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The problem is that I don't know what he is or what I am supposed to teach him. I've spent my entire life controlling the wolf. Keeping it contained. Keeping it separate.

Now I'm looking at a teenager who might inherit the same burden without ever choosing it. That isn't something I can ignore.

The backyard is quiet. Too quiet. Still, Sleepy Hollow’s festive atmosphere runs rampant.

Everywhere you look, Halloween has taken over. Orange lights wrap around trees. Fake spiderwebs stretch across fences. Porches are crowded with carved pumpkins and inflatable ghosts. A house three doors down has an entire graveyard display complete with a motion-activated skeleton that screams whenever someone walks past.

Normally, I would find it amusing. Today, every decoration looks like camouflage.

The town is full of fake monsters. Nobody notices the real one.

Sayer stands in the yard wearing a jacket too large for him. Carys insisted he needed something warmer. She also insisted he needed proper shoes because apparently "saving the world does not excuse wearing worn-out sneakers."

She is impossible. She is also right.

"You ready?" I ask.

He nods.

"I'm ready."

"Don't try to impress me."

His eyebrows lift.

"I'm not."

"Good."

"Because that would be a terrible idea."

The corner of his mouth lifts. A little. Good.

Humor means he's less afraid.

"First exercise is simple."

I walk ten feet away.

"You close your eyes."

He looks uncertain.

"Why?"

"Because sight isn't always what saves you."

He glances toward the cottage.

"Carys is watching, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"She told me not to get hurt."

"She told me the same thing."

Sayer smiles. That hurts more than it should. Because he belongs here. He belongs with us.