"At least you tried," and his shrug is more a way to sink into himself, his sweater, his tea. There are still flashes of chills and aching joints, but he thinks he's mostly over the cold. Spring water and antibiotics never hurt, though he's been trying to lean on the former and save the latter.

"A lot of people give up; a lot of people wouldn't have listened. You can't know what it takes to convince everyone." He'd learned that at an early age: sometimes fate was fate because you couldn't steer a person off a path, even if you gave them the choice. He'd told who he thought might listen about why they were leaving the shop, but only so many understood that it might extend its claws out to them. He can't imagine trying to tell all of New York City not to go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, especially without being able to give a concrete reason as to why.