For all that he wasn't sure he was going to give this one away so easily, a few minutes ago, something's made him rethink that -- maybe it's the fact that he wants Hope to really understand that he's not just blowing smoke up her ass. Maybe it because he needs her to know she's really not alone, that he's not that out of touch, trying to match their experiences up when they're nothing alike. He understands better than she thinks, and that in mind, after a second more of hesitation, he holds a hand out in front of him, palm up, dramatically.

Nodding to his fingers, the gesture largely for show -- nothing up his sleeve -- he curls his hand into a fist. He holds there for a beat, the feel of magic wrapping around him, at odds with the fact that he's supposedly just a werewolf, not a witch, and when he opens his hand again, there's a fireball sitting in his palm. He smiles at it, her, the expression soft.

"You're not the only one who gets what it's like to kinda -- kinda be a child of two worlds or whatever." He may not be vampire, too, on top of witch and werewolf, but still.