
Blue eyes.
Kai Skyline.
The sword didn’t care what name was on my identification.
That thought came from nowhere.
It hurt anyway.
“Can I hold it?” “No,” Sato said.
I looked at her.
“Why?” “We haven’t finished testing.” “It’s mine.” Everyone went quiet.
I hadn’t meant to say it that quickly.
Cross studied me.
“You don’t know that.” “Yes, I do.” “How?” There was that question again.
I didn’t have an answer.
The sword had come from me.
The ice matched the thing that had held me for years.
My Core responded to it.
Sword Mastery accepted it without introduction.
And standing there, looking through the glass, I felt the same certainty I’d felt when it formed.
Not ownership like buying something.
Not ownership like a name printed on paper.
Something simpler.
Deeper.
“It’s mine.” Sato looked toward Cross.
Cross looked at Grant.
Grant shrugged.
“He’s stubborn.” “Helpful,” Cross said.
“Always.” I put my palm against the transparent case.
Cold seeped through.
The sword did nothing.
No glow.
No dramatic pulse.
Nothing moved.
Still, I knew.
For three and a half years, ice had meant one thing.
A wall.
Something between me and everyone else.
Something I couldn’t break.
Something I couldn’t control.
I remembered screaming inside it.
Remembered begging my fingers to move.
Remembered listening as the world kept going.
Now a piece of that cold rested on the other side of the glass.
Not around me.
Not trapping me.
Waiting for my hand.
I didn’t know what it was.
I didn’t know why I’d made it.
I didn’t know whether I could ever make another one.
I didn’t even know if “made” was the right word.
But for the first time since waking up, the ice didn’t feel like something that had happened to me.
It felt like something that belonged to me.
I kept my hand against the glass.
“When can I use it?” Grant sighed.
There it was.
The question he’d been waiting for.
“Not today.” “Tomorrow?” “No.” “Day after?” “No.” “Next week?” “Maybe.” I looked at him.
“That’s basically yes.” “That is absolutely not yes.” I smiled.
Grant pointed at me.
“And this changes nothing.” My smile faded slightly.
“What?” “You’re not suddenly stronger.” “I know.” “You lasted eight seconds.” “Nine.” “Eight.” Cross looked between us.
“Is this going to continue?” “Probably,” Sato said.
Grant ignored them.
“You formed a strange sword.
Great.
You still lose to Ortiz.” I stared at him.
“Why would you bring that up right now?” “Perspective.” “I hate perspective.” “You still can’t maintain stable Core output at full speed.” “I know.” “You still overcommit.” “I know.” “You still get tired.” “I know.” “You still make bad decisions when emotional.” That one landed differently.
I looked through the glass.
The sword waited.
“Yeah.” Grant’s voice softened.
“A weapon doesn’t fix any of that.” I nodded.
He was right.
I hated that he was right.
But this time, looking at the ice sword, I didn’t need it to fix me.
I just wanted to understand it.
And maybe, eventually, understand what it said about me.
I lowered my hand from the glass.
“Okay.” Grant blinked.
“Okay?” “Yeah.” He looked at Cross.
“Should we check him again?” “Probably.” “Very funny.” We started toward the door.
I looked back once.
The sword remained exactly where it was.
I couldn’t explain the connection.
Couldn’t measure it.
Couldn’t even properly feel it.
But when the door closed between us, I still knew it was there.
And somehow I knew something else too.
I would hold it again.