Magic didn’t know where Daphne had disappeared to in the crowd, only that by the time he came to his senses he was alone and being pushed from side to side. Panic overcame him. He looked around, desperate to catch a glimpse of a familiar face, anything to help him against the onslaught of terrified strangers. People squeezed past, tackling and ramming their shoulders into his. Eventually, Magic found himself pushed and swept away from the force of the crowd as it trampled through the square, towards the safety of the southern alleyways.

Each hit he took sent jolts of fire though him, skin crawling with the sensation of something begging to breach through it. The heat was unbearable in the mass of bodies and he struggled to breathe. His legs were wobbly, pathetic things and he stumbled a few times in the mass of entangled limbs, the sharp rip of a gunshot only eliciting more shrieks of fear from the people around him.

The longer Magic found himself in the crowd, the less he could hear, the less he could focus as something unsettlingly familiar crept back into his consciousness. The sensation of choking, the throat tightening, the chest clenching; the horrifying feeling of suffocating.

And he couldn’t get rid of it.

No matter how he struggled, how he fought to find an exit, the air got heavier, the spaces between the bodies tighter and the willingness of the crowd to part for him diminished. He shoved people in a frenzy. They pushed him back, they slowed down, and the startled herd began to jam.

Overwhelming dread was a heavy cloak draped across Magic’s shoulders, its weight nauseating. He was there and not there. He was somewhere else and stuck all the same. He was a child, suffocating.

You’re going to die here, taunted a voice in his head. You are stuck and you’re going to die here.

Before he could stop himself, he was screaming, like every other person in the crowd, desperate to get himself out for all the good it would do him. There was no one there to help him. It was a howled plea that tore loose from somewhere deep, unguarded and distraught.

Someone yanked him to the right by the sleeve of his jacket.

Magic fought against it in the middle of the crowd, but he lacked the strength to do so effectively. He could barely hear anything between the ringing in his ears that only caused him more anguish. In flashes Magic recognized that he was being pulled to the edge of the stampede and into a nearby alleyway, gasping for air as it became easier to breathe.

The stranger tugging on his coat pulled him from the crowd and he tripped over someone’s shoe, hitting the ground before he was hauled back up to his feet by the lapels of his coat. Magic didn’t know how long it had taken to get from the edge of the crowd to the backstreets, but the off putting scent of waste—both animal and possibly human—brought him back to some semblance of reality. His back hit a wall and he slid to the floor, knees up, one arm draped over them as he rested his head against the crook of his elbow.

Stars, he needed air. He felt like he couldn’t get any fast enough.

“Holy shit. What a nightmare … ”

He couldn’t hear very well, but the voice beside him was high-pitched and familiar.

“ …. this over your shoulders. You’re shaking, Mags. Breathe.”

Mags.

Mira.

Magic forced himself to look up. He didn’t know how she found him and he didn’t care much to ask. She was a constant thorn in his side, but he found himself grateful for her presence this time around.

By the time his eyes focused, Mira was halfway through shedding her coat; she shook it out and draped it over his shoulders, holding it taut in front of him. It didn’t fit well; in fact, it was a few sizes too small, but he was in no position to deny her help. He took the edges of the jacket from her to hold it closed himself, balling up the fabrics to press it against his mouth. In spite of himself, Magic bit into it, muffling a small sob as adrenaline coursed out of his body.

Mira’s face was haunted, a deer-like stare. “Magic?” she said, her voice small, a grating whisper. He hated that tone. “You’re still with me, right?”

He managed a quick succession of nods. Another round of gunshots filled the air and he flinched. Mira looked around the corner too fast, too frenzied and Magic noted the stumble in her steps, the stiffness of her posture as she gripped the brick wall of the house they were hiding behind. He got the nagging feeling that something was looking for her. Or someone.

“Good.” Mira’s voice was a wisp of breath; he had to strain to hear her. It was like she was talking to herself, like Magic’s presence behind the brick house was a figment of her imagination. “That’s good.” Then she turned, crouched in front of him, snagged the sleeve of his jacket. “I don’t want to rush you in the middle of this, but we need to keep going. Preferably until we’re inside of a building.”

“The roads,” Magic choked out, unable to get the rest of his thoughts past his lips.

But Mira understood. “Not the square,” she said and immediately he felt relief. “We’ll stick to the backroads. Find a house we can break inside of or something. At least until nightfall. I can explain everything when we’re somewhere indoors. But I need you to get up and run, Mags.”

Magic shook his head, removing the bunched up fabrics from his mouth. He didn’t want to move. Frankly, he didn’t really want to do anything aside from sit and wait for this wave to pass, but Mira was relentless. She snagged him by the arm and roughly hoisted him up, dragging him along behind her as though he were nothing more than a kite toted by a breeze.

The rush of air was reassuring yet mildly off. The cool mist felt fresh against his red-hot skin and running through it filled his nerves with a sense of calm. He felt his heartbeat slow, his limbs grow less weary, but heavy with the leaden weight of numbness. He felt tired.

Small tendrils looped and coiled in the air like a beckoning hand, a serpent of lavenders and cyans. The only thing that kept him focused in the moment was the yanking of his arm as his sister weaved haphazardly through the backroads, a constant push and pull between serenity and panic.

And it felt wrong.

Fear and anxiety didn’t just wither away, ground to dust like dead leaves of autumn. It lingered, it persisted. Not that he wanted the feelings to remain; Magic was content to let them go, but their short duration felt strange.

Mira stopped short by an old, two story house with weathered, chipped bricks. Red symbols were painted along the glass, five pointed stars with a cross through them in each section. Street lamps shot through the droplets of water vapor in the air, shrouding the alley in cloudy mist.

Magic leaned against it, closing his eyes to take in the peace, willing the residual tingling in his hands and feet to nothing, the sound of Mira’s repetitive kicking of the door to his left the only other noise in the dead of night. If their pursuers were nearby, he couldn’t hear them, which meant they were safe, for the moment, but he had the nagging feeling that his sister’s persistence to barge her way indoors would draw attention and he prayed that whoever was chasing them were too far or otherwise busy to catch on.

When he opened his eyes, Mira was still using her shoulder as a battering ram against the door, cursing in repeated strings under her breath until finally the door yielded and parted for them.

It was a quaint house, one that might have been suitable for a small family of four or three as the living space was just barely large enough for two couches shaped in an ‘L,’ a knitted, oval-shaped rug with frayed edges on the rounded edges splayed in different directions as though it had been run over by a child. Red symbols similar to the one on the windows were slathered on the wooden walls, some painted in a hurry compared to others.

The same symbols, he realized, that were smeared on the windows, as though their prevalence was supposed to ward away demons.

A mug was left on the nearby coffee table; whoever had been here before them must have left in quite the hurry, Magic figured. He collapsed on the sofa, sinking into the cushions and staring at the ceiling, allowing his body to give way to the prevailing sense of calm that overtook him in the backstreets, clinging to the last bits of it he had before it vanished. Stars and static flickered in the dark void of the house, as he focused his breathing, clutching onto the edges of Mira’s jacket still draped over his shoulders.

Something clicked repeatedly just off to his right. Magic shifted his eyes to spot his sister fumbling with a lighter and when a flame finally caught, illuminating her face in harsh orange, Mira lit several candles and placed them around the room as though she were preparing a seance, but her hands were clumsy—Magic watched her almost drop a candle and his heart stuttered, calming only when she caught it.

Magic lifted his head. He’d seen Mira scramble before whenever her plans didn’t work or when she had to add something last minute. But he vaguely recalled the look on her face in the alley, wide eyed and breathless. It reminded him a lot of the way she froze staring down the drunkard the other night. Something had shaken her. That wasn’t a common trait in the Arbesque family tree. The fact that it had happened twice—or at all—was unusual.

“What did you do?” he asked when Mira finally settled down on the floor in front of him.

“I don’t know,” Mira replied.

“Bullets don’t shoot themselves, Mira.”

“I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“And that doesn’t answer my question. You need to—”

“Is there something wrong?” she cut in. “With my eyes?”

Magic pushed his glasses further up his face. He watched his sister carefully; she was gripping the side of the cushion, digging her nails into it until the pillow curled over her knuckles. In the light of the flame, he couldn’t see anything wrong with Mira’s eyes—they were the same blue and gray as they had been when they were young—but the way she said it, desperate and pleading, confused him. Heterochromia was common in Chrome and a few of the surrounding towns. Why was it bugging her now? “No,” he replied.

“You’re sure?” she asked.

“Positive.” Mira tightened her hold on the couch. Magic felt himself grow mildly irritated. “Why ask me if you’re going to doubt my answer?”

“I don’t doubt you, I just—”

“Either you believe me or you don’t. It isn’t that hard of a concept.”

“I do believe you, Mags, I just …”

“You just what Mira?”

“Holy shit, what did you run into that blew smoke in your ears?”

Magic shuddered. He hated that turn of phrase, but it was among the most common ones he heard as a kid. Shoving the discomfort down, he shifted around on the sofa. “You have no idea.”

“Well, I might have some idea, considering part of my coat now has your blood on it.” His eyes flicked towards the parts where he’d snagged the fabrics. It was coated with bits of dried blood. With a wince and a drawn in breath, Magic didn’t reply, only took his hands away from the clothing and held onto the bridge of his glasses. Mira rolled her eyes and stood, crossing the room. Doors opened and slammed shut as she continued, mistaking his guilt for avoidance. “It’s dark, but I can still see Mags. I’m not blind.”

“Never said you were. What are you looking for?”

“Towels,” she said, wood creaking beneath her as she approached with a set of shears in her right hand, a stack of cloths in the other. “Give me your hands.”

“Mira, it’s fine—”

“I’m not going to discuss anything with you until you get this taken care of. And I know you want answers, so either you let me do this while you take a breather or I won’t tell you jack shit.”

Typical Mira. Never something for nothing, always a bargain.

“You’re an ass,” Magic muttered, hanging his arms over the side of the sofa. His sister winced, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the rather tame insult or because of the swelling and blood along his hands.

Mira dabbed the punctures with a wet towel. Magic flinched his hands back. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s fine—”

“Not about the deal. About this.” She waved the hand with the shears—which were thankfully closed—around, conjuring a thought from midair. “I didn’t think … I thought that with a plan and everything, it would be easier for you. I wanted you to feel like you were contributing. I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Magic raised a brow. That was new for her; on any normal day, he would have had to push her into an apology and make her see reason. If it weren’t for the fact that something was so obviously chasing her, he would have teased his sister about the shocking quality of her apology. “Talked to the wrong people. It’s fine.”

“No, Magic, it isn’t. Stop. I should’ve been there with you.” Mira paused, midway through wrapping one of his hands which burned like hell. She rubbed her face with the crook of her elbow. Was she crying? Or just wiping sweat off her face? He couldn’t tell. “Wouldn’t have gotten us into so much fucking trouble if I’d stayed.” She hesitated for a moment, then knotted the towels around his right hand, making a conscious effort to stop herself from saying something else. “Did you manage to get anything?”

A deflection, but he allowed it. His thoughts turned to the bag Daphne had given him. The materials he hadn’t paid a single coin for. The materials he realized he was no longer holding. Before the noises, Magic was holding the bag in his hand and then … He must have lost it in the marketplace fighting for his life. With a heavy sigh through his nose, Magic closed his eyes. “I lost it,” he mumbled.

“That sucks,” Mira replied, keeping a calm neutrality in her voice as she slid the shears through one of the towels.

“I know.” He turned to look at her, harsh shadows from the flame painting most of her in contoured shadows. His sister looked a little calmer than when they first arrived, so he tested the waters. “Now that you’re occupied, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

She sat in silence, which grew heavier under the snipping and shuffling of the cloths. Magic bounced his leg against the couch, waiting for Mira to gather her words; her focus was solely on tending to the wound before she found the courage to speak. “I wanted to understand. I wanted to understand why so many people were scared living in this town to the point where they felt like they had to abandon their homes just to feel safer. But I met someone further up north who didn’t seem all that bad. Turns out he was on the run. Someone came after him. And me.”

“And you?” Magic propped himself up slowly to rest on his elbow. What could Mira possibly have done to piss off the Elnoirans? Probably plenty, he considered, but still, he didn’t think Mira would have been that stupid to have done so willingly … Unless, of course, she was. He held her gaze until she looked away.

“I don’t know why. But I know that it kept coming back to my eyes. The guy who came after us seemed to think we had something special going on with them, which didn’t make sense whatsoever.”

“Did he follow you?”

“For a while, yeah. I think I lost him once I started climbing and hiding on the rooftops—I don’t think he expected his target to get one over on him by scaling walls and porches.

“I did manage to get this.” From her pocket, Mira held out a small charm: a pin in the shape of a silver deer’s skull. At some angles, it resembled a rabbit with two, four pronged horns protruding from its forehead. A vibrant, blue sapphire embedded between the holes where eyes should have been sparkled in the candlelight.

Magic took it and turned it over in his palm, memorizing the shape of it in his palms. “What does this do for us? It’s a pin.”

“Spiros said we have to bring it to the blood house out east. That’s why I brought us here. I thought this was the one he was talking about.”

Out east. In the Beast’s fog.

There was a prickle along the back of his neck. No wonder it felt so wrong here.

Which meant that the markings on the wall were meant to ward against a specific type of demon.

Magic dragged a hand down his face. They needed to leave. “How do we get out of here?”

Mira rubbed her hands together. “That’s the thing, Mags, I don’t think we’re supposed to. We have to be east. It’s just … I think we’re in the wrong house.”

“How do you suppose we do that? Have the pin project us a map? Point us in the right direction? It’s not a compass, Mira.”

“I know it isn’t. But if this was the right house, I feel like someone would have come down the steps by now. The instructions made it sound like we had to look for someone.”

He at least had to give her that. An empty house wouldn’t get them anywhere. They’d be sitting ducks if they stayed. “So how do you suppose we look for this ‘blood house,’ then? We’re gonna have to walk without being spotted if this … person is still looking for you.”

“We can keep to the back alleys. Hide in the shadows. Stay low.”

“That might be the most reasonable thing I’ve heard you say in the last month and a half.”

Now she smiled, a small, meek smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I try my best.”

He hadn’t wanted to roll off the couch. He wanted to lay there, get some good sleep for once. But he didn’t like the creepy, uneasy feeling the cabin gave him, like he was sitting inside of a coffin. The last thing either of them needed was for the house to be their burial site. “Grab your bag, then. Let’s get the hell out of here and go on a treasure hunt.”

“When you put it that way,” his sister said, closing the back door behind the two of them as they exited, “it makes it sound less like we’re running for our lives and more like a fun little game your mom would’ve set up for us.”

“Last I checked, my mom didn’t enjoy scavenger hunts.”

“Neither did you. You always complained about them because you weren’t good at finding the prizes. Sucked the joy right out of it.”

“They’re not practical,” Magic muttered, keeping pace with Mira who was beginning to dart ahead, “when you’re hiding things you’re going to use anyway. And why are you running?”

“I’m not running,” Mira replied, running her fingers through her curls. The last dregs of sunlight turned her hair into a flame, sparkling against the water droplets in the mist. “I’m speedwalking. I don’t like this fog. It’s gross, it makes my legs tired and it’s frizzing up my hair.”

At least there they could both agree.

They walked several blocks; Magic felt a familiar ache in his legs that he wasn’t sure were remnants from the marketplace mob or if it was just simply from the walk they’d been on for the last fifteen minutes, perhaps more. Elnoire felt like it was going on forever, like they’d been stuck in the same place for minutes, for hours.

Locating the ‘blood house,’ proved to be a lot more difficult than it sounded. All of the houses sported similar markings of red paint in a multitude of patterns. Some houses had stars shot through with thin, black lines as though the paint were a mistake to be crossed out with marker. Others were in the shape of knots, with curved lines that intersected again and again until all that was left of it was a series of arcs and loops.

And each house, consistently, was empty. Magic peered into every window he could just to catch a glimpse of life beyond the windowpanes and cracked brick walls but found nothing. Not a single human being lived in these houses. All of them must have fled out west or to other towns to escape their close proximity to the forest—and the Beast.

Not that Magic could blame them; he’d heard plenty of stories about the demon in the woods as a kid from a woman who frequently consulted his mother for clothing repairs. She came in frequently, paid her dues and left. But Katie Ambrose was the only woman Magic knew who never paid them in coin—she paid in stories.

Once, she’d told Magic and his mother of a story involving a rabbit and a salamander—whose names he could never remember—and how their competition led to the creation of the first forests and canyons.

Another day, Katie told Magic how Ori delivered deceased spirits back to the light from which they were born, taught him the saying that he repeated every mining anniversary since then: from light we are created; to light, we return.

She’d told them once that her great grandparents had left Elnoire to come to Chrome after an incident left her great grandmother an only child. According to Katie, the Beast had left her ancestor with little more than a shoe for confirmation of her great grandmother’s brother’s disappearance.

“Why did it do that?” Magic had asked. A rare moment of curiosity from a near soundless six year-old. Even his own mother had been shocked to hear him speak, let alone in front of a stranger.

Katie had only given him a wistful smile. Clothing in hand, she had approached his spot on the sofa and crouched to be at eye level. “Because that’s just what the Beast does,” she’d said in little more than a whisper. “The Beast spirits people away and makes them believe in something better.”

Amelia had chastised Katie then, out of fear that she’d frightened her son. Magic had reassured his mother that he wasn’t scared and that he was big enough to handle scary stories like the other kids did. But the truth was that he’d spent the rest of that night and many days; months; years wondering if Ori would protect him or his family if something came to harm them.

Looking back on it now, Magic supposed he had gotten that particular answer.

He kept his eyes to the fog filled sky, sifting through the shades of periwinkles and violets that made up the odd mist of Eastern Elnoire. It was unsettling just how calm and peaceful it was. Everything in his senses told him that this mist was wrong, unnatural, but he wanted only to stand in it just to feel at peace.

“Mags?”

Mira was staring up at him a few paces ahead. When had she gotten so far away? And when had it gotten so dark? “You alright, bud?”

“Yeah,” Magic replied, keeping his voice a low murmur. “Why?”

“You weren’t answering me. I got nervous. I thought I lost you for a minute there.”

“Still here.” There was a crease in his sister’s forehead that said she didn’t quite believe him. He placed his hands into his pockets and opened his coat a small flourish, as if to say Believe me now? but Mira just nodded her head and didn’t start moving until Magic approached. This time, she matched his pace, latching onto his jacket sleeve as though she couldn’t bear the thought of being separated anymore, a twin fearful of losing their other half.

They walked for hours more. They walked until both their feet grew weary and were forced to sit huddled together by a dumpster hoping that the rancid stench would keep people away. No matter the distance they crossed, none of the houses seemed to be the blood house that Mira was hellbent on locating.

For a moment, Magic was beginning to think that his sister was imagining things when she’d shown him the deer skull pin and explained the situation.

Until they walked past two more alleyways and smelled iron in the air.

Mira paused dead in her tracks, daring only to look at Magic from the corner of her eye while he slid the pocket knife out from his coat, keeping it close to his side. “Y’know,” he said, keeping one hand at his sister’s back in case he needed to either hold her back or push her out of the way, “when you said ‘blood house,’ I was thinking something more … metaphorical. Not …”

“The scent of blood,” Mira finished, her voice an atrocious, wobbly mess. “Yeah. I know. I thought it was just a phrase. I didn’t think …”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. Magic knew it would only go in circles, so he motioned for her to be quiet, placing the wooden handle of the switchblade to his lips. Mira shuffled off to the side, eyes flicking in every direction as Magic kept his straight ahead. The scent only grew stronger, more pungent the closer they got to a more spread out selection of cabins. Among them, one had its lights on, a dancing flame in the window. A few feet from its porch steps lay a smeared trail of blood, rounding in a lazy arc towards the back of the house. It returned on the other side, a complete circuit.

Magic pressed his knuckles to his mouth, holding back a retch as Mira crouched on the ground, surveying the scene. She pressed her hand to it. When she lifted it and held her hands together, they squelched. A freshly made river. “What did this?”

“I don’t think that’s a question you’re going to want the answer to,” Magic said flatly. If he was going to be honest, he didn’t want that answer, either.

“I don’t,” conceded Mira, “but I’m getting the feeling that the blood house is … well, this one.”

“On a scale of one to ten, how much do you trust this …” He gestured, trying to find the name Mira had used before. When it never came, he improvised. “This person from up north?”

“A solid seven.”

“Which still leaves a solid three in doubt. Got it.”

“Oh, stop, Magic.”

Magic ignored her. He unsheathed the switchblade and kept it gripped in his left hand as he held out his right to guard against anything that might be lurking to get the jump on them. It wouldn’t do them much if it was a person, Magic realized, but he wanted to at least hope that his anxiety would leave him alone when it came to life or death scenarios.

Mira was at his right, her two fists raised to cover her neck and chest, her right hand just above her chin and extended a little in front of her as Magic crouched by the door. He didn’t know if the cabin was occupied and he didn’t care much to knock and make a scene. If they were going to sneak their way into safety, he would rather it be done effectively and efficiently.

Lucky for him, he knew how to keep under the radar enough to sneak into places with the proficiency of a thief. He’d learned as much growing up. At least now it could be of use to him.

Magic dug the knife’s point into the lock, wriggling the blade around with a careful hand. They were delicate things and strange ones, too. All it required was the right pressure, the right angle, the right motion and you were in, but getting there was the hard part. The blade twisted, tilted, and turned until something popped and a smile found its way on Magic’s face. The metal sang with a satisfying scratch against the lock as he unsheathed the blade, turned the doorknob and cracked the door.

Instantly, Mira was at his shoulder, peering over him. “I don’t see anyone,” she whispered.

“I don’t either,” Magic replied, slightly annoyed by her close proximity. He nudged her into the house and followed slowly behind her, closing the door and relocking the door. The house seemed to recognize that intruders had entered; the wood beneath their feet wouldn’t stop creaking, everything they opened closed far too loudly and even their breathing seemed to echo indoors.

His sister scampered towards what looked like a kitchen unit, sparking another candle to life for some form of light as Magic observed the candle by the window. It wasn’t noticeable from a distance, but it was neatly contained in a maroon colored ornate box, the sides of it rimmed in intricate golden swirls, the design something reminiscent of an old vase his mother kept on the kitchen table. Beside it was a box of similar design—a darker shade of red—left open and filled with tiny, ovular pebbles. Four of the rocks had made their way out of the tiny chest, meticulously lined up in front of the window in a single file line, their shadows thin and ominous against the glass. The lanky silhouettes wavered beneath red symbols painted carefully on the glass window, its corners frosting over from cold.

The setup reminded him of the one he kept on his windowsill at home.

One rock for health, another for wealth, two for strength of heart, the last for a wish, and a candle to act as a beacon.

The rocks were offerings to Ori, he realized.

Magic left them alone and turned to observe the rest of the house, decrepit with an old, wooden rocking chair. It lacked cushions on its seat, which was weathered and worn, one of the handles half broken. He approached and ran his finger along the top, dipping his finger through the divots and gliding along the smoothed edges. There was no visible dust in the candle light, but Magic knew it was there; his eyes watered a little from the irritation and his chest constricted in a series of coughs.

He almost hadn’t heard his sister whistle,a low, mournful sounding one that sounded like an actual whistle rather than a poor imitation of one.

Magic turned. “What?”

“I need you to answer a question for me,” Mira said, dragging something out of a top cabinet from the kitchen. “How long have these cabins been abandoned for?”

“I don’t know.” It was the truth, but his sister frowned, a disapproving stare. He threw up his hands. “Ori’s feathers, Mira, I don’t know how long the cabins have been empty for. Months? Years? A good couple of decades? Why? What’s so important about—?”

“This.” She handed him a granola bar still encased in its wrapper. “I need you to look at the expiration date on them. Because I wanted to hope that maybe the blood outside was old or a coincidence, but I’m starting to think … ”

Magic wasn’t listening. He took the package back to the candle in the window for better light—and maybe for the extra reassurance of the stones on the sill. His fingers fumbled with the paper and flipped up an edge, revealing the date at the bottom.

Best before: December 27th, 0054.

One month from now.

Which meant that these were obtained recently.

Oh Stars, he thought. Someone still lives here. “Mira—”

“Don’t move, Mags.” Mira’s voice, but the waver in it made him look up.

Standing in front of them was a woman, her facial features sporadically illuminated by the flames. A malicious glint of silver flashed in her interlocked hands, revealing the smooth make of a pistol. The gun looked natural in her hands, a loose bend in her elbows that came from extended training. Familiarity. The weapon clicked and pointed from Magic to Mira with surprising speed, back and forth, an angry metronome.

“Start talking,” said the woman, voice brittle and thin, “or we’re going to have issues.”