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“Thank you for coming. I just don’t know what to do with him.”

Adam could feel the desperation leaking from her, red and pulsing, like some sort of undulating creature, turning itself inside and out. He wanted to say that it couldn’t be that bad, or maybe it was a phase, but he knew he’d be lying.

It had been creeping up on them for a while. He’d seen it at Christmas or at Bobby’s birthday dinner. Ian didn’t have magic, and without it, he didn’t have that spark of life or interest in, well, anything.

“He’s not just moody,” Annie said. “His grades are poor. He doesn’t want to do anything. He doesn’t have any friends.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Could you try seeing if something is wrong with him? It reminds me of, well . . .” Annie scratched at one of the scars on her arms, the ones left from when she’d nearly died. They’d faded over the years, much like his own, but they were always there. “Well, you remember.”

Adam nodded, though he didn’t think Ian was possessed. He knew what was wrong and knew that he was responsible.

Climbing the stairs, he recalled the day he’d done it. He’d summoned the sword and with careful precision, he’d reached into Ian and severed his magic.

A little wooden sign that read Ian’s Room in bright blue letters marked the door. Adam knocked. No one answered, but the door hadn’t been fully closed, so he eased it open.

Annie had painted the walls in cheerful shades of aqua and left the ceiling bright white. Melamine shelves were mounted here and there. Untouched toys were lined up across them, as neatly ordered as if they were in a museum.

None of it felt wrong, not exactly. The scene just felt too neat and clean for a ten-year-old’s space, like a set on a TV show. It just didn’t feel lived in.

Sitting on his bed, Ian stared into space.

“Hey,” Adam said.

Ian blinked at him, gave a little nod, and went back to staring at nothing.

And it really was nothing.

Adam checked with his Sight. He saw no spirit, no lurking danger, in the room or inside Ian.

Something was missing.

Magic was life, and the two threaded and danced together in the oldest person and the youngest baby. The least sensitive person in the world had a little, even if it was just a spark. On his worst days, Adam could look at someone and know they had that within them. It gave him hope.

But Ian was empty, and Adam was responsible.

He’d saved the boy from falling into the Between, from becoming the Wolf, but was it worth it?

Was all that future pain saved worth a childhood full of love that Ian couldn’t feel, because that was what it seemed to mean?

He’d always been a quiet kid. He wasn’t prone to laughing or smiling, especially when Adam compared him to Vic’s younger cousins, but this couldn’t be chalked up to introversion or shyness.

In trying to help him, Adam had done him harm, and worse, there wasn’t any way to fix it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Ian turned, fixing his gaze on Adam’s, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t smile or scowl.

Everything about him seemed so normal but his blue eyes were mostly blank.

Did he know?

Did he have any sense that something inside him was broken?

“Why are you crying?” Ian asked.

“Because I hurt you.”