I was fearful that I would sleepwalk again and end up out in the forest. It was tempting to repeat the scenario but equally embarrassing. How do I keep getting out at night? I religiously locked myself in my room when I slept, trying anything to deter my escapades. Maybe I'm unlocking it to get out? My hands gripped the windowsill as I thought about Ethan sneaking into my room all those nights. Maybe that was it. Maybe I was climbing out my window in my sleep. It was an absurd thought considering I had never done it consciously before. With my luck, I would break my neck trying. There has to be something I can do to stop myself from getting into embarrassing situations again and again. I had to barricade myself in.

I skipped down the stairs to my mother's side with a newfound enthusiasm. "Hey, can I have money to pick up some locks from the hardware store for my room?" She looked at me with alarm and I explained further, "I'm tired of sleepwalking out of the house."

Her face relaxed, "I guess it's about time we do something since the medication isn't working. You'll have to go get the money out of my wallet. It's on my nightstand like always. I think there's a twenty in there. I hope that's enough." She smiled at me, and it was clear she was happy I wanted to do anything.

I ran back upstairs and straight to her wallet. Sure enough, there was a twenty-dollar bill. I stuffed it in my pocket and felt my fingertips brush the slip of paper with the golden eyed stranger's number on it.

Callum. He had scribbled his name above his phone number, but he had written it so lightly with pencil I was afraid it would fade in my pocket. I opened my mother's nightstand drawer looking for a pen to trace his writing in. There were only two things in the drawer, a pen and a picture. I picked up the picture, not sure what I was seeing. It was taken at the county fair a few weeks back. Savannah was biting into a large cotton candy cone, behind her my mother and Jim embraced each other. Betrayal boiled inside me, and I threw the picture down. Who was this picture-perfect family? I left the house in a hurry, avoiding my mother on my out the door.

The hardware store was a ten-minute walk from my house—something I needed to cool off. The air was chillier today than I would have expected, but then again it was mid-morning in late autumn. Soundless Cove never heated up before lunch. The mountains blocked the morning sun for most of the town. I quickened my pace in an attempt to warm my body. As soon as I left the gates I felt as if the eyes of everyone in town were on me. Sometimes I really hated living in a small town. Cars slowed as they passed me on the street. People paused on the sidewalk yards before I was even close. Their mouths dropped open as if to start a conversation. No words were spoken to me though as I made my way to the hardware store. What would they even have to say? Sorry about all that death in your life, wonder who's next? Tears swelled in my eyes as the question lingered and I tried to force them back down. Who was next? It haunted me every day. If Ethan and Maeve were gone, it would be only a matter of time before everyone was gone.

How much heartbreak can someone have in their lifetime before their heart actually breaks? I balled my fists and bit my lip to fight the grief clutching at my heart. In no time at all I was at the hardware store.

"Ginger?" Frank spoke my name in a quiet whisper, and I shuddered at the word. It was more of a rhetorical question anyway, so I kept my eyes to the ground and avoided conversation. His family owned and operated the hardware store, and his daughter had been one of my closest friends—or so I thought. Of course, I would have to speak to someone at checkout. Frank was probably the best choice to avoid an emotional overload.

I found the aisle I needed and spent at least half an hour mulling over which lock was best to buy for the price. Twenty dollars didn't get me as far as I had hoped. I was imagining a brigade of locks all down my door. What I got was a padlock, a combination lock, and a handful of screws.

"How ya doin' today?" It was a regurgitated question he asked every costumer, so I gave him my regurgitated response.

"Fine," spoken like a true veteran of sadness. There was only ever one question people had asked me after Ethan's death and there was only ever one answer I had given them. Fine.

I paid and left without looking at anyone's face.

"Ginger, is it?"

The voice sent goosebumps along my skin. Callum leaned against the storefront; his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Actually, it's Ricky," I corrected him. It was probably about time I started correcting people. Even though the entire town had embraced it, Ginger was Ethan's nickname and no one else could use it now that he was gone.

"Are you sure? I've asked around about you and no one has mentioned Ricky. They have mentioned Ginger though." I walked past him, and he skipped to my side, "Let me walk you home."

I sighed, "I thought I made it clear that whole werewolf pickup line didn't work on me." My skin tingled with heat despite the cold air.

"Actually, I need to walk you home." He lifted his chin in the air and I watched the breeze ruffle his sandy blonde hair.

I blushed and looked away, "And I don't want you to walk me home. What a conundrum."

He smirked. "You're so cute when you do that."

"What? Try to derail a stalker?" I scoffed.

"Try to be mean," he answered teasingly.

And there goes that sly smile and glint in his eyes again, I thought.

I shook it off and gritted my teeth. "Leave me alone."

"I can't." He laughed.

I rolled my eyes. "Why not?"

"Because you're going to shift tonight." He smiled and tapped my nose.

My whole body shuddered from the unexpected touch. "Shift?" His ridiculous obsession with werewolves was getting on my last nerve.

He pointed to the sky and I followed his gesture to the full moon. It balanced ominously over the highest peak of the mountains. "You probably don't feel it yet, but when the sun falls and the moon lights up the night, you'll feel it, if only for a second, and then you'll shift."

I let the idea sit in my mind as we walked silently on to my house. If only the world was filled with such amazing things. I would give anything not to be in this body, to escape being me. I wouldn't need a mask if no one would be able to read my face. But there were already holes in his story. "If your theory is correct, then why did I shift the other night?"

"You can shift anytime at all after you turn sixteen, especially when you're under a lot of stress, but you have to shift on the full moon," he casually explained.

"So I've been shifting for years without knowing it?" I rolled my eyes. "Just because I woke up naked in the forest does not make me a werewolf."

"I don't know how you haven't noticed the change by now. It's been about three years for me, and it only took a few months to remember the shift. You must be pretty deep in denial if you've been doing it so long without knowing. But I know you're a werewolf. I can scent it on you. Among other things," he added.

For whatever reason, the last few words sent me blushing. I steeled my face. "Really?" I tilted my head in disbelief, suddenly remembering what the girl who had helped murder Maeve had said about a wolf being nearby.

"Well, that and how fast you can run away from a naked guy in the forest," he amended with a smirk.

The thought of Maeve's killers still lingered in my mind, but I shook it off, afraid to feel the pain of loss threatening to consume me. I thought about his description of me instead. It wasn't a convincing description of a werewolf. My smell was different from others because it was mine—everyone smells different—and according to the Internet, plenty of people have amber eyes. As far as my speed was concerned, I'm sure anybody would have run that fast from a naked stranger.

"It's ok if you don't believe me now, sooner or later you're going to remember the shift. I just don't want to see anyone get hurt." He paused in front of me, interrupting my stride.

"Because then the hunters will come," I mocked, rolling my eyes and pushing past him dismissively.

"Because it will tear you up inside and change you for the worse," his tone was pleading and sad like he had witnessed the change in someone before.

"Well, I don't plan on changing into a werewolf or a killer, so you don't have to worry." The gates where approaching. We reached the pedestrian door, and I hesitated before keying in the code. "How did you get in?"

"What?" Callum twiddled his thumbs innocently.

"Earlier when you came to my house, how did you get in the gates?" It wasn't something I had thought of until now.

He laughed. "I followed your scent remember?" He said, winking.

I lifted a brow, prompting him to elaborate. My scent wouldn't have told him the passcode.

"You hopped a fence, so I hopped a fence. I was of course expecting that fence to be yours, so imagine my surprise—and your neighbors—when I was standing in their yard wondering why you hadn't used the back door and why your scent was headed to the front yard."

I burst out laughing and he joined in. I had been so relieved when my neighbor hadn't been awake, I couldn't even picture what would've happened if I had been in Callum's shoes. "Well at least you weren't naked," I said, wiping a tear from my eye.

"True." His eyes sparkled with laughter. "And your neighbor was nice enough to point me to your house after I described who I was looking for."

"And how did you describe me?" I wondered out loud.

Callum looked down at his feet and dug his hands deep into his pockets. "I just asked him if he knew a girl with hair like fire and eyes full of sunlight and sadness."

The description was far too real and true, but instead of crippling me with depression it lifted my heart. I was speechless. "Who talks like that?" I stammered.

He kept his head down and smiled sheepishly. "Well, I guess I do."

It hit me that I had been smiling myself. Somehow, he had seen how sad I was behind all of the shock and borderline fear I had been experiencing at the time we met. The best part was, he hadn't asked me why. That made me happiest.

Callum looked at me through bashful eyes, his cheeks almost red, and let out a heavy sigh. "Just know that when you shift tonight, I'll be waiting for you in the woods." He grabbed my hand and gave it a light squeeze, then seemed to think about it and lifted my hand to his lips. It was less of a kiss and more of a brush of his lips. Shivers ran down my spine, but I didn't pull away. He pressed his nose to my hand and inhaled before giving it a tighter squeeze and letting go. My hand fell limp to my side. Callum shoved his hands back into his pockets and walked away without pausing or glancing back.

A loud clatter jolted me from my paralyzed state. I looked at the ground and saw my bag from the hardware store spilled across the pavement. My hand had forgotten what it was holding onto. I scrambled to collect the locks and screws back into the bag. If my heart pounded any louder, I was sure Callum would be able to hear it. I was caught off guard, flustered by his actions. My hand trembled as I punched in the code and opened the door to the neighborhood. I couldn't seem to look anywhere but at my shoes as I meandered aimlessly along the sidewalk. My legs knew the way, so I allowed them to lead.

All around my mind raced the words of Maeve's killers. Were they talking about a werewolf when they said a wolf was nearby? Were they talking about me? It was nonsense though. I can't be a werewolf. Werewolves don't exist.

"Ricky!"

My head snapped out of its reverie as I spun around to find the person who had called my name. It was Eric. Not someone I had expected at all, even though I should have. He stopped by my house every day for two weeks after Ethan's death, but I had informed my mother I wasn't taking any visitors. Eric was the first friend I made in Soundless Cove when I moved here at ten years old. His parents were divorced, and his father lived inside the gates. He and his twin-sister, Lydia, lived with their mother in the summer. I had tried to be friends with Lydia a couple years ago but something about her always irked me. She was a stunning creature, but she always seemed a bit soulless. Her long black hair could outshine the feathers of a raven, but her icy black eyes were bare of any emotion. She was cold and far too self-involved for my usual taste in friends. Eric on the other hand was often all smiles. Even though he shared the same black hair and eyes that hinted at their ancestry, his eyes had a depth and warmth to them that Lydia's lacked. It looked as if nothing had changed since the last time I had seen him. He waved at me from yards away and began sprinting to catch up when I didn't stop to wait for him.

"Ricky, wait up!" He had never caught on to calling me Ginger like everyone else, and I was thankful for that.

I nodded in acknowledgment of him as he drew closer. He was taller than most of the boys I knew but held himself a bit awkward and gangly. His black hair was messier than I had ever seen it before. I had to wonder if he had attempted to make it fashionably so or if it was just disheveled. It appeared the latter was more likely. Even his clothes reflected his ruffled state. There were holes in his jeans and dirt smeared across his gray jacket. He buckled over when he got close enough to touch and grabbed at his chest pocket, wheezing and gasping for air.

Concerned, I reached out to help him. "You don't have to run to catch up with me, it's not like I walk that fast."

He finally produced an inhaler and gulped at his asthma medication like a fish out of water. "It's just that," he paused and gasped one more time on his inhaler, "I saw you walk by my house, and I wanted to talk to you."

The summer had been a blur, and I wasn't even sure when he had gotten back to Soundless Cove.

"I was finishing up some things for my mom, so I didn't get in until last week," he answered my mental question, "But I heard what happened to Maeve and I wanted to say I was sorry."

Sorry. Why was it that people always had to say that word? Sure, I would love someone to blame for Ethan's death—and I truly wished I could come face to face with Maeve's killers—but Eric didn't do it. Acid rose in my throat. "Is that why you're here? To apologize for something that doesn't involve you?"

He winced, reflexively combing his hand through his thick black hair. It was getting long enough that it was beginning to curl up at the nape of his neck.

I realized I'd made things more awkward than they already were and went to step around him. "Sorry," I muttered.

Eric huffed a weak laugh and stopped me. "You can't hurt me, Ricky. I'm always going to be here for you. Even now when you don't know you need me, even when you don't trust me. Whether you like it or not," he jokingly furrowed his eyebrows and waggled his finger as if trying to be strict to a child.

In all the years I had known Eric, he had never expressed out loud what I suspected. It wasn't his fault I found him timid. Lydia was quite the shadow to step out from under. While she had been quite the presence at parties, Eric was the wallflower as if he enjoyed the shadows. He was always around for me though, until Ethan. I hadn't decided if his assurance was kind or unsettling. "That's very sweet, but I don't need anyone."

A confident smile spread across his face, "Not yet, maybe, but soon." He leaned in and embraced me in a sudden hug, scooping me off my feet. I felt a solid brick of a muscled body holding me tight. I was wrong about him not growing into his body, although his clothing hid his physique. He plopped me back down on my feet.

I wasn't sure what to say. "Um, thanks. It's good to see you."

He laughed. "Yeah, you too."

"So, what have you been up to?" I wondered, attempting small talk.

Eric's smile faded and he glanced around as if he expected to catch someone eaves dropping. "I've been helping my dad add on some things to the house." That explained the dirty clothes. He rubbed the back of his head. "My mom's not too happy I came back though. She wants me to go off and be some big-shot now that I'm done with high school, but I need my equivalent of touring Europe." The smile returned to his face.

"Soundless is your equivalent to traveling Europe?" I scoffed.

"Everything I want is here," he answered thoughtfully.

Sometimes it was hard to be around Eric. We had been friends for a long time, and I got the feeling he had a crush on me, but he never vocalized it. I hoped he never would. It didn't help his case any once Ethan entered my life. Things only got more awkward between us after Ethan and I had started dating.

He noticed my lack of words. "Listen, maybe we could get together and hangout like old times?"

"Maybe. I'm kinda busy right now," I lied.

"It's okay, take your time. I'll be here." He uncharacteristically winked at me and then made his way back to his house.

Boys are so weird.

I picked up my pace, hoping to get home before any more surprise people started conversations with me. Luckily, I managed my goal and made it home to my sanctuary of peace and quiet without further interruption. I took the stairs two at a time up to my bedroom and threw the bag from the hardware store onto my bed. My room was already in scattered disarray from my lack of care over the past few months.

Who knew months of crippling depression could cause such a mess?

If I was going to start acting like a person again, I would need to clean my room of all the clutter. It didn't take as long as I had expected it to, and I was soon right back to figuring out how to get locks onto a door. I decided I needed a power drill and set out to find one in the garage.

If my mother had been organized, I would have had the power drill within minutes. Instead, I was digging around for nearly half an hour. I contemplated just asking her where she thought she may have seen it last, but decided I'd probably have more luck just digging. My search brought me to the very tops of the garage shelves. It was hard to reach up so high, but I managed it on my tiptoes. A box teetered on the edge, and I jumped to smack it down. Probably not the best idea—it fell to the ground with the sound of something shattering. Crap. I inspected the box as if the thing I had broken would jump out like a snake and bite me. Inanimate objects don't often have teeth, I cautiously reminded myself.

There was no signifying label on the box. Its flaps were neatly folded into each other like any other box in our garage. As I tugged at one corner, it popped open easily. Dropping it had caused the contents to shift wildly. At first it appeared to be a box of junk. I sifted through the mess, but a sharp pain made me retreat. The thing I had broken was calling for revenge. My hand bled from a small cut across the tip of two fingers. I sifted through the objects, careful not to spill my blood as I searched for the culprit. A small compass now had a broken glass face. Symbols instead of coordinates engraved its gold case and its needle, a sword with wings for the hilt. Some of my blood fell onto the needle and it spun out of control. I must have broken it more than I thought.

I placed the compass in my lap as I dug through the box of clutter more carefully. Amongst the random contents was a wooden jewelry box. Although it was a simple design, something about it felt wholly important. I sat down to examine it, finding a small crank on the side. Nothing happened until I opened it, revealing a delicate music box inside plucking a tune I had never heard before. The notes were faint and tender and brought back the sensation of losing Ethan all over again. Tears welled up in my eyes and I fought to keep them from spilling over. I was so close to being a real person again and didn't want to fall back into that nothingness. No, no, no. I counted to ten and exhaled.

The jewelry box was empty besides its musical innards and a single small blue box. I held up the smaller box for inspection, finding two rings inside. Each ring was inscribed with the words "Love is what makes us human." They were wedding bands. My mother had never worn these, but it was possible they had belonged to my grandparents. They were not people I had known. When I was seven, my mother had gotten the phone call about their passing, she hadn't cried and neither had I. There had never been so much as a photo of them. I gathered the compass and rings and put them in the jewelry box, making my way back to my room.

What did I go to the garage for? I took the stairs one at a time, focusing on each step. A fog had clouded all thoughts and now only distant unclear memories lingered. I clutched the small box, unable to get it out of my head. My father hadn't been one to buy such things for my mom. Right? The rings could've been a gift from someone else. She could be moving on. Why does it make me so angry? Why does it feel like she's hiding things from me? Maybe she had tried telling me. I haven't exactly been present in my own life recently. I considered if she had ever told me about going to the county fair. Maybe she had invited me along and I'd ignored her. I wasn't sure. I hadn't been one hundred percent coherent in the past few months. The energy I'd had earlier slipped away from me. I tightly clutched the jewelry box to my chest as I sat on my bed.

My mother passed my bedroom and caught me staring all too vacantly off into space. I saw her worried expression as she asked me, "Did the clouds come out today?"

I assumed she was referencing my comment about being inspired by the sun. I meant to move my lips and form words to confront her, but instead I just raised the clutched box. Its lid fell open, spilling its bittersweet music.

The smile dropped from her face as she blinked, shaking her hand. "I-what-" she stammered, hands trembling as she grabbed the box, looking at it for a solid minute before shakily asking, "Where did you find this?"

"Where you put it," I snapped. "Did Jim get this for you? I saw the picture from the fair."

"I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry," she cried.

"Why wouldn't you just tell me?" I asked.

Tears spilled over her cheeks, and she answered in a whisper, "It's from your father."