"Cora," Derek says.

She must have come in while Braeden was dropping the bomb into Stiles' hand, because Derek didn't notice her, and there's no way he wouldn't have noticed his own sister. The tug of family is moon-strong. Derek could drown in it.

She turns around, sees him.

"Derek," she says. "You really are a kid."

Derek can't make himself care about that. He can't even force himself still. He's hugging her before he knows he's moved at all, eyes closing, breathing her in.

"God, you suck," Cora says, but her arms come up around him, pull him in close. "I told you to call me if anything happened. Do you even use the phone I gave you?"

"The—You gave me a phone?"

"And you saved my life, idiot. Don't lose your mind. It cost like a hundred bucks."

"But," Derek says, and trips over the lump in his throat. "I thought—After—"

She doesn't hate him.

Why doesn't she hate him?

"How'd you get out?" he asks instead. There's something wrong with his voice.

Cora pulls back, stares at him. "What'd she do to you?"

"How?" Derek presses. He needs to know.

"I wasn't there," Cora says. "I wasn't home. I snuck out and met Brae."

"Brae," Derek says.

"Mom's emissary is her uncle," Cora says. "He didn't want to teach me anything. He thought he'd get rid of me easy—"

"Teach you," Derek says.

"God, didn't you hate how they all talked down to us?" Cora says. "Not an alpha, not an alpha-in-training, guess we're just useless betas then. Laura knew shit at eleven no one was ever gonna tell you." She shrugs. "I thought maybe he'd understand. Till he passed me off on his niece."

"Worst thing that ever happened to you," Braeden says.

"Yeah, I hate your face," Cora says. "But I made it to twelve, so."

"She's your pack," Derek realizes.

Cora raises her eyebrows. "Older you thought I was an omega."

"But he—" Derek stops. "But I was wrong."

"Two-wolf pack with only one wolf. I didn't try to explain it to him. Older you was a judgy fucker. He thought pack had to be Mom's or nothing."

"What happened to my pack?" Derek asks. Cora's face goes dark.

"Let's not," she says, but when he nods, stomach dropping, she says, "It was the alpha pack, idiot, not you," and hugs him close again.


"Tell me what happened to you," Cora says. There's fire in her eyes. She hasn't left his side since he hugged her.

"It's over," Derek says.

"I don't care," Cora says. "Tell me."

Derek tells her.


"Show me your claws," Cora tells Malia.

Stiles makes a horrible noise.

They're cracked, bloody, some of them are missing entirely, fingertips barely scabbed over. Malia won't look at anyone.

"She needed a clean one, didn't she," Cora says grimly. "As a totem."

Malia nods slightly, eyes fixed on nothing and no one.

"It's alright," Cora says, gentler than Derek's ever heard her. "Brae?"

Braeden takes Malia's wrist, flexes her fingers.


"That bitch," Stiles spits, outside. "That psychotic—"

"I'm sorry," Derek says.

"Her fingernails, that's—that's torture, that's how they torture people!"

"Stiles, I'm—"

"And the whole time I just bought it, I didn't even question—"

"Stiles—"

"Hit me."

"Stiles, I—What?"

"Hit me, okay? You deserve it, I should've told you what she did, I made it so much worse—"

"That's not—"

"Derek, just hit me!"

"Stiles, I'm not going to—"

"Why the fuck not?" Stiles snaps. He's shaking. "I ruined your life, I ruined Malia's life—"

"You didn't know—"

"Oh, come on, you know that doesn't fucking—I should've!"

"Right," Derek says, and it settles like a blow even if that wasn't what Stiles meant, even if Derek never really believed it when Stiles told him, Derek, no, it wasn't your fault, you didn't

"No," Stiles says, catching the look on Derek's face. "Derek. That's not what I meant, that's not—"

"It's okay," Derek says.

"No, it's not, it's not, it's—" Stiles looks at Derek, desperate. "Please just fucking hit me."

"I don't want to," Derek says.

"Well, I was wrong, huh?" Stiles says. His voice is sharp, almost angry. "You're nothing like him."

This blow hurts worse. It's a struggle to catch his breath.

"I—hurt you? He—"

"He didn't break me," Stiles snaps. "He just didn't act like he couldn't even—touch me, like I'd crumble—"

"I don't know what you want me to do," Derek says.

"Exactly," Stiles says. "Just forget it."

"What," Derek says. "What, what was I—Why would you want—"

"Just fucking forget it, okay?" Stiles says. "I should—Malia's in there, I should—"

"So then why aren't you?" Derek asks, struggling to make some sense out of all of this.

"Because I'm an idiot," Stiles says, and goes inside.


Cora's inside too. Derek doesn't need a—different reason. His sister's inside, his—He still has a sister and he doesn't need to stand out here trying to—to figure out—

He follows Stiles in.


Braeden's built Malia new claws. Better claws. Malia can't stop looking at them.

"It's not like the bomb," Cora says. "They're not going to fade. They'll last until yours heal."

Malia looks up.

"I—"

"I didn't do it for you," Braeden says.

"Brae," Cora says.

"It's just a job," Braeden says. Her jaw is set tight.

"Brae, don't run away again."

"I'm not running," Braeden says. "You've got your pack. I did my job."

"It's not a job!" Cora snaps. "And they're not my pack."

"They're Derek's pack," Braeden says.

"So what?"

"So I've got things to do."

"You know I'll find you again," Cora says. "Just—Why can't you—"

"Goodbye, Cora," Braeden says pointedly.

"I hate you," Cora says. "I really—Just stop."

"Why should I?"

"Because I have a job for you," Cora snaps. "So just listen to me for fifteen seconds."

"Fine," Braeden says.

"Malia," Cora says.

Malia starts. Braeden's eyebrows go high.

"Malia," she repeats.

"She was kidnapped," Cora says, watching Braeden's face carefully. "She was trapped in a cage, you know I know what that feels like."

"What do you want me to do about it?" Braeden says.

"What you did for me," Cora says. "If it was just a job."

"I got McCall's pack to find you," Braeden says.

"I'm not talking about the bank vault," Cora says.

Braeden goes still.

Then she says, "Fine."


"Someone trapped you in a—" Derek starts, anger simmering in him, but Cora shakes her head.

"Not now, Derek."

"Who?" Derek asks.

"It doesn't matter," Cora says.

"It matters to me," Derek says.

But she's not listening to him anymore. She's watching Braeden build a cat the size of a dog out of the air. Matte black fur ripples lightly under her fingers.

"I can't run with you when you're shifted," Braeden tells Malia. But she's not looking at Malia, not really. "But she can."

"I have to run with her," Malia asks.

Braeden lets out a short, impatient breath.

"You don't have to do anything," she says tightly. "It—helped Cora. After. It might not help you."

Malia nods quickly. "I want to," she says.

She shifts.

Braeden's cat is already gone, but Malia is quick on her heels. The pack spills out of the clinic to watch them.

Braeden's cat speeds through the streets, finds the edges of town quickly, where abandoned stores meet overgrown wilderness, and darts into the woods. Malia disappears after her, something like a smile on her face.

"Remember?" Cora says, and grabs Braeden's hand. "'Run.'"


Derek falls back to the last lagging few, where Stiles clutches his side and groans, "The running. Why are we always running."

Derek's hand finds his side, pulls the cramping pain away.

"Ugh, you're the actual best," Stiles says, leaning into him. "But seriously. What's wrong with a nice, leisurely stroll? Something, I don't know, peaceful. Celebrate the fact that we don't have to run for our lives just this sec—"

Someone roars.

Derek's heart stops.

"What is it?" Stiles says.

"Cora," Derek says.


He finds Cora fully shifted, dragging a man caught in her teeth. He's bleeding, though not heavily, through her bite mark around his ankle. He kicks out; she shifts back and twists his leg behind him.

"What—" Derek says.

Cora looks up. Her teeth shine red. "He shot at Brae's bobcat," she says, and spits his own blood at his mud-tracked face.

"It's probably just a hunter," Scott says, looking pained. "He probably didn't mean—"

Braeden studies the arrow planted deep in the ground. Her bobcat finds Cora's side, curls around her legs, hissing at the attacker.

"No," she says. "He's the Benefactor."

"He's the—" Derek repeats, and stares at him. He looks—ordinary. Normal. As normal as anyone can look after being dragged through the woods with a giant bite bleeding mark around their ankle. "He paid Kate to kill those people?"

"To what?" Malia says. She's shifted back, hugging herself decent. "No, he didn't."

"This is his arrow," Braeden says. "It's the same one he used last time."

"No," Malia says, eyes narrowing. "No, that's crazy. You're crazy."

"What would you know about it?" Cora snaps.

"I know he's my father," Malia says.