Lydia's car was already parked alongside his front lawn by the time he pulled into his driveway, the alpha herself grabbing the mail out the box. Her royal blue dress offset her pale skin, strawberry blonde hair halfway pulled back, nude pumps on her feet and make-up immaculate as always. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a fashion magazine and onto the Stilinski driveway, Chanel purse hanging off the crook of her elbow, mail in hand, hair swishing with each step she took.

"Where were you?" she asked by way of greeting, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss each of his cheeks before looking at him with an eyebrow raised in expectation, handing him the mail she'd just collected.

A small smile formed on his face as she took his offered arm and he led her to the front door, heels clicking against tar and concrete. "Brought lunch to my dad," he explained, wiggling his styrofoam carton, mail balanced on top, for added emphasis.

Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed, a face he'd come to recognize as her thinking face, delicate nostrils flaring slightly as she subtly scented him. He ignored the actions as they reached the front step, focusing instead on getting the right key into the deadbolt and opening the front door. He was well aware of what he'd smell like: depression, grief, aggravation, suspicion. He'd spent the entire drive back to his place mulling over the conversation he'd had with his dad, the Meeting of the County Alphas, the anniversary of his brother's disappearance, the reminder of his status as omega and how that meant he couldn't do jack shit about anything he wanted to do shit about.

Door unlocked, he led Lydia inside and to the kitchen at the back of the house, chucking the mail on the island counter then heading to the fridge to put his uneaten lunch inside. He heard the sounds of her placing her purse on the island and slipping her heels off, followed by her bare feet padding against the linoleum as she made her way to the coffee maker. She set about making a pot while he sorted through the mail, pretending not to notice how incredibly domestic the entire thing seemed and how it wasn't the first time they'd moved about that kitchen like an old Mated couple.

Strange to think that just a few years ago, he would've given his right nut for a scene like that. He'd had feelings for Lydia for as long as he could remember, celebrating the day he'd presented as an omega, because she'd already presented as an alpha and that had upped their chances of being together. Then came the crushing heartbreak the day after she'd turned sixteen and her pleased grin at the mention of her Dream the previous night, how that meant Stiles wasn't her Mate and their chances of being together had fallen to a big fat zero.

Not that he'd stood much of a chance with Jackson existing, but he'd always been an optimistic moron.

Jackson's departure had given him an opening though, Stiles able to sidle up beside her when she was short a partner in chemistry and over their junior year, they'd gotten to know each other pretty well and formed a damn solid friendship. With the two of them attending Stanford now, they'd only managed to get closer, to the point where several other students had asked when they were getting Mated. And while five years ago, that question would've made his heart pound and his stomach flip, now it made him snort and roll his eyes, likening the suggestion to Mating his sister.

He often wondered what exactly had brought about the change in his feelings, if it was caused by the realization that she wasn't the fantasy image he'd concocted of her, or if it was the literal man of his Dreams and the knowledge that his real Mate was out there and was male. Maybe a combination of both? Not that it really mattered. He loved his relationship with Lydia for what it was and wouldn't trade it for the world.

He just had to hope that his Mate would be okay with him being so close to two other alphas, not including his dad.

Then again, with his luck, his Mate might turn out to be a possessive prick who refused to allow Stiles to keep his friendships with other alphas out of some archaic territorial bullshit.

No. No way. Life had already taken his mom and his twin. It wouldn't fuck him over by giving him a shit Mate. It owed him at that point.

Although really, didn't bad things always come in threes?

Stiles shook the thought out of his head, focusing on the present moment and asking Lydia about her shopping trip with Allison, catching a whiff of annoyance as she scoffed.

"Fine. Until my mother called and told me the news." She rolled her eyes as she turned and leaned back against the counter, arms folded under her chest, glossed lips twisted to the side. "I'm sure you heard all about it."

He nodded as he ripped up the junk mail and tossed it in the recycling. "Yeah, my dad said your mom wanted him to go with her," he informed her, letting his own irritability leak into his voice and his scent. "Whole thing is sketchy as hell if you ask me."

"Agreed, but it's not like we can do anything about it." She gave him a hard look at that, eyebrow cocked as though daring him to argue with her.

Unlike with his dad, Stiles knew there was no changing her mind when it was set, no wheedling her into something, no annoying her until he got his way. Her word was final and if anyone acted otherwise, she'd sharpen her claws with their bones.

"I just don't like it," he admitted lowly, sinking down onto a stool and rubbing the back of his head. "The entire thing feels like a trap and my dad is just going into it like it's nothing when clearly something major is going on."

Lydia shrugged, coffee maker rumbling behind her as it finished brewing a pot. She pushed away from the counter and grabbed mugs from the cupboard and set about making their drinks with the well-practiced ease of someone who had done it dozens of times before. Stiles knew he should get up and make the drinks for her, that she was a guest and he was the host and it was wrong to have her do all the work, but sometimes it was just easier to let her do whatever. And given the slight hint of anxiety that was leaking into her scent, chances were she wanted to make the drinks more than to be served, wanted something to busy her hands with and keep her mind occupied. She was clearly wary of their parents' upcoming trip as well but was playing it off as she always did, keeping up her perfected cultivated image of a strong, independent alpha.

"He's a grown man, an alpha," she reminded him, back to him as she poured the dark and yummy into their mugs. "He clearly knows what he's doing. And I'm sure he's not going into it completely naïve and that his guard will be up more than usual."

He hummed noncommittally, chewing a hangnail on his thumb, agreeing with what she was saying yet not fully comforted by her words. He knew his dad wasn't an idiot and was gonna approach it with the care and vigilance the situation called for. But even the most careful person could be caught unawares. How often did one hear stories of trained soldiers being ambushed in the Middle East, of Alphas being attacked at random, of law enforcement officials getting jumped while searching a building? Too freaking often, that's how.

His knee started bouncing beneath the counter's edge, dread and anxiety percolating inside and bubbling over, released with physical ticks and twitches. His wolf paced about inside his head, whimpering and whining, tail tucked between its legs as its mood directly reflected the human half's. Stiles honestly couldn't tell if it was his own gut intuition telling him something was wrong, or animal instinct sensing something was off with the Meeting. But either way, he felt completely on edge and his nerves were frayed to hell, mind racing with the every possible thing that could go wrong.

A mug of hot coffee was placed in front of him and he turned his head to give Lydia a small imitation of a thankful smile as she sat on his left. Wrapping his hands around it, he just held onto the mug, eyes glued to the image that was magically revealed by the hot liquid inside. The Imperial logo from Star Wars formed in white on the black ceramic. His brother had the matching one with the Rebellion's symbol in red.

Smearing a hand over his face, he let out a sigh, swallowing hard. Fuck, he just couldn't lose his dad. Couldn't. Wouldn't. Refused to let it happen. As much as Scott was like a brother and Lydia a sister, his dad was his last remaining family member, the last member of the Stilinski Pack. If Stiles lost him, he'd be an omega in more than just one sense of the word, lost, Pack-less, alone.

"You're being paranoid," Lydia stated in her own special blend of blunt and gentle, a soothing way to hit someone with the truth, like being smacked upside the head with a feather pillow covered in silk sheets.

He snorted, body rocking with the motion, hand held in front of his mouth. "Pretty much par for the course with me," he deadpanned, dropping his hand and wrapping it around his mug once more, actually lifting it up this time.

"My mom says that Alpha Hale is attending the Meeting," she went on, holding her own mug delicately between the fingers of both hands. It was the same mug she always used when having a hot drink at the Stilinskis', the first one she'd ever grabbed when visiting them: an old Marines mug of his dad's she claimed she was just drawn to. His dad didn't mind her using it, said it was better to get covered in lipstick than sit collecting dust in the cupboard, since he was partial to his cheesy "World's Greatest Dad" one that he'd gotten when the twins were thirteen.

She took a sip of her coffee before continuing. "And we both know there's no way Alpha Hale would even think of leaving Oak Creek unless it was one-hundred percent safe, not after that disaster over a decade ago."

He bobbed his eyebrows as he saw her point. A huge attempt on not just Alpha Hale's life, but her entire family's, had been huge news when they were about seven. Granted none of the major details had come out, just the names of the individuals in the group that had done it and the ringleader, Kate Argent, currently serving multiple life sentences for several counts of attempted murder, one count of attempted murder of a State Alpha, multiple counts of homicide, one count of treason, and one count of inciting a riot. She was now in a maximum security prison on twenty-four hour lockdown with no contact with the outside world.

It seemed too easy for her, in Stiles' opinion at least. Wasn't like the chick was the tiniest bit remorseful, only sad that she hadn't finished the job, that she'd only gotten away with killing the Alpha's Mate and a few random citizens of the town. Well, maybe not sad per se, since she didn't look capable of the emotion. Definitely pissed and vengeful though. Rumors had it that she wasn't quite all there in the head and that she'd actually plead insanity in order to escape the death penalty. She definitely looked like she had a few screws loose, had this crazy sort of look in her eye and this smile that just seemed...off.

Made him internally shudder just thinking about it.

Shaking it off, he focused on the conversation at hand, pushing aside any and all thoughts of crazy homicidal blondes. "Basically you're telling me that if the Alpha thinks it's safe, then I should think it's safe," he concluded, cocking an eyebrow as he turned his head to look at Lydia.

"Yup," she replied, popping the "p" and grinning smugly behind her cup.

He breathed out a small laugh through his nose, turning away again and looking down at his coffee. She was right, as always. Not that he ever doubted her. Doubting Lydia's correctness about something was like doubting the color of the sky or the dampness of water. It was just moronic. And considering he'd graduated third in his class behind two certified geniuses, he clearly wasn't a moron.

"I'm just being paranoid again," he stated, smearing a hand over his face once more.

She didn't argue, just nodded as she drank from her borrowed mug. "Well, it's you, so," she trailed off and shrugged, letting the statement hang.

Not that he didn't already finish it in his head or anything.

"Subject change," she declared as she placed her mug on the counter and folded her arms in front of her before turning her head to him and pinning him with hard green eyes. "My Fourth of July party coming up in a couple weeks."

Stiles let out a long groan, eyes closing and head tilting up to the sky. It was true that Lydia Martin threw the best parties in Beacon Hills—rivaled only by her mom and the city-wide festivals she arranged for major holidays, Independence Day being one of them—but Stiles had learned the hard way just how much work went into them. With Jackson gone, he'd become her errand boy, as well as the one who bore the brunt of her anger when things didn't go according to plan. Balloons the wrong shade of purple, napkins folded into squares rather than triangles, store brand raspberry juice purchased rather than some organic crap only found at specialty food shops he'd never set foot in and how it would completely ruin her famous fruit punch.

He didn't even try telling her that it was famous for getting people fucking wasted thanks to the special blend of alcohol and wolfsbane she mixed in with it, rather than the taste of it or the fact that it was all organic juice made from fruits that were pesticide-free and grown with naturally made all-organic manure or whatever bullshit the bottle claimed.

"Don't give me that look," she ordered as she smacked his chest with the back of her hand, making his eyes shoot open and a grimace to form on his face at her alpha strength. She rolled her eyes at his reaction, shaking her head in disapproval. "And don't act like that even hurt."

He scowled at her as he rubbed the pec she'd hit, trying to ease the sting. He knew that being friends with her left him prone to random acts of violence and that her petite stature and doll-like features belied the true physical strength lying within her. It was why he never crossed her, why he always tried his best to remain on her good side and placate to her every need, regardless of how stupid or how bad he disagreed.

But still. That fucking hurt.

"You realize you're perpetuating the stereotype that all alphas are violent assholes who take advantage of their strength by beating up innocent omegas, right?" he questioned, only halfway joking.

Another eye roll was her response, pointing a clawed finger at him in warning. "And you're perpetuating the stereotype that all omegas are whiny little bitches, now shut up and do as I say."

He rolled not just his eyes, but his entire head, still going along with exactly what she'd said and clamming up. Her claws were scary, polished or not.

She smiled happily, scent pleased, wiggling slightly as she sat up straighter on the stool. Her hands were delicately folded on top of the counter, like she hadn't just threatened him with a claw, perfect nude manicure on display. "Now, this year needs to be better than last year's so I've added a few things to your supply list, which you should've gotten in your email this morning by the way."

His eyebrows went up, hand absently lowering his mug onto the island, cheeks puffed out with coffee. He swallowed it with an audible gulp, worry flooding his scent. He hadn't checked his email, or even looked at any texts until Lydia had sent him one while he was with his dad. Chances were his phone was full of people reaching out to him, reminding him they were there if he needed to talk.

It was like they only remembered Stuart was missing at specific dates: the anniversary of his disappearance, his shared birthday with his twin, Christmas, Thanksgiving, whenever they needed computer help of some form and Danny was unavailable. It pissed Stiles off more than he could explain, but he never called anyone out on it or told them it bothered him. He understood people had lives, that they had their own shit to deal with, shit that didn't include a then-eighteen-year-old who'd left home on his own without a word. And Stiles didn't wanna seem like a dick for bringing it up or point out that he was still upset about it. It would bring unwanted attention upon himself, would have him being treated even more like a fragile little omega who couldn't handle his feelings and that was the absolute last thing he wanted.

So he avoided his phone, avoided Scott's assurances that he was there if he wanted a distraction, avoided Allison's offers to talk if he needed. He was sure they all meant well and that his friends genuinely did care, but he just didn't wanna deal with random confessions of how much they missed Stuart and what a cool guy he was and let's share cool stories about him. Stiles got enough of that right after his brother had taken off and he didn't need more reminders over how Stuart was the better twin.

But avoiding all that meant he also hadn't seen Lydia's email and was now at risk of being the victim of her wrath. Again.

The female in question sighed in exasperation, body slumping like she just couldn't deal with his ridiculousness, despite the fact that he hadn't actually said or done anything. "Take your phone out," she instructed gently, like she was dealing with a child or a skittish animal. "And check it now." She raised her eyebrows in expectation, lips pursed in yet another visual sign of her disbelief at his behavior.

He nodded rapidly, sliding his phone out the pocket of his khakis and unlocking it. It was the work of seconds to open up his mail app and took even less time for him to stare down at it, completely stunned.

His entire body froze up in shock at the top email in his inbox, lungs stopping on a sharp inhale, heart ceasing its pumping action. His hands were in a white-knuckle grip around his smartphone, completely tensed up and trembling, though not from the way his fingers had been hit with a sudden case of rigormortis. It was a feeling he could only compare to having seen a ghost, to someone suddenly coming back from the dead, to the world suddenly deciding it was gonna flip on its head and turn everything upside-down and inside-out. It was shock, plain and simple, and it was leaking out every pore of him so much that he swore he could smell it on himself.

Lydia clearly sensed the change in him, one had to be born without a nose or eyes or any senses at all to not be able to notice it really. Shifting forward, she scanned his face, gentle hand resting on his shoulder. "What?" she whispered, flipping her sightline between him and his phone.

He tilted it so she could get a better view of the screen, free hand finally able to move, covering his mouth. Everything got blurry as his eyes filled with tears and he could feel himself shaking all over despite the numbness that was overwhelming him.

"The first email," he choked out, feeling a tear roll down his cheek. "It's from Stu."


"I can read and write French, Spanish, Latin, Archaic Latin, and a little bit of Italian. I dabbled a bit in Gaelic and fooled around with Swedish once upon a time. I can recognize Hebrew, Sanskrit, and Russian, and thanks to you and your brother, I can recognize some Romulan. But that? I have no idea what that's even supposed to be."

Stiles turned his head to peer at Lydia as they stood side-by-side in front of his glass case board in his bedroom. He knew what she was saying was honest and not bragging or talking herself up, just a simple statement of facts, but he was still impressed as hell. He'd been aware of her geniusness for years yet still found himself taken aback when reminded of it.

Rubbing under his nose, he stood with his arms folded over his chest, switching his focus back to the print-out of Stu's latest email. Because it was most definitely from Stuart—not that the email address didn't give that away, but those could be hacked, a trick Stu himself had shown Stiles on several occasions. But the content itself was something only Stuart would be able to type up and only Stiles would be able to understand.

He was just trying to figure out how to tell Lydia there was no way she'd ever be able to translate the gobbledygook on the paper without offending her. She already smelled agitated and her lips were twisting and jaw grinding in frustration as she repeatedly scanned the words.

"Wedan nodo alforty naem yayhoo reev nowon."

"Seriously," she rasped out. "What the hell?" She shook her head in disbelief, eyes wide as they flicked all over the page, taped under the two other emails from Stu.

Swallowing hard, Stiles spoke up. "It's uh. It's a language we made up when we were kids," he explained, gesturing to the paper. "It says 'Mates don't always mean happy ever after'."

Saying the words out loud made the whole thing feel more real and tightened the knot that had formed in his stomach when he'd first read them. Dread was an overwhelming and oppressing emotion, numbing him all over and causing his stomach to roll around in nauseating waves. His wolf was pacing about once again, agitated, anxious, clearly sensing something was so very wrong. Not for the first time, Stiles wished tales of twins having psychic powers were true. He'd give anything to be able to connect with Stuart at that moment and find out what exactly was going on.

Sure, he could email back, but most of the time his mailings were returned with error messages stating the address didn't exist. The others were simply left unreplied to, if they were even opened and read in the first place.

Lydia's brow furrowed, lips pursed in a thoughtful pout. "What does that even mean?" she questioned, glancing up at him.

He gestured helplessly before wringing the back of his neck. He honestly wasn't entirely sure, hadn't even thought about it or anything past "holy shit, Stu actually got in contact with me!" The message held no real clues, no real anything beyond a cryptic message regarding Mates that only Stuart seemed to understand.

"Mates don't always mean happy ever after."

"Maybe it's a warning," Stiles suggested. "Like don't get your hopes up that finding your Mate will make everything okay." He wrapped it up with a shrug, not entirely sure if he was even close to the truth. Although really, knowing his brother and his stance on Mates and Dreams, he could've actually been right.

"Or it's a cry for help," Lydia murmured almost absently, taking two steps forward and tapping her finger on the email above the latest one.

Right on the word "Mated".

A chill spread all over Stiles, his stomach rolling even more. He'd been hoping his brother was just being his usual cynical self, but what Lydia had pointed out seemed like a very real, very definite possibility. And it scared the shit out of him.

Shuffling forward, he moved next to her, eyes locked onto the email. "You think his Mate is abusing him," he stated, rather than asked, knowing he'd hit the nail on the head with that one.

Licking her lips, she shrugged and shook her head, arms folded under her chest. "Definitely sounds like it."

He roughed his hands over his face, trying to scrub away the sick feeling, trying to get rid of the belief that something was very, incredibly wrong with his twin. His eyes scanned the second email, hoping for clues, hoping to find something he'd missed the first few dozen times he'd read it, hoping something would pop out of it now that he was rereading it with new eyes and a new take.

"Quick email to let you guys know I just got Mated. His name is Derek and he's an amazing alpha who'll take care of me the way you'd want him to. You don't have to worry about me, I'll be fine. Derek will make sure of it."

"No," Stiles disagreed with her, shaking his head as he refolded his arms. "He said Derek was a good guy and would take care of him. That doesn't sound like an alpha who'd abuse his Mate."

Lydia rolled her eyes as she turned to him, lips twisted to the side in utter disbelief over his naivety. "Stiles. How many times have you seen an abused omega at the station? And how many times have they all said that their Mate started out sweet and nice and perfect, only to later become territorial and controlling and abusing?"

He swallowed hard, once again hating the fact that she was right. He'd honestly lost track of the number of times he'd come across what she'd just described, both at his dad's work and the hospital when visiting Scott's mom with him. Hell, it was just last week that he'd shown up at the station to bring his dad lunch, finding a meek female omega named Tracy with her arm in a cast and sling, face covered in claw marks and bruises. A bloodied bandage was on the left side of her neck, most likely from where her Mate had sank his teeth into his Claiming Bite and tore her skin up in a violent frenzy, and the sweatshirt and matching pants she wore both featured the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital logo, replacements for ones her Mate had most likely ripped up. In the back room, he could hear the snarling threats of her Mate Donovan, an alpha who'd been brought in several times for countless charges of omega and Mate abuse, as well as dozens of petty crimes, and she further cringed against the sound of his words as Deputy Clarke gently led her into an interview room.

He closed his eyes against the images, only to instead picture his twin bandaged and bruised, busted hand reaching out for help, split lip crying out in pain. His wolf howled loud and long inside his head, its heartbreak reflecting Stiles'. Fuck, just imagining it made him both nauseous with worry and violent with anger at whoever had hurt his brother, fake or not.

But it wasn't fake, not if Lydia's theory was right. And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed likely. Plus the fact that Lydia Martin was never wrong.

"I have a sick feeling in my stomach that you're right," he confessed lowly, shifting his arms so they were wrapped around himself, fingers clutching at the loose fabric of his flannel shirt. "He left for a reason, right? And the fact that he's only contacted us three times in two years means he's gotta be hiding from something."

"Or someone," she altered, arching an eyebrow at him momentarily. "I never believed any of that gossip crap about your dad hurting either one of you, but someone must have been."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, I would've smelled it on him. Scent-neutralizing soaps only go so far." He paused to scratch at his jawline, lips twisting as he thought back to the last few months he'd been around Stuart. He'd seemed off, sure, but Stiles had chalked that up to the pressure of senior year, finals they'd had to take and getting ready for college. It had taken a toll on everyone in their group, including the usual calm and collected Lydia and eternal sunshine Scott. Stuart smelling anxious and dread-filled fit in with everyone else's awful scents, making him match Stiles' even more than usual. And it seemed to go right along with the frantic way Stu had been running around, the way his cardigans seemed to be buttoned wrong and his beanies put on inside out and the bags under his eyes deepening and growing darker.

Shit, Stiles must have been really blind or really naïve to not have noticed something was really off with his brother. But he'd been caught up in his own anxiety whirlwind of a year, too busy dealing with his own shit in order to really look into his twin's. It'd been too easy to just accept his explanation of having been up all night cramming or not sleeping well due to nerves over this exam and that paper because Stiles had been going through the same thing.

And it wouldn't have been the first time they reflected one another's emotional state. He'd heard countless stories from countless people about him and his brother, about how Stuart randomly rushed outside because he felt his brother getting hurt falling off Scott's skateboard, about how Stiles had moped about when Stuart was upset over his goldfish dying, about how they'd both claimed to feel their twin's pain at some point or another. The mind-reading thing may have been a myth, but the two of them had always had a close connection that no one on the outside could ever understand or explain.

And Stiles honestly hated himself for not realizing his brother's anxiety and dread went beyond finals and graduation.

He muttered out a few choice words that definitely should never be said around a lady, smearing a hand over his mouth and jaw. Reading over the latest email, he felt a prickle in the back of his mind, an irritating itch he couldn't scratch. Something wasn't adding up, something was still missing—besides his brother.

"But if Stuart was running and hiding from this person who was possibly abusing him—or just threatening to abuse him—then why would he get Mated to his abuser?"

Lydia shrugged, lips pursed, eyes focused on the board. "Maybe he hadn't met his abuser yet," she suggested. "Some people believe you get a sense of who your Mate really is in the Soul Mate Dreams, a sense of their true nature. Maybe Stuart knew his Mate was violent and would hurt him so he tried running away from them, only to end up being found by them anyway."

"And he still Mated the guy?" he asked dubiously, eyebrow raised. There was no way someone as smart as his brother would do something that freaking dumb, especially when he'd been so anti-Mates beforehand. He wasn't the type to believe that true love could conquer all and that people could be changed if the right person helped them. He thought all of it was bullshit, scoffed at Disney movies, rolled his eyes at romance novels, boo-ed chick flicks. There wasn't a chance in hell that he'd enter a Mating with an abusive asshole with the belief that he could fix him and make him turn out good.

"Derek must've threatened Stu into Mating him," he concluded, thinking it was the only explanation that made sense.

"Or threatened you and your dad," Lydia argued, pointing to the first email. "'Trust me, you guys are better off with me gone.' Sounds like he scared Stuart enough with promises to harm you guys that he figured his only option was to run away."

Stiles scoffed, moving his hands to his hips. "Sounds like something I'd do, not him."

"People do stupid stuff when they're scared enough."

He swallowed hard, the truth forming a hard lump in his throat that was making it hard to breathe. It had to be something incredibly bad in order to make Stu frightened enough to do something that incredibly stupid. No matter the case, there was only one thing he could do at a time like that.

Well, two, but telling his dad about this would just result in him being told to back off and let the professionals handle it. Which, no. At least not without doing a little digging of his own.

Turning around, he stepped away from the board, sliding his phone out his pocket as a plan formulated in his mind. "We need to call Danny."


The stench of anger and frustration was thick in Stiles' room, nearly choking him with it. To be expected really, considering the three people in the room and the situation they were finding themselves in.

Danny was seated at Stiles' desk, his mega-awesome super-laptop—Stiles' words, not his—running some sort of scan, code scrolling so fast on the screen the omega could barely keep up. But super beta Danny Mahealani could and knew exactly what was going on, what to type and when. He was completely in the zone as he ran a tracing program that he'd made known he wasn't comfortable doing but had been coerced into it by Lydia reminding him that he still owed her about four favors for "that thing that happened in seventh grade and if you so much as think of playing dumb and acting like you don't remember what I'm referring to—"

She didn't even need to come up with a threat. Danny had gone wide eyed and immediately set to work, Stiles standing over his shoulder as he did so.

Lydia was now pacing back and forth across the room, casting furtive glances at the screen every time she passed it. Her bare feet padded across the carpet like a quiet metronome, loosely clenched fists tapping together in front of her chest in a nervous outlet, her head shaking every now and then. Stiles kept an eye on her, occasionally peeking over his shoulder at her, noting how the frustration in her scent grew worse as the minutes past. And while he was agitated and annoyed himself for how long it was taking—something Danny kept pointing out wasn't his fault and he just needed to be patient because it was a delicate process, especially if they didn't wanna be caught—he had a feeling her emotional state was for a different reason entirely.

She screwed her face up as she shook it once more, turning on a heel to face the two boys, stretching out her fingers in a frustrated gesture. "I still don't think this is a good idea," she declared in a rush, knowing she needed to get the words out fast before she was argued with again.

It had been a rare moment of victory for Stiles to actually be able to talk her into his plan. The fact that she was constantly reminding him of her disapproval of it wasn't much of a surprise, but completely expected. She was always talking him out of idiotic ideas, whether for a class project or breaking into a file room to check out a hunch he had about some new kid he didn't quite trust—which, a lotta times, he actually turned out to be right and should be thanked really. And while he usually appreciated and loved her being his voice of reason and keeping his ass out of more trouble than he'd ordinarily be in, at that moment, he just didn't need it.

Striding over, he gently grasped her upper-arms, rubbing them as he met her green eyes with his whiskey ones. "We talked about this, remember? There's a reason why we asked Danny to do this for us," he reminded her lowly, trying for some semblance of privacy and hoping the beta was too focused on his job in order to strain his hearing and listen in.

She licked her eyes as she glanced around the room in agitation, before glaring at him with hard eyes. "I still think we should take this to your dad," she whispered harshly. "We should let the professionals handle this, the people whose jobs it is to analyze clues and use them to track missing persons." Her eyes widened at the end as she gave him a pointed look, one he pretty much ignored.

Nodding, he took in her words and quickly dismissed them. She may have made a good point—okay, she definitely made a good point—but there were a couple key factors that she wasn't mentioning, things that made it obvious that her idea wasn't the best one.

"Lyds, he sent the email to me," he reminded her, pointing at his own chest. "He put it in a special language only I could understand. And he's smart, okay? Really smart, so he could've put it in some other language and sent it to my dad like the others or to the sheriff's department if he was that serious about his claim being investigated, but he sent it to me. That has to mean something."

She stared up at him with a hard look and pissy pout on her face, folding her arms over her chest. "Yeah. That his abusive Mate probably read all his emails and so Stu put it in some crazy language the guy couldn't read with Google Translate."

"Doesn't explain why he sent it to me though," he pointed out, dropping his arms to his sides.

"Because you're the only one who can read it," she whispered back in a "duh" fashion, rolling her eyes as the cherry on top.

"Which my dad would know. And he'd show me the email had it gone to him or the department. But it hadn't, because it'd been sent to me." He raised his eyebrows, daring her to argue, feeling slightly smug when she simply sighed and slumped, lips twisting in annoyance at her having been proven wrong. "Stu is a genius. He's probably four, five, six steps ahead of us in this, which means he's thought up every possible option that he had and went with the one that ended with that message in my inbox." He gestured to the case board before running a hand through his hair and sighing. He knew what he was saying was right, was the truth. Everything had been done on purpose and for a reason. He just needed to get Lydia to see that.

"I know my brother," he went on, rubbing at the back of his neck. "And he knows me and he knows that there's no way I'd sleep until I figure out exactly what that message meant and where he is and how the hell to save him, because he'd do the same for me." A fierce determination the likes of which Stiles had never felt before had taken over, powering his every word, his every thought. More than ever he was set firm in his resolve to find his brother and bring him back home—in one piece. His mission was more important than it had been in light of recent events and given the sheriff department's failure to find so much as a trace of a trail, he wasn't giving them another chance to screw everything up.

Lydia sighed, shoulders slumping more and arms dropping completely, the fight leaving her. She fluffed her hair, flipping it over her shoulder, while she pressed her lips into a hard line and looked around the room. Her scent shifted to something more melancholic, apologetic, yet still irritated with the fact that she wasn't getting her way.

"I still don't like this," she whispered harshly, locking hard eyes onto his before turning and marching to the other side of the room to stand behind Danny.

Stiles remained where he was, hands on his hips as he hung his head. Strange how winning an argument could still make him feel like he'd lost. But that was Lydia.

Whatever. She could be pissy and pouty and mentally throw a hissy fit. He wasn't changing his mind, wasn't backing down. He knew what he—what they were doing was right and was the most likely way to produce any sort of results. The sheriff's department had their hands full with god knew what other crimes—as well as Alpha Martin's upcoming trip to the County Alphas Meeting—and wouldn't have time or be bothered to deal with a cold case. Chances were they'd roll their eyes at the email, chalk it up as an overreaction or tell Stiles he was misinterpreting the message and the meaning of the words. An unhappy Mating didn't mean abuse or danger, just that fate maybe got one wrong.

Not that he believed that bullshit, but some folks did.

Deputy Haigh was one of them, but he was a Dream-less beta asshole with delusions of being an alpha and being someone important so what the fuck did he know?

Danny's computer beeped from behind Stiles and he quickly whipped around, dropping his hand from where he'd been chewing on his hangnail again. Lydia was leaning over the back of his chair, lips parted as she stared at the screen, smile slowly forming on her face before her green eyes flicked over to Stiles. He scented the joy in the air as he gasped an inhale, lungs and heart freezing as he felt hope swell inside his chest.

"You found something, didn't you?" he asked shakily, swallowing hard, almost afraid of the answer. He hadn't really given much thought to his plan beyond getting Danny to track the IP address the email came from and then bringing Stuart back home—assuming he even wanted to, but Stiles was going on the assumption that his email was a message for someone to go rescue him. What he was supposed to do for the steps between tracking the IP address and bringing Stu home were unknown and frankly, a little scary.

Danny turned to him with a grimaced sort of smile, dimple displayed on one tan cheek, broad shoulder being shrugged. "It's not a city. There's something blocking me from getting that info." He rubbed the back of his neck then gestured to the screen. "But I got you the state."

His wolf yowled in his head in victory, his heart pounding as he strode over, damn near colliding with the back of the chair in his haste to see the screen. And there it was, right before his eyes. The map of the state, a grid of longitude and latitude, a box with the state name pointing to it and telling them where to start.

"California," he murmured, lips twitching up at the corner.

Lydia turned her head to him, smile now gone and replaced with a hard look, her own dimples formed at the edges of her full lips. "Now can we take this to your dad?"

He met her eyes, seeing the way she was pleading with him to agree, not for the sake of vanity or her ego or because she was Lydia fucking Martin and no one disagreed with her, but because she felt it was the right thing to do. And while Stiles had been adamant that they handle the whole thing by themselves, he was changing his mind, solely due to the fact that their task had gotten a whole lot bigger. Finding Stuart in one city would be hard enough, even with his group of friends helping him out. But an entire state would be nearly impossible, not without a whole lot more numbers and every person in a uniform on alert to look for the guy.

"Yeah," he agreed lowly, voice harsher than before with added anxiety and an overwhelming amount of emotions. They finally had a bead on his brother and he was in the same freaking state. And with the dread invoked by that cryptic email, they didn't have a single moment to lose in narrowing down Stuart's exact location.