"A warning to the prophet, the liar, the honest

This is war

To the leader, the pariah, the victor, the messiah

This is war

It's the moment of truth and the moment to lie

And the moment to live and the moment to die

The moment to fight"

This Is War by Thirty Seconds to Mars

Sitting in Ms. Morrell's office on a Tuesday morning was something I never thought I'd do. Talking about my problems just wasn't ever the first thing to come to mind when trying to work through something. But the police wanted Scott, Stiles, and I to see the high school counselor because of what we had experienced on the night of the full moon. My dad also didn't excuse me from it. He thought it'd be good for me. Mom still mostly avoided me and any topic that could lead to or included werewolves. It sounded like she needed the counseling more than I did and she was an actual therapist.

I held my beanie in my hands and picked at the hem for the first minute or so of sitting in the office. Ms. Morrell watched me, waiting to see if I'd be the first to talk, but considering I was forced to be there, I wouldn't willingly participate in my own psychiatric evaluation.

"You seem angry," Ms. Morrell said after a few minutes.

Raising an eyebrow at her, I asked, "What gives you that idea?" I really wanted to say, "No shit, Sherlock," but I figured that wouldn't be appropriate.

"Body language can reveal a lot about someone's inner thoughts and emotions," Morrell revealed. "Since you're here, why don't you tell me about what you're feeling?"

That's likely, I thought. "You mean since I'm forced to be here?" My right hand wrapped squeezed my beanie.

If Morrell could frown further, she did. "And why are you forced to be here?" she coaxed, trying to get me to talk about the actual problem.

"Because my mother didn't want to say she talked to me about everything, and Dad thought I should talk to someone instead of excusing me from this torture." I gave the counselor a fake smile and then proceeded to quickly drop it and look away.

Morrell tilted her head as she studied me. "Your mom is a therapist, right?"

"Oh, yes," I said, feigning interest. "She gets paid loads more than a high school guidance counselor, so you should try it sometime if you ever get tired of listening to people break down about their college applications or a person saying mean things about them behind their backs." It was safe to say my respect for psychologists was low. Mostly because of my mother using tactics she uses to try and get her clients to open up at home in attempts to connect with me both before and after the Hale house fire. I knew therapy could be a life-saving tool if used properly, but I didn't want any part of it.

She barely reacted to my jab. "I like to help people, and sometimes the people who need it the most are teenagers. They simply don't want to let anyone in because they often feel like they can handle it on their own." Morrell sat forward a little, making sure to look directly into my eyes. "But the thing is, they don't have to. They just need to talk about it."

I shook my head quickly and folded my arms over my chest. "I'm not going to talk to you."

"And from what you've said about your parents, you won't talk to them either," she stated matter-of-factly. My jaw tightened. A trained psychologist, right. "If you won't talk to them, who will you talk to? Isaac?"

"If he was around, sure," I answered, straight-up lying. Isaac was currently in my room safe and sound, at least to the best of my knowledge.

"Have you had any contact with the three runaways?" The three runaways being Isaac, Boyd, and Erica. The three hadn't been spotted since the full moon, so they had been declared runaways. Little did law enforcement know, they were simply in hiding.

"No."

"And what about Scott or Stiles? From my understanding, you three aren't particularly friends but have recently started talking."

Does she just stand in the hall watching the student body or something? I asked myself, but I refused to show my mild confusion in my expression. "I saw them this weekend."

"What did you talk about when you saw them?" Morrell asked.

"If I'm not going to talk about how I'm doing, what makes you think I'll discuss a private conversation I had with someone else?" I countered.

"Sometimes people are more willing to talk about others."

She truly wasn't going to give up. "Fine. Scott has had a strained relationship with his mom since that night and stopped by my house for some advice since I was the one in the holding cell with her. Stiles went with him for moral support seeing as how they're best friends. Is that good enough for you, Ms. Morrell?"

The slightest smile pulled at her lips. "I think there's more to it than that. For the longest time, your only friend seemed to be Isaac, a shy boy in an abusive household who lost his mom and brother. You lost your brother as well and have difficulty opening up to your parents. I think Scott went to you for advice because you know a little something about traversing difficult relationships and he trusted what you had to say not only because of your experience but because of your budding friendship. Am I right?"

Morrell wasn't wrong, not necessarily. It felt strange to hear it said, and I needed to get out of the room. My heartbeat quickened, and I took in a deep breath. "What do you want me to say?" I asked harshly, leaning forward in the chair and narrowing my eyes. "Yes, my brother's death caused tension in my family. Yes, Scott is privy to that lovely information and wanted help on how to avoid that fate with his own mom. Yes, I'm angry that I have to be here instead of dealing with my problems on my own. Yes, the main person I divulge my dirty little secrets to isn't exactly around. Yes, the fiasco at the police station has put a damper in everyone's moods, including my own. Are we done here?"

"No, we're not," Morrell shot back. "You are required to be here for an hour to discuss how you're feeling and coping since the attack at the Sheriff's Station, so we will complete it. But I don't think that's the heart of your problem. You've talked more about others than you have yourself which indicates a desire to help others and a dislike of being the center of attention. Have you always felt this or is it a recent thing?"

I slumped back in the chair and folded my arms again, looking away from her. "I've always hated it."

"So when Matt held a gun to you and Mrs. McCall, what was stronger: the need to help her and Scott or trying to hide?"

"To help Melissa."

Morrell didn't notice the lack of Scott's name. "What about Scott?"

I waved off the question. "Scott was more worried about me and his mom. It would've been futile to worry about him and his hero complex. He could handle himself. Matt shooting him was only a way to control Melissa, not a move to hurt Scott."

"And you knew that for absolute certain?" Morrell wondered, making sure and trying to understand my headspace during that night.

I nodded and shifted in the chair. "Matt was a sociopath hell-bent on his agenda. He would only hurt people who got in the way of it. And for some reason he needed Scott. I would've begun worrying about him once Matt no longer needed him." And Scott's supernatural healing ability also helped.

"What do you think of Matt's death?"

Shrugging, I made a noncommittal sound. "Don't really care, to be honest. If anything, he had it coming. The dude murdered people because he almost drowned. Sorry for my bluntness, but a near-death experience doesn't give you leave to turn around and kill others, especially not drunk teenagers who likely had no idea what was going on."

"So, you don't feel pity for him at all?" the counselor posed.

"I feel for young Matt because no one deserves to go through a traumatic experience, but most people don't become killers because of what they've gone through. At some point, you need to take responsibility for yourself."

Morrell tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"If you recognize you have depression, you need to seek out help for it. If you don't like your body, you need to take steps to improve it. If you have difficulty sleeping, you need to try and find ways to alleviate it. You can't blame others for your problems and others can't force solutions upon you. They can help and provide support, but you need to be willing to take whatever step you require to better yourself. Killing wasn't the answer to Matt's problem. He didn't try to find help to come to terms with his experience, but that was only something he could kickstart. It didn't fall to others."

Morrell fully grinned. The sight was almost unnerving after looking at her stoic face for so long. "Sounds like someone else I know."

It took me a moment to realize who she meant. She meant me. "I've already come to terms with Riichi's death. It's been years since it happened. He's not coming back, and the people responsible have already paid their price. And I'm not blaming others for my misfortune. I'm simply waiting for others to reach the same stage as me."

"You mean your mom?" Morrell asked, folding her hands in front of her on the desk between us. "I noticed how you referenced her as 'mother' but when talking about Melissa, you said 'mom.' Yet you didn't use 'father' when mentioning your dad. Why are things tenser between you and your mom than they are between you and your dad?"

I leveled my eyes with Morrell, not quite believing I actually wanted to answer the question. "Because she blames others for Riichi's death. She blames the perpetrators and she blames the Hale's. She blames my dad for letting Riichi go over to their house that day. She blames herself for not being home to keep him from going. I don't have time for someone like that."

"Does she blame you?"

"She's never said it." Morrell raised an eyebrow, hearing the silent 'but.' My fingers twitched from where they hid under my arms and my heart grew heavy. I lowered my eyes to the desk and felt my lips droop. "But I think she does. We used to be close, but she grieved differently and for a lot longer. I don't think she necessarily blames me for causing it, but she blames me for the rift in the family dynamic. It's not my fault she couldn't be a parent afterward."

"I think your numbness to what happened at the Sheriff's Station and what happened afterward stems from a lack of ability to confront and come to terms with things that bother you. But I can't help you unless you let me, Sara. Instead of bottling your feelings up, you should try talking about them with someone you trust. I can see it won't be me, but if you see Isaac, he might be a good start, or perhaps someone new, like Scott." Her eyes drifted to the clock above the door. "You made it through the hour. Time goes by faster when you aren't focused on it." Morrell gestured towards the door. "You're free to go."

I sat in the chair another moment before hopping up, grabbing my messenger bag from the floor, and hurrying out the door. The session with Morrell had given me exactly what I didn't want: something to ponder over and my fox-spirit disgruntled and stirring.

Friday after school and an after school snack from one of the fast-food places, I drove to the remains of the Hale House. I wasn't completely sure what drew me there, but it felt like the right place to go. It seemed to be where everything started. The death and destruction of the Hale Pack had left Beacon Hills defenseless and vulnerable. It left my family splintered. As I stepped out of my car, I heard a crashing sound from inside the house, so I hurried inside.

Opening the door, my face twisted in confusion. On the floor by the staircase was an older man who looked incredibly familiar. He looked up at me and said, "Oh, looks like we have company."

Footsteps echoed through the empty house and Derek entered the foyer from the adjacent room. His frown grew deeper. "Sara, what are you doing here?" he asked.

The man from the floor sat up with an enlightened expression as if he suddenly had all the answers. "Ohhh, Sara Todd, the fire kitsune. Now that makes a lot more sense."

"Shut up," Derek hissed, glancing back at the man. I raised an eyebrow and pointed at the random man getting up from the dusty floor. Derek shook his head. "You don't want to know."

The man tsked him and moved to stand next to Derek. "I think she does. I distinctly remember mauling her in the forest a few months ago."

I took a step back and raised my hand in front of me. "Fuck no. Derek, please don't tell me that's-"

Sticking his hand out, the man formally introduced himself. "Peter Hale." A formal introduction wasn't necessary anyway as I distinctly remember him from when I was a kid. Derek and I both glared at him, and I refused to shake his hand. Peter dramatically sighed and dropped his hand. "It was months ago and you survived. Are you going to hold it against me forever?"

Ignoring him, I looked back at Derek. "Isn't he supposed to be dead?" I asked. Then I gasped, remembering the previous full moon with Deaton and Lydia acting strangely. "Oh, hell no. He was resurrected by Lydia, wasn't he, when she was all weird and out of it?"

A begrudgingly proud expression graced the elder Hale's face as he looked to his nephew. "She's a smart one. No wonder you associate with her." I simply glared at him again.

"She was there when Lydia kidnapped me. Of course, she figured it out," Derek told his uncle. He then rolled his eyes and turned to me. "Do you need something?"

"Let me guess," Peter requested with a big smile. He seemed way too interested. "With the craziness going on, your fox is giving you some problems." He gestured to their surroundings. "And this seemed like the best place to pacify it." When I didn't reply, he continued talking. "I love being right. Being a young kitsune must be fun. All that power you could have if you let the fox be in control."

My eyes flashed orange and Derek stepped between Peter and I. "That's enough, Peter," Derek said, then looked at me. "What have you been doing to try and conceal the aura?"

"Meditating," I answered.

Peter clicked his tongue and shook his head. "No, no, no. That will only allow you to conceal your nature if you're at peace and calm. You need to practice concealing it when you're angry or stressed. Then you'll always be able to keep it hidden." Peter turned to his nephew. "See? I can be helpful. Can we have that talk now?"

"Sure," Derek conceded then proceeded to sucker punch his uncle in the face. I took a step back as Peter it the ground. "Sara, do you think Peter and I can be alone to finish our talk?"

"Um, yeah, totally." I awkwardly waved. "I'll be at the lacrosse game."

"Have fun."

I then left them to beat the shit out of each other. It was not my problem. Once I returned to the school, people had already started arriving for the game that would be starting in an hour. After securing my beanie and tightening the laces of my boots, I took my chain dart from my bag and slipped it into my jacket pocket. The championship game had the possibility of spelling disaster with the way things were going lately.

Making my way towards the field, I spotted Stiles and Scott exiting the building with the rest of the lacrosse team. Neither looked pleased. I jogged over to them trailing behind the rest of the team and asked, "Why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy?"

"Gerard told Coach to bench me because I'm failing three classes," Scott explained.

"Oh, you know you could've asked me to tutor you again," I pointed out, referencing the first semester of freshman year when he needed help with Algebra and History. "Then you wouldn't have this problem."

That picked up Scott's mood a little. The start of a smile pulled at his lips. "Really? That'd be great. I need some serious help."

"That's not the main problem," Stiles butted in, looking like he wanted to strangle us both. "Gerard wanted Scott off the field so he could use Jackson to kill people."

"Wait, what?" I blurted. "Did I miss something?"

"Gerard's the new kanima master," Stiles said.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," I muttered then clenched my jaw. My eyes drifted to the Argent principal standing by the side of the field. The old man was looking over at us, and it made me seriously uncomfortable. "You two better go before Finstock yells at you." They both nodded and hurried to the benches before Finstock noticed their absence and I started walking to the bleachers.

I spotted Mr. Stilinski, and he waved when he saw me. I guess disaster really does bring people together. I sat on the bench by him with a few feet in between. "How are you tonight, Miss Todd?" he asked.

"Aw, Noah, I thought we were on a first-name basis." He snorted at my snarky comment. "And I'm good, thank you for asking. How's your head?"

"The bruise is all healed up," he answered. "Uh, if you don't mind me asking, how did you and Stiles start hanging out?" I guess it really was strange for Stiles to hang out with a girl.

"School project," I answered quickly. "And we realized no one could match our sarcasm besides each other so we kept talking. Friendship at the first witty comment." I then noticed Melissa walking towards us. She and Scott must've been doing better if she was attending his lacrosse game. I gave her a soft smile which she hesitantly returned. "How are you?"

"I'm doing. . . better," Melissa decided. She pointed at the empty space between Noah and I. "Is that seat taken?"

I scooted over a fraction. "Not at all."

For a few moments, we settled in our spots in silence until Mr. Stilinski noticed something rather unusual for a lacrosse game. "Oh, no, why is my son going on the field?" he asked no one in particular. Stiles was putting his helmet on as he ran out onto the field, stopping in front of the goal.

"Because he's on the team?" Melissa supplied, glancing over at the elder Stilinski.

"He is. He's on the team. He's on the field," he muttered and started to stand. "My son is on the field!" People around us in the stands looked up at him like he was insane. I bit my lip to keep myself from laughing. Noah was so excited that he didn't notice people staring at him until he looked around. He then awkwardly sat back down. I could see Stiles twitching out on the field, a nervous wreck. I didn't need to be a werewolf to know his heartbeat was beating erratically.

Once the scoreboard put the time of twelve minutes up, ready to start the game, I saw Lydia coming to the bleachers. She stopped for a moment in front of me and gestured to the empty spot on the other side of me. "Can I?" the red-head asked.

"Of course," I replied, still unsure as to why she was even at the game. She sat down next to me and rubbed her thighs. "Do you need a jacket?"

"Oh, no, I'm good. I just, usually I'm with people at these, you know?" The distant look in her eyes told me everything I needed to know. Without Allison and Jackson, Lydia was all alone. She wasn't the Queen Bee of the school anymore with a million friends.

I playfully nudged her shoulder with a smirk. "What are you talking about? You're with me. And I guarantee I have the best sports commentary."

Lydia giggled a little and gave me a grateful smile. "Honestly, I never thought we'd talk."

"Hush with that Miss Popularity stuff. You're one of the losers now. Embrace it." I winked which made her roll her eyes, but she continued smiling.

"Yeah, well, even losers can try to have a sense of style." She looked pointedly at my black bomber jacket and beanie. I could see the mischievous glint in her eyes though. Who knew Lydia Martin had a sense of humor?

"Keep up that witty banter, and I'll let you paint my nails."

"As long as it's red or black, right? Sounds like someone has seen the play Les Misérables too many times."

I gaped at her, the corners of my mouth twitching up along with an eyebrow. "Broadway references, too? This is the start of a beautiful friendship, Martin."

She waved her hand. "Oh, I draw the line at last names. You've been disowned." Together we laughed, and the two adults on the other side of me looked over at us amused.

The whistle blew to signal the start of the game.

We were being decimated in the first quarter. After the opposing team made two goals, Stiles got the ball and he was immediately tackled. Everyone in the stands cringed and ooohed.

"He's probably just warming up," Melissa said, trying to be optimistic.

But Stiles' bad luck continued. As he tried to get the ball from the grass into his net, the spastic boy was tackled again.

"Oh, he's just a little nervous," Lydia said, keeping the optimism train going. "Plenty of time to turn it around."

The next time it went near Stiles, it hit him in the head instead of landing in his net. The crowd around us booed. Lydia looked up to the stars, probably praying. Melissa looked down, not wanting to watch the train wreck. Noah was hiding his face. I was close to bursting into laughter, but I figured that'd be inappropriate when sitting with Mr. Stilinski.

During a timeout, Melissa looked at me and asked, "Where's your amazing sports commentary?" She wanted something to lift their spirits.

"I didn't think anyone would want it, but sure, if you want instant replays of Stiles embarrassing himself, I'm all for commentating." Lydia slapped my arm and pain shot through it. "Ow! Okay, I'm sorry. There's still time for him to get out of his head." I rubbed my sore arm. A few moments later after the match started again, Lydia tapped me on the arm. "What? I already apologized."

"No, look." She pointed to the bench where Scott was sitting. There sat Isaac next to the co-captain in a deep conversation with him. I hadn't seen him before school, so I had naturally assumed he was hiding or had run with Erica and Boyd. But there he was. A grin burst onto my face and my heart fluttered. Lydia glanced between me and him. "Oh, hon, you have it bad."

As if he heard her words, which he probably did, Isaac looked away from Scott and turned to me. With a wink, he turned back to Scott, probably discussing strategy as they then turned to glare at Gerard.

The second quarter was coming to a close when Isaac slammed into his own teammate. The crowd collectively groaned. "Lahey!" Finstock yelled. He then ordered another member onto the field to sub for the one Isaac put out of commission.

"What was that?" Noah asked, glancing over at me as I knew him better than they did.

I shrugged and shook my head. "I have no idea. I swear." And I didn't until Isaac did it again. Finstock put in another player which made Scott one step closer to being put on the field. I put my head in my hands at the realization. Boys. There had to be a better way to get Scott on the field than injuring their own teammates. To be fair, Isaac probably saw it as payback for all the times they made fun of him for his job at the cemetery. When Finstock finally called Isaac out on his actions, Isaac simply raised his arms in a cocky manner. While incredibly attractive, part of me wanted to slap him.

Then Jackson rammed into him. I stood up with a gasp, and Scott ran out onto the field to Isaac's side. He wasn't moving his body. Paramedics rushed out onto the field with a stretcher. Melissa glanced at me and she knew something was seriously wrong.

"I'm gonna go with them. Make sure he's alright," I told the three and rushed after the paramedics bringing Isaac into the school. I caught up to them in the hall. "Isaac, Isaac, are you okay?"

He lifted his head to look at me. "Sara, thank god. Can you call Derek?"

"Of course." I stepped into one of the side halls and took out my phone. Waiting for Derek to answer only took a few moments. "Hey, Derek, we might have a problem."

"What happened?" Derek asked.

"Gerard is the new kanima master and he's at the lacrosse game. Isaac just got paralyzed in front of everyone. If you've got a plan for anything, we're going to need to do something soon."

I heard Derek sigh through the phone. "Alright. I'm working on something right now. Try and stall as long as you can."

"Got it." I then hung up and put my phone away. Hurrying down the hall to the boy's locker room, I saw Gerard and two hunters standing just inside the entry. Gerard was holding a sword. Who the fuck has a sword?

"This would be so much more poetic if it were halftime," Gerard said, staring down at Isaac who I could see crawling away on the floor.

My blood boiled at the sight of Isaac in danger. "If you want him, you'll have to go through me," I threatened, pulling the chain and knife from my pocket. The weighted side slid down to right above the floor as the group of hunters turned around to see me.

Gerard simply looked amused. "You were an unexpected variable, I'll admit. Would you like to enlighten me as to what you are?" he asked.

"I won't give you the satisfaction." My eyes turned orange as fire trickled down the chain. I roared and threw the weight towards the hunter on the left, hitting him in the gut with the fiery ball.

Gerard swung the sword towards me and I caught it with the chain. My peripheral vision exploded with orange as I was overcome with rage. I sent a wave of fire towards them which they ducked to avoid. Scott skidded into the room behind me and threw a hunter towards the wall, knocking him out.

Scott looked at Isaac and me then around the locker room. "Where is he?" Scott asked.

I glanced around, my shoulders slumping and breathing heavily as my spirit receded and eyes turned back to brown, and only counted two hunters. Gerard must have rushed out during the fiery confusion. "Oh, no. Go!" Scott ran out of the room and I turned to Isaac, who was bracing himself against one of the sinks. "You okay?"

He stared at me with wide eyes. "That was kinda hot."

I rolled my eyes and smiled. I walked up to him and took his head in my hands. "I'm glad you're okay."

"Does that mean I get a kiss?" He gave me a cheeky smirk.

"You're ridiculous." But I did place a quick kiss on his lips. "We need to get the venom out so we can go help Scott. Put your leg on the sink." I helped him adjust to place the nicked leg on one of the sinks. Holding the kunai above his thigh, I met his eyes. "This is gonna hurt. Tell me when you can move everything."

Isaac nodded and breathed deeply. "Go ahead." I sliced along his entire leg to drain the venom-filled blood. Isaac bit his lip hard and groaned, trying not to let out a louder noise. Alerting anyone would be bad and they had to get back to the field. After another cut, Isaac stopped me. "Alright, alright, I can move my foot. Please stop." Sweat droplets were sprinkled across his forehead.

I turned on the faucet to wash the blood out of the sink and off the kunai. Isaac's wounds began stitching back together again. He washed off the blood from his leg and then we ran out of the locker room back to the lacrosse field.

People were swarming and screaming. The lights overhead lights turned on, illuminating the field. Lacrosse players were surrounding someone down on the field. Isaac and I ran over to Scott. Jackson was the one down. Isaac grabbed my hand and whispered in my ear, "I can't hear a heartbeat."

Melissa lifted Jackson's jersey, revealing a bloodied shirt. I brought my free hand up, covering my mouth. "This is bad," I said quietly.

"Oh, my god, there's blood. There's blood," Lydia cried from a few feet away.

Scott hit Isaac a few times to get his attention. "Look," he said, gesturing to Jackson's hand. They were bloodied.

"He did it to himself?" Isaac wondered.

"Why would he do that?" I asked the boys. Neither gave me an answer. We watched as Melissa started chest compressions and ordered Lydia to help her.

I looked away from the scene when Sheriff Stilinski came forward looking around with a worried expression. I could see him mumbling, but I didn't know what he was saying until he raised his voice. "Where's Stiles? Where the hell is my son?" he asked loudly, his voice echoing across the field.

Frowning, Isaac, Scott, and I began looking around, too. How could it have possibly gotten worse?