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Never, ever, had he seen her break down and cry. Let alone sob. He stared at the receiver for a whole minute or so before he realized he was still holding it in his hand. He scolded himself for being so mindless. What if she had tried to call again in the meantime? He hung up and stared at the telephone for the next ten minutes. But it remained silent. After he had waited for some more nerve-wrecking five minutes, his brain slowly switched from panic mode back to his usual, analytical self. Something had happened that was so terrible it had managed to make Lix cry. Worse, something so terrible Lix even took up the phone – and called him. And then, not telling him and hanging up instead. Which was, as he had to admit, much more like Lix’s usual self than calling him. Once he had come so far in his ponderings, he knew exactly what he would do, now. He would go and make sure that she was okay. Well, she was certainly not okay. He would go and find out what happened and see if he could fix it. He didn’t have much confidence that he could, he always found his skills outside of journalism lacking profusely. He had been thrown into a world that wasn’t made for him, that he didn’t really understand, that was sometimes turning too fast and sometimes too slow for his way of thinking. But that didn’t matter right now. Even without any means to fix it, he would try his very best to make Lix feel better.