He reached up to touch a wet shoulder, suddenly circumspect...too much so to sound as miserable as he knew he could feel. "Is it just me, sweetness, or is autumn a particularly bad season for Captain Jack Sparrow in Luceti? A man can be careful. He can be so careful, and he can know just when to run, and then..."

And then a stricken, traumatized teenage girl can turn on him and shoot him. And he would never see it coming.

"Maybe he's just losing his touch, eh?" he added softly.