Sheffield’s eyes went wide. He looked from me to Connor and back again. Took a step back.

“No,” he whispered. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“We know, Sheffield.”

But I hadn’t known. Not really. I’d taken a shot in the dark, praying I was wrong. If Connor was as surprised as me, he hid it way better.

“How—?” he whispered. Even in the dim light we could see his face redden. Darken.

Connor and I stood there, not saying anything. There was nothing we could have said.

Tears came, fast and copious. He tried to say something, but what came out weren’t words.

“Please,” he said eventually. “He told me no one could know. Please don’t tell anyone.”

I said, “That’s not what this is about.”

Confusion filled his eyes, along with all that pain.

Mr. Barrett was what he was. A monster, past saving. Sheffield was still becoming.

“You’re better than him,” I said. “You can still choose. You can decide not to hurt people.”

“I—” But then Sheffield gasped. As if startled by the sight of something. Connor and I turned around, to look in the direction he was facing.

All Connor saw was an empty parking lot, with Solomon strolling through it. But what I saw was Solomon leading his big mauve allosaurus along, throwing sticks for her to go fetch.

I saw Maraud, and Sheffield saw her too. I know he did.

His hand flew to his mouth.

“Oh god!” he cried. Between sobs, he choked out, “What the fuck is that? What did you do to me?”

“Nothing,” Connor said, but that wasn’t true.

We’d snapped something. Broken through the barriers he hadn’t finished building.

As we grow up, we forge armor for ourselves. Defenses, against the reality of monsters and fantasy. In his shame, Sheffield’s had given way. He could see all the horror and wonder that the world truly held.

The allosaurus turned in his direction. Their eyes locked. Then she looked away, utterly uninterested in him or his fear.

Connor walked toward him, and Sheffield staggered backward.

“Shhh,” Connor said, and opened his arms. He folded Sheffield into an awkward embrace.

They stood that way a long time. Stiff limbs settling, relaxing. Talking in low voices. I couldn’t hear what they said, and didn’t want to. I imagined a whole secret language guys use, when they’re alone together and in pain.

Finally Sheffield nodded, at something Connor said, and took out his phone. Sent a quick text. There was a big wet smear on his sleeve, where he’d been wiping his face.

And just like that, it was over.

“I gotta go,” he said, and we let him. He walked backward, all the way to his car. Never taking his eyes off the dinosaur. After he was gone we stood around, barely talking. Solomon sauntered over, allosaurus and all.