Prelude / After Life

November 5th / 2000

Mom and Dad were buried in New Orleans.

Their headstones honed nothing special. Surrounded by trimmed grass, weathered through the years — seven years, to be exact — just two lone graves on family land. There is plenty of space for Reese to be buried with them when the time comes. If someone remembers it — they're not just buried in New Orleans, they're hidden there. On sacred Raven land that had been abandoned centuries ago. Ancestral witches had driven them away.

That was part of why she visited first. If nothing but to confirm that she couldn't just stay there with them. All sorts of people were after her now. The obvious place to check was her old home. After all, they'd gone to devious lengths to stay hidden — from Geminis, from Ravens, from Originals. Motivation to actually want to remain free.

Second, she'd wanted to write them a eulogy. To bring their favourite flowers and weep and say, I'll be okay and pretend to mean it and then walk away and never look back. Instead, she'd dropped to her knees and sat there till her legs went numb and spoke to a fucking headstone.

Mama, I wanted to write you a eulogy . . .

She'd wanted to hide there with them forever.

But bygones, bygones.

Seven years after their death, Reese was the epitome of a Raven Coven witch and everything they'd tried to keep her from becoming. An uncanny resemblance to her mother — hickory brown eyes, chubby cheeks, pin-straight black hair, and perhaps the strangest feature to inherit: a thunderous insensitivity to violence.

That was what Diane Crowley said to her, "You look just like your mother."

Reese stared at herself in the mirror. Jet black hair tumbled down her back; she was all rosy lips and shiny skin, dressed in white. The necklace clasped around her neck — silver-chained with a deep purple amulet — was mom's too. She was mom.

"I'm not sure that's a compliment, considering you hated her."

She whirled around to see Diane leaning against the doorframe. Diane was very pretty. Dark umber skin, high cheekbones, long lashes, brown hair and brown eyes. She was dressed in black, wearing the solemnity of someone attending a funeral. It was fitting.

Today was a day of celebration, yet it would be a funeral too — either for Reese or for Azzie.

Reese brushed her fingers against the purple amulet. It would help her win. She was sure.

"You know, Azzie hasn't left her room in days," Diane said instead of indulging her accusation.

"And?" Reese was unable to take her eyes off her reflection. She did look like mom. "She knew what she was getting into. She's the one who chose me."

"A stupid choice, too."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"You must be a little scared."

"Of what? I'm obviously going to win; you know that." She arched her brows. "For what it's worth, I'd hoped you would be able to talk Azzie out of it. I didn't particularly want her to die."

"And that's exactly what your mom would say." A bitter smile.

Reese turned to face her. "Don't do anything stupid, Diane."

"I wish you'd been a bit more like your father."

"Of course you do. You were in love with him."

Diane didn't deny it. It took Reese five long years to pin it, and when she did, she realized it was there every time Diane looked at her — like she wasn't sure if she should hate her or love her.

The truth: Reese was utterly terrified for her life, and a magnificent liar.

She looked like her mom, goddammit. She looked like Nam Duri: Gemini siphoner, witch extraordinaire, vampire huntress, dead mother.

In less than an hour, she'd walk into a protective circle with Azzie Crowley, and one of them would move on to the Other Side while the other got inducted into the coven, as an active Raven, with renewed power. It was a ceremony most went through, but in their case — two witches, a Yung and a Crowley, blood-born Ravens — what it entailed was a sacrifice.

Their coven was suffering. Council members were dropping left and right, and whoever was responsible knew the workings of their coven very well. The Viper Murders was the name they'd given — a strange mixture of venom and vampire blood that would find its way to unsuspecting Ravens and have them dead within hours. They'd wake up disconnected from magic; vampires.

Death wasn't a barrier for raven witches, but vampirism certainly was.

With every death, the concentration of power in the hands of the remaining council members grew. The pattern they were seeing was that whoever the killer was, they intended to transfer all the control in the hands of the founding families.

They weren't a conventional coven for that exact reason — they were formed as a means of acceptance for any and all witches cast out. But even then, there had always been the slightest imbalance of power between the three founding bloodlines and the rest.

Out of those three: the Biduri's had died out around a century ago; Reese was the last of the Yung's; while the Crowley's continued to thrive.

Heads were turning. Reese and Azzie were meant to be their saving grace.

"I wish for a lot of things, Reese," Diane said. "But the one I wish for most is that he was still here."

Asshole. "What do you even expect me to say that, Diane?"

"I wish he were here . . . for you."

Reese rolled her eyes. "Splendid. I'm going to cry."

"You might not like me much, Reese, but I did take care of you for the past seven years. There's something he used to say: I bear it, so —"

"— so they don't have to," Reese finished.

"You might not be like him, but he did raise you." A pause. ". . . you're a Yung, Reese. You don't lose." Diane swallowed, tears surfacing in her eyes. "But I have to ask you anyway, or I won't be able to live with myself — for you father, if nothing, please . . . have mercy on her."

Her. Azzie. God, Reese loved her. She loved Reese. But breaking her heart was the sole way of ensuring she'd fight back. Azzie was . . . stubborn, strong, full of joy; she loved dangerously. She'd have died in a second for Reese if they were still together.

"Are you seriously trying to use my dead father to manipulate me right now?"

"I'm not going to lose my niece to you, Reese."

"This isn't about Azzie, or me, or you. Frankly, as one of the only Crowley's left on the council, you know very well that this is for the good of the coven." Familial bonds have the tendency to outweigh everything, though. "I don't want to do this. I don't want to be on the stupid council and I don't want to be a Raven." She shook her head, scoffing. "Why are you even here, Diane?"

She should be with Azzie, filling her head with poison about Reese and how she's a back-stabbing, pathological liar. Stupid, emotional Diane Crowley.

Diane stepped into the room. "I know what you're planning, Reese."

Reese smiled sweetly. "Mass murder. How did you guess?"

A thin wall of misconceptions strayed both of their lies from the path they were supposed to travel. There was something else in the mix that wasn't Reese's back-and-forth with a certain Original nor Diane's little deal with the devil to save Azzie.

"You know, I heard rumours," Reese went on, "that out of all the allies we have, an Original is going to attend the ceremony today."

"Rumours are based on facts."

"The council doesn't deal with Originals." Not collectively, at least. "In fact, they go out of their way to avoid dealing with them . . . growing up in New Orleans, you hear stories."

"You can hear stories anywhere, Reese."

"They quite enjoy making deals, these Originals."

Marcel had told her parents about them — in the dead of night, moon high, while they thought she was sleeping. She remembered the gentleness with which she'd crouched near the staircase; the ache in her knees as she listened to their whispers. Later she sat on her bed, terrified those monsters would get to her and she'd be another dead witch in their endless list of victims.

Ironic; they were responsible for her childhood nightmares and now she danced around with one, knowing, knowing, knowing.

"You are in no place to speak," Diane seethed.

"On the contrary," it was as if her entire life had been dictated by someone of that family, "the amount of knowledge you have about what actually happened is scarce."

"Perfect timing; opening up about past trauma."

"Do you know why my mom joined the Ravens in the first place?"

Diane frowned. "She was a Gemini siphoner. She'd kept that hidden for years; her coven wanted her dead."

"Yes. But my mom wanted power."

The necklace . . . the spell it housed, dormant, waiting for Reese to knock over the first domino.

"No. Your mom wanted to kill vampires."

"She had a dead witch whispering in her ears."

The Original Witch, fuelling her need for power by promising it through dead Original Vampires. But she'd have died too soon, siphoning that amount . . . so she had to be prepared.

Diane inched closer. "Reese . . . this is the worst time to —"

"— I only know half the story, Diane, but it's enough. Whatever deal you've made to save Azzie — it's not about Azzie. It's about the Original Witch and my mom."

Silence.

" . . . what did you do, Diane?" Reese questioned. Her stomach sank.

"I figured out the Viper Murders," Diane said finally. "This is just the beginning."

"Who is it?"

She regretted asking as soon as she did.

Just like that, it was time for the ceremony. She left her room with a knife hidden in her sleeve, because bad things were about to happen, she was convinced of it.

The sanctuary where the ceremony was being held was situated in, quite literally, another dimension. That was for remote access to the Registry — again, the occasion was more special than usual.

The Registry was very likely the heart and soul of the Raven Coven, essentially what bound them together. They took in witches from everywhere, trained them in their orphanages and when they were ready, inducted them into the Registry. A bond that linked their life-forces to the acting leader and allowed them to channel the power of their counterparts.

The system was messy, but it worked.

A baby Raven would have one partner to channel, preferably dead and on the Other Side. As they rose in ranks, the number of links they could forge with other witches grew as well. Most Ravens on the council had three or four links, which was already a lot of power, while the Leader was bonded with the whole coven.

The pocket dimension was paradise — evergreen forests; the whole world in technicolour.

Azzie was waiting, already in the circle, surrounded by thousands of people — witches, werewolves, vampires; all their allies.

Reese ended up killing so many of them.

December 24th / 2000

Colour Reese Yung officially clueless.

After committing mass murder at a sacred Raven Coven ceremony, she'd fled, as any sensible person would. So much had happened in under an hour that some nights she found herself trying to piece it together in order, and thus far, she'd made a mental list:

1) Diane Crowley had fucked up, and Reese had just about managed to get the blame for her crimes pinned on her. Great fucking do. The Viper Murders were an elaborate plan, and Diane had managed to track down the culprit. Then, as a way of saving Azzie from the Ceremony, she'd slipped the Viper Venom into the drinks of thousands of Raven witches. And Reese misperceived her whole agenda.

2) Azzie was the notorious Viper Murderer (?). Diane had tricked Reese. Reese prematurely murdered every witch with the Viper Venom in their system, transmitting the energy released from their loss of magic straight to that damned purple necklace, the spell mom had charmed it with finally spluttering to life.

It was built both as a modification to mom's siphoning and a way to practice Expression without facing the consequences — the work of a genius. Moments prior to her death, she'd bound the spell to Reese as a means of protection.

In conclusion: Reese Yung had been played for a fool by Diane Crowley.

Lastly:

3) Due to her . . . various misdemeanours, the whole coven was under the false impression that Reese was the Viper Murderer. Ergo, she was on the run.

. . . and that was it.

Even in the form of an organised list, nothing made sense. There was a crucial element missing, one far from Reese's grasp. She had some rotten luck.

Her current MO —  capture, question, kill. That was on the best of days. More often than not, she'd pose as an outsider, letting the pieces fall in place and the Ravens destroy themselves.

It was her birthday when it dawned that the Ravens weren't the only people after her.

Exhibit A: The suit-clad, dark-haired vampire watching her from the other end of the roof.

She was perched atop an old apartment complex that was falling apart — the paint a faded beige, peeling off to reveal grey cement; the stench of musty water prominent; the roof barren and gravel crunching underneath her boots with every step. She'd chosen this particularly as opposite it was a rather average looking restaurant full of fresh Raven witch-turned-vampires, minutes from dying.

Reese might be clueless about the big picture, but she sure was good at handling them in the present. It would have to do.

"I'm pretty sure I killed you," Reese said, initiating the riveting conversation she was sure he wanted to have; the stiff-looking vampire. "Why can't you stay dead, vampire?"

"I do recall having my heart magically torn from my chest, yes." He spoke in a very strong English accent. "I'm afraid if you want to kill me, you'll have to try harder than that."

She recalled the stories about him.

"Ah. The Original," she guessed. There was only one that had been in attendance. "I'm guessing you're not here to tell me how to permanently kill you."

He exuded this nuanced holier-than-thou attitude like he was trying really hard to seem like he wasn't trying at all.

"I'm here to offer you a deal, Miss Yung."

Reese grimaced. "I can find a way to kill you if I want, whatever your name is."

"Elijah Mikaelson." He smiled, but it held a duplicitous quality; a formality if nothing. Reese liked the other Original better. "You'll find your threats are much more effective when you use names. They add in a much-needed touch of . . . intimacy, if you will."

"Right. Well, Elijah, I have no interest in your deal." Reese shot him the same fake smile. "You should mind your business and do whatever it is thousand-year-old vampires do."

"I implore you to hear me out."

"No."

"May I ask why?"

"I have a personal grudge against any and all members of the Original family."

She trained her eyes on the restaurant below them. It was hard to tell what exactly was going on, but a splatter of blood on the glass wall was a tell-tale indicator.

"I've heard," Elijah said, following her gaze on the bloodied wall. She imagined he could hear what was going on inside. "I imagine your family was well-acquainted with my mother's tenacious ways."

Now they were getting to the point.

"Very much so. Which is why I'm telling you that I can summon Esther anytime I feel like. And I know for a fact the lot of you are scared of your mommy."

"What makes you so certain?"

"The less dolled-up version of you; Santa Claus or whatever."

A pause. Then: "Niklaus," he drawled, dragging out the 'I'.

Niklaus. Nik. Sandy-haired, blue-eyed, handsome Nik; charming Nik; beautiful Nik. They'd met on a roof too; Reese high as she often was, and him well-aware of her family's history. The first night, she'd known he was a liar; the second, she'd figured out he was the nefarious Klaus Mikaelson; the third, she'd decided to play his little game. The ease with which they'd lied to each other's faces.

"Right. Neeklaus," she said, mimicking his tone.

"What did he want from you?"

"Definitely not what you want." Reese's cleverness blew her own mind sometimes. She was very good at what she did. "May I ask why you're trying to kill your own brother?"

"Familial bonds tend to get strained over the course of millennia."

"Hm. Vague. What about the rest of your family?"

"They're currently indisposed."

The flash of anger on his face, although brief, said enough.

"I recognize that look." Reese was amused. "You want revenge."

". . . yes," he admitted. "Another concept I'm sure you're quite familiar with."

The primary teachings of the Raven Coven centred around balance and how revenge was a necessary evil. If witches were to maintain nature's balance, someone had to take up the less pleasant parts of it — murder and what-not. Someone: Ravens. But since it was such an important factor of the doctrine, nothing prevented them from applying it to their personal lives.

"Of course. Why does anyone do anything, if not for revenge?"

"There are other afflictions, yes," Elijah said, voice a million times more real.

"Don't be silly. Nobody has the energy to go to such," she gestured to the restaurant below as an example, "ridiculous lengths for anything other than revenge."

Revenge implied rage, grief, love. It was a calamitous tempest of a range of emotions instead of just one. It was insatiable.

"What a sad way to look at the world." God, he was so condescending. Reese doubted he even had to try.

"Better than being an awful, back-stabbing, pathological liar."

His mouth twitched. "What did Niklaus do to you?"

A better question: What did she do to him?

"Nothing too diabolical."

Reese sensed the sudden stillness. Death. Her business was done. She snapped her fingers, cutting short whatever Elijah's next words were. His neck whipped to the side, body falling with a thud.

She had a feeling this wasn't the last she'd see of him.

February 19th / 2001

They met again on a train journey from Venice to Paris.

Roughly four months on the run and she'd built a reputation of indulging in every luxury despite alarming circumstances. From five-star hotels and expensive dining to first-class travelling and shopping from high-end boutiques — why let all her old family money go to waste? If she had to be on the run, comfort was vital.

That granted her a one-time ticket to a normal, uncomfortable train journey without having to worry about danger looming over her head. It was admittedly stupid on Reese's part to fall asleep, but she'd been bouncing from one place to the next for the past three days, no rest in between.

She couldn't exactly help it.

A nasty bump against the window stirred her from her nap, and Reese opened her eyes to find a stiff man in a suit sitting in front of her, focused on a newspaper in his hands. Elijah.

"Creep . . ." She blinked rapidly, a scowl forming on her face. "You really are relentless, aren't you?"

"Indeed." He turned the page on his newspaper. "I believe thanks are in order."

Her gaze travelled to the compartment door — on the floor was a dead body. She scanned it, then flicked her fingers to flip it over. A tiny raven was tattooed onto the centre of the neck. Should she be grateful?

"Charming," she bit out. A wave of her hand and the compartment door flew open, another body tumbling to the floor. "At least you're not trying to seduce me as your brother did."

He set down the paper and looked at her. "I found myself . . . unable to figure out your plan for the longest time."

"Pointless murder not to your taste?" It was good; her plan was clever. "I mean, you are a vampire."

"That was my initial impression, yes," he tapped his knuckle against the window as an indication of thinking, "but I could hardly forgo the fact that you're a Raven witch, out for revenge. I was clueless, truly . . . just like you."

Well fuck. ". . . and that's your great revelation about my diabolical revenge plot?"

"You have no idea what's going," he summed up, "so you're trying to draw out the witches. They keep sending vampires and you can't figure out why." Then, he added: "or who."

He got every part correct. This wasn't Reese seeking revenge; it was her trying to figure out what was even going on — who was commencing the game?

"I have a pretty accurate guess," she said.

"And nothing else." Wrong.

"This is where you offer me that deal again, yes?"

"To my understanding, that necklace you wear offers you power beyond anything," he continued, ignoring her question, "I was curious — why not utilize it? Why sit back and instigate them into killing each other off?"

"Have you considered that maybe I'm just really morbid and you're reading too much into it?"

"You can't control your power, can you?"

Reese smiled because she didn't know what else to do. "You know, Raven witches aren't very good at being vampires. Around, I think, fifty percent choose not to complete their transition. And more than three-fourths of those that do, end up desiccating or killing themselves."

She slid out a leaflet from her jacket pocket and handed it to Elijah. It was crumpled up — a rough draft of something the council had been planning to distribute. Taking precautions hadn't worked, so they'd cooked it up in hopes it might tame the panic spreading through the coven.

A two-page, statistical analysis of Ravens' life as vampires which had ended up getting rejected, because it just made the whole situation feel a thousand times scarier. Getting magic ripped away from them was a witch's worst nightmare; Reese's worst nightmare.

"Concentration on the use of personal magic stores through the mind," he read aloud. "Non-reliance on any external source of power."

"Ancestral magic; spirit magic — all the same nonsense, if you ask me." Reese relaxed in her seat. "I'm going to give you a history lesson, just because, so shut up for the time being."

"You're very impolite."

Reese elected to ignore his comment. "After a certain point, we're not allowed to use verbal spells. They teach us to use whatever magic's already inside us, and you can't do that if you're relying on external sources," i.e, ancestors, spirits, spells, blah, blah, "to do that, you must rely on your mind."

"The Gemini-Raven war —"

"I said no interruptions." A withering glare. "Like I was saying — we're taught to do magic through, uh, will-power. The stronger your mind, the stronger your magic. It's insanely difficult, to be honest, but once you get the hang of it . . ." Safe to say Reese couldn't see herself ever going back to using verbal spells . . . yeah, just no.

"I fail to see the point of you relaying me this witch propaganda."

"In conclusion — I am basically already invincible."

"And humble, I see."

"Right? And I'm also practically witch royalty; they'd kinda lose all magic if something happened to Diane or Azzie Crowley — which, spoiler alert, will — if I wasn't there to save them."

"Are you building up to a point?"

"Ugh, I thought you were smart. I'm not behind the Viper Murders; your mother is." The face he made was worth dragging it out. "Anyways . . . this has been a riveting conversation. Still, I don't have time to get myself involved in more of your family squabbles, so."

She magically snapped his neck once again.

March 22nd / 2001

It had turned into a strange game of cat-and-mouse. She'd run, he'd seek, they'd talk, and then he'd get his neck snapped . . . over and over and over again. Reese was getting bored trying to figure out his plan — maybe he had some twisted pain kink that involved neck snapping? Which, just, ew.

The problem remained: he occupied her time with his annoying habit of sticking his nose where it didn't belong. So she made a list:

1) Elijah, for whatever reason, wished to kill Nik. Or Niklaus — Reese was cloudy on what she should refer to him as. She'd assumed it was a regular family squabble, seeing as vampires were naturally melodramatic and narcissistic. Now she was beginning to suspect it was something more serious, and what good did that do for anyone?

2) Through deductive reasoning and analyzing strategic patterns, Reese had concluded that Esther Mikaelson was back in some form that allowed her to influence the Raven Coven. Diane had vanished into thin air with her own agenda, which left an ignored but rather a crucial pawn in the game — Azzie.

Azalea — Azzie — Crowley; chestnut skin and tight curls; local heartthrob; absolute sweetheart. Reese hadn't expected her to survive this long. She was thinking . . . the Viper Murders, at face value, were a ploy to tip the scales in favour of the blood-born Ravens. At the end of the day, they retained a natural affinity to their linking magic than the others, and there were plenty of power-hungry fools in their tiny world.

Azzie simply wasn't one of them. She was sweet Azzie; clever Azzie; lovesick Azzie and . . .

3) Reese was running in circles, no closer to figuring it out than she'd been five months ago. She'd been considering options that she wasn't fond of. Elijah, with his deals, didn't share the same goal as her. There was one person who did.

. . . Regardless, she sought to end their tedious game tonight. It had gone on long enough, and the worst part was, she was still no closer to figuring out what loophole nature had come up with to kill an Original. Elijah was an expert at directing their chats according to his whims. She fell for it every time.

Instead of seeking out the dingiest place she could find, Reese opted to stay within the confines of her hotel tonight. The moon cycle was in the waxing gibbous phase, but clouds had covered the moon from sight.

Reese sat on the poolside, feet submerged in the water. Blue light illuminated her face. Her chin was pressed against her neck, eyebrows scrunched in and cheeks squashed. She'd tied her hair into a low ponytail, letting a few strands loose.

There was a pleasant chill in the air — she wore a fleece sweater to protect herself from it. She was being counterproductive, with her feet plunged in cold water, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"You lure me out to the strangest places."

"I, for one, think this place is a doozy," Reese replied. "You should try the pancakes."

By now, Reese had briefed him on the Raven Coven history since it was formed, all way back when, in the Old World. The story of Yung Sun-Hee and Sang Mee-Yon; the first Raven life-link; the death of Mee-Yon and the start of the Raven Coven through Sun-Hee: travelling across the world, recruiting the disgraced Biduri's and Crowley's; reclaiming their tarnished reputations and using every bad omen they could find as a symbol of the coven.

It was a great story, but Reese believed there should've been some more thought before they christened themselves the Raven Coven. Even beyond the traditional ham acting that came with dark magic, the Raven Coven's talent for theatricality remained unmatched.

Maybe Elijah was a match for it. He clearly enjoyed his dramatic entrances: three-piece suit, impassive face, ugly haircut; the light of the pool made shadows dance across his face, making him look like a classic brooding vampire — the only thing missing was a long black cape. And the permanently fanged teeth.

"I continue to grow tired of this game by the minute."

"You could just stop chasing me."

"Oh, my darling Reese," Elijah sat on a chair near Reese, comically out of place amongst the large umbrella shrouding over him, "I do believe we're much past the point where you try to pretend you're not enjoying this."

Her lips curled into a mirthful smile. "I'll admit, it's nice to have someone to talk to."

He was also weirdly interested in history, considering he'd lived through it. But a person can't be in a thousand places at once, she supposed.

"Most people are too scared of me to be friends," she went on, "But then again, I guess if you're practically invincible, there isn't much to be scared off . . ." Except for mother dearest. Everyone is scared of their mom.

"I'm glad you consider us friends." A pause that told Reese there was a petty remark coming. "But I implore you to redefine what you regard as friendship — it doesn't usually entail repeated murder."

"Here I was thinking you appreciated having your neck snapped. Should I adopt another method?" She put on a faux-thinking face. "Do you prefer being staked?"

"I prefer talking things out."

"Okay, now I feel like the vampire." What with the unending suggestions of murder. ". . . fine. I'll hear out your little deal."

"Lovely." Elijah smiled his duplicitous smile. "Over the course of these past months, I've revised the terms of the deal. You'll find it difficult to reject."

"As much as I appreciate your monologues — hurry along and spit it out, Elijah."

"It's simple, really: I help you, you help me."

"Yeah, now I wanna take back the friendship comment." Reese hummed, leaning her weight on her palms, the stone tiles digging into her skin. "I'm serious — what do you think you can even help me with? I mean, you're a vampire . . . no offence?"

"A special vampire," Elijah corrected. "You have the power yet you're too scared to use it to its full potential."

"Magic is iffy at the best of times." Reese latched onto what he was saying. "I want to learn to fight . . . I'm not even gonna ask how you guessed that."

Three weeks in she'd suffered a bit of a setback. It didn't cost her position, in the end, but it had the potential to grow into a problem. She considered it the worst day out of all the months she'd spent running.

A normal squabble with raven vampires, looming above them as they lost their damn heads, only this time she'd gotten involved at the last minute. A simultaneous flick of her hands and she'd finished them off — but she'd twisted her ankle because she'd had to deliver a punch to a rather nasty one, and she had no idea how to deliver a punch, much less deliver it to someone with superstrength.

Reese rarely let anyone get the best of her. Mom and dad had held hands and burned to death, and her flimsy magic was all they'd left her with.

She needed to keep it safe and tucked away.

Or maybe it was just the paranoia.

"Just like a vampire," Elijah said.

"Just like a special vampire," Reese corrected, offering him a wry smile.