FEVER FIRES BACK! Lexie Hull and Briann January Reveal a Stunning Plan to Protect Caitlin Clark

The meeting was never supposed to leak.

It was meant to be quiet, internal, controlled.

Instead, it became the moment Indiana finally stopped pretending everything was fine.

Lexie Hull arrived first.

She walked into the small conference room carrying a phone, a notebook, and an expression nobody inside the building had seen lately.

She was furious.

Briann January was already there.

She sat near the end of the table with several pages spread in front of her.

Lexie dropped into the chair.

“They’re still saying it was tactical.”

January looked up.

“Who?”

“Everybody.”

Lexie unlocked her phone.

She slid it across the table.

Clips from the international game appeared.

Caitlin standing open.

No pass.

Caitlin being pulled.

Another clip.

Another ignored possession.

Another.

January watched quietly.

Lexie folded her arms.

“Tell me I’m imagining it.”

January looked toward her.

“You’re not.”

Lexie leaned back.

“That’s what I thought.”

The door opened.

Two Fever staff members entered.

One closed it immediately.

“No recording.”

Lexie laughed.

“That’s exactly why we’re here.”

The executive frowned.

“What does that mean?”

Lexie pointed toward her phone.

“It means everybody keeps hiding behind private conversations.”

January leaned forward.

“Lexie.”

“No.”

Lexie shook her head.

“I’m tired of watching Caitlin take every hit publicly while everybody else whispers privately.”

The room tightened.

One executive spoke carefully.

“This meeting is about next season.”

Lexie nodded.

“Good.”

She pointed toward the screen.

“Then next season starts with this.”

January stayed silent.

The executive looked toward her.

“Briann?”

January exhaled.

“Lexie’s right about one thing.”

The room waited.

“We cannot treat what happened internationally as irrelevant.”

The executive frowned.

“Different team.”

“Same player.”

January tapped the table.

“And the consequences come back here.”

Nobody answered.

Lexie leaned forward.

“Every time Caitlin gets dragged into some ridiculous power struggle, Fever inherits the damage.”

The executive nodded.

“Media damage?”

Lexie laughed.

“No.”

She pointed toward the floor.

“Basketball damage.”

January looked toward her.

Lexie continued.

“She comes back tired.”

“Frustrated.”

“Second-guessing reads.”

“Wondering if teammates will actually run.”

The executive crossed his arms.

“You think it affects her that much?”

Lexie stared.

“You think it doesn’t?”

Silence.

January stepped in.

“It affects everybody.”

She pointed toward the papers.

“I reviewed several sequences.”

The executive looked down.

“From the international games?”

“Yes.”

January turned the pages.

“There are possessions where Caitlin creates the first advantage.”

“Then the offense deliberately resets away from her.”

Lexie nodded.

“Exactly.”

January continued.

“That doesn’t prove conspiracy.”

Lexie rolled her eyes.

“There it is.”

January looked toward her.

“Words matter.”

Lexie shrugged.

“So does pattern.”

January nodded.

“Correct.”

The executive leaned forward.

“What are you proposing?”

January did not answer immediately.

She pushed a document toward him.

He looked down.

The title was simple.

PLAYER USAGE AND EXTERNAL ASSIGNMENT PROTOCOL.

He looked up.

“What is this?”

January folded her hands.

“A protection structure.”

Lexie smiled.

“Finally.”

The executive began reading.

His expression changed.

“You want review authority over external assignments?”

January nodded.

“Not veto authority.”

“Then what?”

“Risk evaluation.”

He frowned.

January continued.

“If Caitlin is going into an environment where role clarity is nonexistent, Fever needs to know.”

Lexie leaned forward.

“And if the plan is to use her as a decoy for forty minutes while everybody else fights for control?”

The executive looked at her.

“That’s exactly the kind of language we need to avoid.”

Lexie smiled without humor.

“Why?”

“Because it sounds inflammatory.”

Lexie pointed toward the video.

“That looked inflammatory.”

January raised a hand.

“Lexie.”

Lexie exhaled.

“Fine.”

January turned back toward the executive.

“We want communication before international camps.”

“Role expectations.”

“Minute expectations.”

“Medical load.”

“Ball-handling responsibility.”

“Decision hierarchy.”

The executive nodded slowly.

“That’s a lot.”

January answered.

“So is rebuilding a player after bad environments.”

The room became quiet.

Lexie leaned back.

There was the real issue.

Nobody inside Indiana wanted to say it directly.

But Caitlin had changed.

Not dramatically.

Not permanently.

Just enough.

She came back from the international window quieter.

More guarded.

More suspicious of simple questions.

During one Fever practice, Lexie had noticed it immediately.

Caitlin caught an outlet pass.

Usually, she pushed.

That day, she hesitated.

Lexie sprinted ahead.

Then stopped.

“Why’d you pull it back?”

Caitlin shrugged.

“Nothing.”

Lexie stared.

“That wasn’t nothing.”

Caitlin bounced the ball.

“Just reading.”

“No.”

Lexie walked closer.

“You’re waiting.”

Caitlin smiled faintly.

“For what?”

“Permission.”

That smile disappeared.

Caitlin looked away.

Lexie understood.

And she hated it.

Back in the meeting room, Lexie leaned forward.

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

The executive frowned.

“What?”

“She came back asking permission with the ball.”

January looked toward her.

Lexie continued.

“She never used to do that.”

The executive’s expression changed.

January asked quietly.

“You saw it too?”

Lexie nodded.

“First practice.”

January exhaled.

“That’s concerning.”

The executive looked uncomfortable.

“We need to be careful not to overreact.”

Lexie laughed.

“Overreact?”

She grabbed her phone.

“Look at this.”

Another clip.

Caitlin open.

Ignored.

Another.

Pulled immediately after a turnover.

Another.

A veteran guard forcing a contested possession.

No consequence.

Lexie stopped the video.

“Same mistakes.”

She pointed toward Caitlin.

“Different punishment.”

The executive stayed silent.

January looked closely.

“Run that again.”

Lexie replayed it.

January watched.

Then again.

Then once more.

She leaned back.

“That’s the problem.”

The executive asked.

“What?”

January pointed toward the screen.

“Inconsistent accountability.”

Lexie nodded.

“Thank you.”

January continued.

“If a system punishes one player faster than everyone else, that player changes behavior.”

The executive asked.

“Even stars?”

January stared.

“Especially stars.”

He looked surprised.

She continued.

“They begin managing authority instead of managing basketball.”

That sentence stayed in the room.

Lexie nodded slowly.

“Exactly.”

The executive looked down at the document again.

“What else is in this?”

January turned the page.

“Internal recovery protocol.”

Lexie smiled.

“My favorite part.”

The executive frowned.

“Recovery from what?”

January answered.

“Role disruption.”

The executive looked toward her.

“That sounds dramatic.”

January shook her head.

“It’s normal.”

She continued.

“When a player returns from another system, especially one with conflicting expectations, we reset.”

The executive nodded.

“How?”

January counted.

“Film.”

“Role clarity.”

“Reestablishing reads.”

“Rebuilding trust.”

“Physical load reduction.”

Lexie added.

“And telling her to stop apologizing for passing ahead.”

January smiled faintly.

“Yes.”

The executive leaned back.

“You really think this is necessary?”

Lexie stared at him.

“I think Caitlin Clark is the franchise.”

The room froze.

The executive’s expression changed.

Lexie didn’t stop.

“You can dress that up.”

“You can say balance.”

“Culture.”

“Collective identity.”

She pointed toward the floor.

“But everybody knows.”

January watched her carefully.

Lexie continued.

“She changes ticket demand.”

“She changes spacing.”

“She changes transition.”

“She changes who wants to come here.”

The executive answered.

“That doesn’t mean everything revolves around her.”

Lexie nodded.

“Correct.”

Then she leaned closer.

“It means everything needs to account for her.”

Silence.

January finally spoke.

“That’s the distinction.”

The executive looked toward her.

January continued.

“Building around Caitlin does not mean diminishing everyone else.”

“It means designing around the most disruptive advantage you possess.”

The executive nodded slowly.

“And what does that look like?”

January slid another page across the table.

“Five principles.”

Lexie smiled.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

January ignored her.

“First.”

“Transition freedom.”

“No unnecessary pace restrictions.”

“Second.”

“Multiple secondary creators.”

“So Caitlin doesn’t carry every possession.”

“Third.”

“Defenders who run.”

“Fourth.”

“Shooting around her.”

“Fifth.”

“Internal accountability protected from external politics.”

The executive stopped.

“That last one.”

January nodded.

“That’s the important one.”

He frowned.

“Explain.”

January looked directly at him.

“If Caitlin has a bad game, correct Caitlin.”

“If Caitlin misses a read, correct Caitlin.”

“If Caitlin does not defend, correct Caitlin.”

She paused.

“But if a system fails?”

“Do not make Caitlin the explanation because she’s the easiest headline.”

Lexie hit the table softly.

“Exactly.”

The executive exhaled.

“This is going to create controversy if it gets out.”

Lexie smiled.

“Then maybe it should get out.”

January turned sharply.

“No.”

Lexie looked at her.

“Why not?”

“Because we’re building policy.”

“Not theater.”

Lexie laughed.

“Sometimes theater forces policy.”

January stared.

“That sentence is why you’re not running communications.”

Lexie smiled.

“Yet.”

The executive stood.

“We’re done for today.”

Lexie frowned.

“That’s it?”

“We review this.”

January nodded.

“Good.”

Lexie remained seated.

“What about Caitlin?”

The executive stopped.

“What about her?”

“Does she know?”

January looked toward Lexie.

Lexie continued.

“She should.”

The executive shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Lexie’s expression hardened.

“Why?”

“Because nothing is final.”

Lexie stood.

“She’s the person this is supposedly protecting.”

The executive looked toward her.

“And that is exactly why we don’t give her half-finished promises.”

January nodded.

“He’s right.”

Lexie looked toward both of them.

Then sighed.

“Fine.”

She picked up her phone.

“But if somebody leaks this before we tell her?”

The executive pointed.

“Nobody is leaking anything.”

Lexie smiled.

“Famous last words.”

Two days later, something leaked.

Not the document.

Something worse.

A report appeared claiming multiple international veterans believed Caitlin had been “overprotected” by Indiana.

Lexie read it during breakfast.

Her face changed instantly.

She called January.

“You see this?”

January answered.

“Yes.”

“They’re serious?”

“We don’t know who said it.”

Lexie laughed.

“Oh, come on.”

January remained calm.

“Don’t post.”

Lexie stopped.

“I didn’t say I was posting.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Lexie stood from the table.

“This is exactly the problem.”

January sighed.

“Lexie.”

“They freeze her out.”

“They blame her.”

“Then they call Indiana protective?”

January responded.

“We don’t know that the same people did all three.”

Lexie paused.

“Fine.”

January continued.

“Do nothing.”

Lexie stared at her phone.

“I hate when you say that.”

“I know.”

“You always say it right before I want to do something.”

“That is usually why.”

The call ended.

Lexie lasted twelve minutes.

Then she walked into Fever practice.

Caitlin was already shooting.

Lexie tossed her bag down.

“Did you see it?”

Caitlin caught another pass.

“See what?”

Lexie stared.

“You’re serious?”

Caitlin released.

Swish.

“I stopped checking.”

Lexie blinked.

“What?”

“Social.”

Caitlin caught another ball.

“Mostly.”

Lexie walked closer.

“Good.”

Caitlin smiled.

“That sounded suspicious.”

“It was supportive.”

“Sure.”

Lexie took the rebound.

She passed it back.

Caitlin shot.

Miss.

Lexie grabbed another.

“You know people are saying Fever protects you too much.”

Caitlin stopped.

Then laughed.

“Seriously?”

Lexie nodded.

Caitlin stared toward the basket.

“That’s actually impressive.”

“What?”

“The contradiction.”

Lexie smiled.

“I know.”

Caitlin grabbed the ball.

“Apparently I’m simultaneously mistreated and overprotected.”

Lexie shrugged.

“Multitalented.”

Caitlin laughed.

Then became serious.

“Who cares?”

Lexie looked at her.

“I care.”

Caitlin bounced the ball.

“Why?”

“Because narratives become decisions.”

Caitlin stopped.

That caught her.

Lexie continued.

“If enough people decide protecting you is weakness, organizations start proving they’re tough.”

Caitlin nodded slowly.

“By doing stupid things.”

“Exactly.”

They stood quietly.

Then Caitlin smiled.

“You’ve been talking to Briann.”

Lexie looked offended.

“I have independent thoughts.”

“Sometimes.”

Lexie threw the ball at her.

Caitlin caught it laughing.

Across the gym, January had just entered.

She heard enough.

“What did I miss?”

Lexie pointed toward Caitlin.

“She insulted my intelligence.”

January nodded.

“Reasonable.”

Caitlin laughed.

Lexie stared.

“This is workplace bullying.”

January walked closer.

Then her expression shifted.

She looked toward Caitlin.

“You okay?”

Caitlin shrugged.

“Fine.”

January waited.

Caitlin sighed.

“Yes.”

January nodded.

“Good.”

Then she looked toward Lexie.

“And you.”

Lexie already knew.

“Don’t post.”

January smiled faintly.

“Correct.”

Lexie raised both hands.

“I haven’t.”

Caitlin frowned.

“Why are we talking about posting?”

Neither answered.

Caitlin looked between them.

“What are you two doing?”

Lexie froze.

January immediately spoke.

“Nothing.”

Caitlin laughed.

“That was terrible.”

January sighed.

“Meeting after practice.”

Caitlin stared.

“About me?”

Lexie looked toward January.

January nodded.

“Yes.”

Caitlin’s expression changed.

“What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

January paused.

“We’re trying to prevent something.”

Caitlin folded her arms.

“That sounds worse.”

Lexie stepped in.

“We’re building protection.”

Caitlin stared.

“Protection from what?”

January answered carefully.

“Bad environments.”

Caitlin looked confused.

Lexie couldn’t hold back.

“Situations where people want you present for the attention but refuse to use you like a basketball player.”

January looked toward her.

“That’s one way to phrase it.”

Caitlin remained still.

“You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

January continued.

“We’re working on protocols for external assignments.”

Caitlin frowned.

“Like national team stuff?”

“Yes.”

“And I didn’t know?”

“Because nothing is final.”

Caitlin looked toward Lexie.

Lexie shrugged.

“I wanted to tell you.”

January sighed.

“Of course you did.”

Caitlin looked back.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

January explained.

“Clarity before camps.”

“Roles.”

“Minutes.”

“Physical load.”

“Communication expectations.”

Caitlin listened.

Then asked.

“You’re trying to control national team coaches?”

January shook her head.

“No.”

“We’re trying to stop you from walking into chaos blind.”

Caitlin looked down.

That landed.

Lexie watched her.

Caitlin stayed quiet.

January asked.

“What?”

Caitlin shook her head.

“Nothing.”

Lexie frowned.

“Don’t do that.”

Caitlin looked toward her.

“What?”

“The ‘nothing’ thing.”

Caitlin sighed.

Then spoke quietly.

“It would’ve helped.”

Neither woman answered.

Caitlin continued.

“Just knowing what they wanted.”

January nodded.

“That’s the point.”

Caitlin bounced the ball once.

“I kept thinking I was failing some test nobody explained.”

Lexie’s face hardened.

January remained calm.

“You weren’t.”

Caitlin looked toward her.

“I know that now.”

The room became quiet.

Then Lexie spoke.

“That’s why I’m mad.”

Caitlin smiled faintly.

“I noticed.”

Practice continued.

But something had shifted.

Later that evening, January received a message.

Then another.

Then three more.

The internal plan had leaked.

Not fully.

But enough.

A reporter posted that Indiana was considering “new safeguards” around Caitlin’s external basketball commitments.

Within minutes, the story exploded.

Some praised the Fever.

Others mocked them.

Rival fanbases called it favoritism.

Analysts called it unprecedented.

Lexie called January immediately.

“I told you.”

January answered.

“Not now.”

“No, seriously.”

Lexie paced.

“I told you it would leak.”

January sighed.

“We have a bigger problem.”

“What?”

“They’re framing it like Caitlin demanded it.”

Lexie stopped.

“What?”

“She didn’t.”

“I know.”

“Fans don’t.”

Lexie’s expression changed.

“Then we say something.”

January paused.

“Yes.”

Lexie froze.

“Wait.”

“You agree?”

“Yes.”

“That was easy.”

“Don’t get excited.”

January continued.

“We say exactly what is true in this fictional scenario.”

Lexie smiled.

“Now we’re talking.”

The next morning, Fever communications scheduled an unexpected media availability.

Reporters packed the room.

Nobody expected Lexie and January to walk in together.

They did.

No coach.

No executive.

Just them.

Lexie sat first.

January placed several notes on the table.

A reporter immediately shouted.

“Is Indiana building special protections for Caitlin Clark?”

January answered.

“Indiana is building stronger player-management standards.”

“Specifically for Caitlin?”

“Her situation prompted the conversation.”

The room erupted.

Lexie leaned toward her microphone.

“And no, she didn’t ask for it.”

Another reporter asked.

“Why was it necessary?”

Lexie smiled tightly.

“Because apparently putting somebody in bad situations and blaming them afterward has become fashionable.”

January looked sideways at her.

Lexie shrugged.

“You said unedited.”

The reporters leaned forward.

Another asked.

“Are you accusing national team personnel?”

January responded.

“We are criticizing environments, not naming individuals.”

Lexie muttered.

“For now.”

January closed her eyes briefly.

The room laughed nervously.

A reporter turned toward Lexie.

“Do you believe other players resent Caitlin?”

Lexie answered immediately.

“Yes.”

January looked at her.

Lexie continued.

“Not everybody.”

“But pretending nobody does is ridiculous.”

The room became louder.

“Why?”

Lexie leaned forward.

“Because attention changes rooms.”

She continued.

“Caitlin walks into an arena and everything gets louder.”

“Some people love it.”

“Some use it.”

“Some resent it.”

She shrugged.

“That’s human.”

Another reporter asked.

“Have players celebrated her demotion?”

Lexie paused.

“I’ve seen people enjoy her being pushed aside.”

The room froze.

January immediately added.

“That is Lexie’s personal interpretation.”

Lexie nodded.

“Correct.”

“But yes.”

Reporters shouted over each other.

January raised a hand.

“Listen.”

The room quieted slightly.

“This is not about creating enemies.”

She continued.

“This is about protecting clarity.”

A reporter asked.

“What does that mean?”

January leaned toward the microphone.

“If you invite Caitlin into a system, define her role.”

“If she is a primary creator, say it.”

“If she is not, say it.”

“If you expect defense first, say it.”

She paused.

“What you cannot do is change the standard possession by possession.”

Another reporter asked.

“Why?”

January looked directly at him.

“Because inconsistent standards destroy trust.”

Lexie nodded.

“Exactly.”

The reporter pressed.

“Does Fever want Caitlin to reject future national assignments?”

January shook her head.

“No.”

Lexie looked toward her.

January continued.

“We want her to accept basketball opportunities that make basketball sense.”

Another reporter asked.

“And if they don’t?”

January paused.

Then came the line that changed everything.

“Then Indiana should protect its player.”

The room erupted.

Lexie smiled.

“That’s the headline.”

January looked toward her.

“Please stop helping.”

Lexie laughed.

Reporters kept shouting.

One asked.

“What does protect mean?”

January answered carefully.

“Communication.”

“Load management.”

“Role review.”

“Medical coordination.”

“Organizational advocacy.”

Another reporter pressed.

“Would Indiana tell USA Basketball no?”

January paused.

“If an assignment becomes harmful rather than developmental?”

She looked directly toward the cameras.

“We will have that conversation.”

Silence.

Lexie leaned back.

That was the warning.

Not emotional.

Not theatrical.

Clear.

A reporter turned toward her.

“Lexie, do you think Caitlin needs shielding?”

Lexie’s face changed instantly.

“No.”

The room quieted.

“She doesn’t need shielding from competition.”

Lexie continued.

“She needs shielding from nonsense.”

That quote exploded online.

January glanced toward her.

Lexie shrugged.

“Sorry.”

Another reporter asked.

“What’s the difference?”

Lexie answered.

“Competition tells you the rules.”

“Nonsense changes them when you start winning.”

The room reacted.

January leaned toward her microphone.

“That is actually well said.”

Lexie smiled.

“Thank you.”

Another reporter asked whether Fever planned to restructure completely around Caitlin.

January nodded slightly.

“Every franchise should build around its best advantages.”

“Does that mean total control?”

“No.”

Lexie jumped in.

“It means stop pretending using your best player is favoritism.”

The reporters laughed.

January continued.

“Caitlin should be challenged.”

“She should be coached.”

“She should be held accountable.”

She paused.

“But she should also be placed in positions where her strengths matter.”

That distinction became the center of the story.

Within an hour, basketball television was debating Indiana’s plan.

One analyst called it smart player management.

Another called it dangerous superstar treatment.

A third argued the Fever risked creating resentment around Caitlin.

Lexie watched from the locker room.

She threw popcorn at the screen.

“They already resent her.”

Caitlin entered.

“What are you doing?”

Lexie pointed.

“Getting angry recreationally.”

Caitlin looked at the television.

Then groaned.

“You two really did this.”

January walked in behind her.

“Yes.”

Caitlin stared.

“You said ‘protect its player.’”

January nodded.

“I did.”

Caitlin looked toward Lexie.

“And you said ‘shielding from nonsense.’”

Lexie smiled.

“I stand by that.”

Caitlin rubbed her forehead.

“This is going to follow me everywhere.”

January nodded.

“Probably.”

Caitlin stared.

“That’s your answer?”

January sat beside her.

“Yes.”

Then she became serious.

“Because pretending the issue doesn’t exist also follows you everywhere.”

Caitlin looked down.

January continued.

“The goal isn’t silence.”

“It’s clarity.”

Lexie nodded.

“And maybe a little fear.”

January stared.

“No.”

Lexie smiled.

“Fine.”

Caitlin laughed despite herself.

Then she asked.

“So what happens now?”

January looked toward her.

“You play.”

Caitlin nodded.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Lexie added.

“And we make sure everybody else remembers who they’re dealing with.”

January shook her head.

“Please ignore her.”

Caitlin smiled.

“I usually do.”

Lexie looked offended.

Practice began.

From the first possession, Caitlin looked different.

No hesitation.

Outlet pass.

Sprint.

Return.

Deep three.

Good.

Next possession.

She grabbed the rebound herself.

Pushed immediately.

Lexie filled the lane.

Pass.

Layup.

January stood near the sideline.

She smiled slightly.

Lexie shouted while running back.

“That’s what protection looks like!”

January covered her face.

Caitlin laughed.

The practice intensified.

Caitlin kept attacking.

Not angrily.

Not recklessly.

Freely.

That was what Lexie noticed most.

The hesitation was gone.

Afterward, Caitlin sat beside January.

“You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“I thought protecting me would feel restrictive.”

January nodded.

“And?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Why?”

Caitlin thought.

“Because you’re not protecting me from basketball.”

January smiled.

“Exactly.”

Caitlin looked across the gym.

Lexie was still shooting.

“So what are you protecting?”

January followed her eyes.

“Your ability to trust it.”

Caitlin nodded slowly.

That was the real plan.

Not turning Caitlin into a protected celebrity.

Not demanding every possession.

Not isolating her from criticism.

Protecting the basketball relationship.

Protecting clarity.

Protecting trust.

Protecting the freedom to make the correct read without wondering whether power struggles would punish it afterward.

Days later, another reporter asked January for one final message to national team leadership.

She paused.

Lexie sat beside her.

Caitlin watched from the back of the room.

January leaned toward the microphone.

“Coach her hard.”

She paused.

“Challenge her.”

“Bench her when basketball requires it.”

The room listened.

Then her voice sharpened.

“But never use Caitlin Clark to settle somebody else’s ego.”

Nobody moved.

January continued.

“If you want her, use her honestly.”

“If you don’t?”

She leaned back.

“Don’t waste her time.”

Silence.

Then dozens of reporters began typing.

Lexie looked toward Caitlin.

Caitlin shook her head.

January gathered her notes.

The message was complete.

Indiana was not declaring war on basketball.

It was declaring war on ambiguity.

No more hidden standards.

No more confusing punishment with coaching.

No more inviting Caitlin into systems that wanted her spotlight but feared her influence.

And certainly no more pretending the Fever would remain silent while those contradictions followed their franchise player home.

Lexie had supplied the fire.

January supplied the structure.

Caitlin supplied the reason.

The next time anyone tried to turn her talent into a political argument, Indiana wanted one thing understood.

Caitlin Clark would still be coached.

Still be challenged.

Still be accountable.

But she would no longer walk into the fight alone.