That night Vidar twisted and turned before finally hurling his blanket against his closet. How could he have been so stupid not to see the link? Giant, halfling, animal. But why him? Who would want to grab his attention so badly they went as far as vandalising monuments, desecrating graves, and killing an innocent creature? Well, not innocent, but Reynaert had no part in whatever this quarrel was about.

Or had he?

Sleep wouldn't come, so he got out of bed. Stumbling down to his kitchen, he scratched every piece of skin he could reach, made coffee, then sat down at the table with all receipts and bills from the last few weeks. His growing nails scratched the pages.

Yet as much as he wanted to, he couldn't concentrate. His joints ached. The numbers danced in front of his eyes, appearing jumbled and foreign. The clock ticked too loudly. He barely touched his snowman mug; the taste of his favourite black gold too bitter.

Then, the pen he was holding cracked in his grip. A blot of blue ink splashed onto the papers. In a fit of pure rage, he shoved everything off the table.

Part of him wanted to storm out of the house, but he had promised Mo he wouldn't. They would meet up with Isegrim at Fort Lillo to interrogate the old wolf, and then they would solve this case like they had so many before.

First, he had to get through the day, face Kira and hand her back the phone. According to Mo, she had never logged out of her Facebook or Google account. The Ifrit didn't trust her, although Vidar supposed this was all a misunderstanding.

She was just a girl, a nice and kind girl. The pile of receipts confirmed the daily hustle and bustle in the store; his business was thriving.

At a quarter to six, she came through the door, her skateboard under her arm, all chirpy and bubbly. There wasn't much left of the shy, insecure girl who had entered his store four weeks ago.

"Morning," Vidar said as he clawed at the itch in his neck. He had been waiting for her since Sunna had first appeared on the horizon. "All prepared?"

"Bit nervous." She clamped to the board. "I have to do well—my future depends on it."

"You'll do well."

"But what if I don't?"

"Then you tried." He reached into the pocket of his trousers and took out the glittery plastic box that was his phone. Her phone, technically. "Speaking of trying—I have to give this back to you."

"Oh." Her face fell. "You don't like it?"

"I'm a Boomer." He shrugged.

She didn't take the phone. "I can help you figure out the apps if you're stuck. It's really easy."

"No, it's fine. I'll get my own phone, with my own accounts."

"Oh, then keep it. Give it back when you've bought a new one. You can't be without a phone."

"Oh, I've managed many years without one." He didn't realise how condescending he sounded until the words were out of his mouth.

She looked down at her purple and green sneakers, unable to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry. I thought I was doing you a favour."

It was the one 'sorry' too many. His tired, werewolf-wired mind couldn't hold the thought to himself. "Stop apologising for things that aren't your fault," he said harshly.

She stood there frozen, the skateboard trembling in her arms.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked.

The irony of that second apology wasn't lost on him. He exhaled through his nose, composing himself. As by instinct, he moved his hand over his long sleeve, hoping that rubbing the fabric would scratch the itch for him.

"No, I shouldn't have said that—it was uncalled for. I'm a little snappy today—that shouldn't be an excuse."

Biting her lip, Kira looked up. She glanced over her shoulder, as if checking the door, then turned back to him.

"It's alright," she said under her breath. "I know what you are."

Vidar cocked his head. He wished he hadn't heard that right, but with the full moon less than twelve hours away, his ears couldn't betray him. The itches began to tingle. A cold weight pounded down on him. How much did she know? The less he responded, the more his silence would deny the allegations.

"It happened a few weeks ago. I thought you simply didn't like the silver case around my phone," Kira said. When he didn't respond, she continued talking. "Then Marcel said you looked forever thirty-five like Keanu Reeves. I did some research, but despite the shop existing since the nineties, I only found one vague picture. Your hair was short, but you still looked the same as you do today. You've been grumpier in the past few days, always staring outside, looking at the moonrise. You're not human, are you?"

Though the weight had sunk to his feet, Vidar kept eying her. She hadn't been the first human to figure out what he was. By the time the first rumours floated around, he took his precautions and left the neighbourhood. The community wasn't so tight anymore. It had been decades since people regarded him as a stranger and an outsider.

"Vidar, say something. It doesn't matter to me—wolves are beautiful creatures."

"It matters to me, Kira." He looked down on her, meeting her gaze. A greenish spark flashed in her otherwise blue-grey eyes. When he blinked, it was gone. "You must forget what you have learnt."

"I won't," she resisted. Her eyes didn't turn glassy.

He persisted. "Kira, I'm an ordinary bookshop owner. A Boomer."

"You're a werewolf," she whispered.

Though he hated invading her personal space, she didn't leave him much choice. He grabbed her chin and yanked her head up. "Kira, you must listen to me. I'm—"

"What are you doing?" Her defiance took him by surprise. She jerked out of his grip.

"Kira."

"No." She shook her head, shock filling her face. "I thought you different from other men, that I could trust you, that you understand what it's like not to fit in." Her voice trembled.

She inched away from him, breaking eye contact.

Why couldn't he enchant her? No human had ever resisted his charm-speak. Mo's doubts around Kira popped up at the back of his mind.

"What are you?" he asked.

"I'm a girl." She shook her head slowly, her breaths shallow. "Vidar, you scare me."

"Who are you?"

"My name's..." She inched further away from him until she was almost standing against the door, then she squeezed her eyes shut. "...Kira Karu."

"Anyone can come up with a name."

"But it's mine. I was born nearly seventeen years ago in Tallinn, Estonia. When I was four, I came to Antwerp with my parents and my brother. I'm just a girl, just a girl..."

Step by step, Vidar approached her. He wanted to believe her but couldn't. Maybe Kira was there, but she wasn't alone. Someone or something had taken control of her body, used her as a shield against him. A teasing ghost, perhaps. If that creature had taken refuge inside Kira, her cheek would bear a mark from where his copper ring had touched her skin.

"Tell me more," Vidar said.

"Before the Easter holidays, I went to the Athenaeum of Antwerp. I hated it there—I got bullied. The teachers didn't think I'd amount to anything, that I would end up just like my brother, on the streets, selling drugs. I failed everything except art... I... Coming here, I finally felt safe, like I was doing something right. But now... I wanna go home. Please, I just wanna go."

"I can help you," Vidar said softly, cocking his head to find the burn mark. "I won't hurt you."

A tear gleamed in her eye as she glanced up, then straight back down at her sneakers. There wasn't a scratch on her skin. Her knuckles were bone white, clenching at her skateboard. "No, this was all a mistake. I shouldn't... I wanna leave. I'll never speak a word to anyone of what you are, but I just wanna leave. Please, Vidar."

He was such a fool.

"I won't tell anyone about you—I swear." She was sobbing.

"You're free to stand and go where you want to," he mumbled. If he acted now, he would hurt her. He couldn't bear the thought.

Cursing his foolishness, he stood there, frozen, as she turned her back and left the store. Her blue ponytail bobbed up and down. He had messed up, badly. Their conversations over breakfast already a fading memory. The month of increasing sales a hopeful blip in the heart rate of a dying industry.

Once the case was over, he had to accept that his time among humans was coming to an end. He would have to pack his things, leave, and fade into obscurity for as long as the world allowed him to.

Allfather, everything had been going so well. He slammed his fist onto the counter.

The phone tumbled down, the shelf on candy bars breaking its fall.

He pocketed the glittery plastic box again. He'd get rid of it later.

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