Hi all! Here's my 100th revision. It was all self-forced, I tried to get back into writing this story and realized how much my style changed in a year. I figured it was time to re-edit it until I felt like I was back in the groove.

Well, here goes. As always, all I own are my OCs.

It's only been thirty minutes since Scott and I learned just who Allison's father was. It took an additional ten minutes just to calm him down enough to show up to lacrosse practice. With Scott in Stiles's somewhat-capable hands I retreated to the library. I couldn't exactly help my werewolf bestie with a mountain of AP homework looming over me, the worst of it being AP Bio with Mrs. Finch. Still, I was not about to let my hard-earned grade point average suffer because Scott's life turned into a hopefully less tragic version of Romeo and Juliet.

I flip through my textbook as I fill out the packet Mrs. Finch assigned, my classmates Cary and Lisa sighing in frustration. "Unbelievable. Less than a week into the semester, and I already want to see my soul in exchange for a decent grade." Cary grumbles.

"You mean you haven't already?"

"Get with the program, I sold my soul freshman year." Lisa and I shoot back.

Before Cary can respond, my phone starts to ring. The librarian - Miss Ryan - glares at me from her desk and I wave apologetically, hurrying out into the hall.

"Stiles? What -"

"It's Scott! We're in the locker room!"

Abandoning the rest of my belongings I rush through the school, leaping down staircases and pouncing around corners. Eventually I slide through the open door of the boys' locker room. Scott and Stiles are both on the ground, a fire extinguisher rolling away from them.

"- the anger, it's a trigger." Stiles finishes, patting my shoulder in thanks after I help him stand.

I kneel in front of Scott, checking on my best friend. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Got angry. Knocked down Jackson." He tiredly explains before chugging the water Stiles offers.

I snort. "Good. I bet he deserved it."

"No! No, not 'good'! He tried to kill me!" Stiles shouts. I raise my eyebrows as he gestures to the fire extinguisher.

"I mean, what did we expect? Lacrosse isn't an aggression-free sport." I muse.

Stiles sighs. "Well, it's gonna be a lot more violent if he ends up killing someone on the field." He looks at Scott. "You can't play Saturday. You're gonna have to get out of the game."

"What? Pat?" Scott pouts at me. "Do I have to?"

I rub my forehead guiltily and nod. "Probably smart. You shouldn't be playing, not until you learn control. I mean, you're already turning heads with your newfound skill. Imagine what people'll say if you, I don't know - throw someone across the field out of anger?" I suggest.

"I'm first line!" Scott shouts.

"Not anymore." An equally disappointed Stiles retorts before we help our pouting werewolf up.

I hum tunelessly as I peruse through the shelves, absentmindedly pulling out books as I sort them. You'd think I'd have wanted some free time, given that I'm taking AP classes as well as working, but no, I just had to keep my internship at the Public Library. I work the night shift, too, which means I'm here from early evening to ten at night. Not that I actually mind, it's an easy gig. Unpaid, but easy. Relaxing. It's definitely helping me take my mind off of the fact one of my best friends is now a werewolf. Whose potential-girlfriend's dad is a hunter. Who kills his kind. Because "why not?"

And Derek Hale, a supposed old family friend who I've never met nor heard about before we met in the Preserve. I'd done some more research this evening during my break, holed up in the archives room going through every article that mentioned the Hales. As helpful as the internet is, you can't always access what you're looking for.

For example, the one article that actually shows physical proof my mom knew the family. It's a picture of some Town Hall meeting, but if you look two people over from the mayor, you'll see my mom and Talia Hale - Derek's mother - glancing at each other with proud smiles. I made sure to take a photo and save it to my phone before putting the article back.

With a sigh, I pick up another book from my slowly-lightening cart. A smile makes its way on my face as I read the cover, The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson. I'm more of a prose girl, but I think Emily wrote some of the prettiest stanzas, like, ever.

Pausing my shelving once more, I turn to lean against a narrow table, flicking through the pages. I don't know why I stop at this particular poem, but before I can stop myself I'm quietly reading the words aloud.

"'I felt a Funeral, in my Brain, and Mourners to and fro kept treading - treading - till it seemed that Sense was breaking through -'" I frown as I continue to whisper, my mind going a little foggy, "'And when they all were seated, a Service, like a Drum - kept beating - beating - till I thought my mind was going numb.'"

"Is this a bad time?" I gasp and spin around, blinking up as I clutch the book to my chest. Derek Hale is standing at the end of the row, practically cornering me without even being close. He sniffs the air while smirking "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Because we're in a public place, or because you know my parents?"

"Both." I hold back my yelp as he takes my arm and drags me around the corner, hidden from view. "Can't be seen." Is all he tells me with a quick shrug.

"Why?"

Derek only frowns. "I just talked to Scott. You need to keep him from playing on Saturday, or he'll be running for the rest of his life."

"Running from what, hunters?" I narrow my eyes. "Like you've been?"

"How did -"

"'Can't be seen.' Those were just your exact words. I connected the dots." I shoot back. "Blondes are a lot smarter than people give us credit for." Derek throws me an unimpressed glare. "Why me? Stiles is even closer to Scott."

"Because I don't know him."

"So you admit you know me? How? Why don't -"

"Just keep Scott off the field."

"Then answer my question!" I growl back.

Derek smirks and shakes his head. "Sorry, bright eyes." The sarcasm rolls off his tongue in a thick wave, competing with every snarky remark Stiles has released. Bright eyes. Bright eyes, bright eyes, bright eyes -

"Is that all?" I bite out. "I'm kind of in the middle of something. These books aren't going to shelve themselves. Not to mention, you interrupted my 'Emily Dickinson Time'. She deserves my full attention, especially since she's not the one threatening me in a Public Library." I hiss.

"Yeah. That's all." Derek glowers at me, but it's way less menacing than the other times.

Feeling brave I scoff and roll my eyes, turning to walk back to my cart. "Nice talk. You damn T-800." There's complete silence, and I realize Derek's disappeared into thin air. "God, I hope Scott doesn't learn to do that."

My heart beating triple time, I crouch beside the cart and hide my face in my hands, trying to catch my breath. My whole body feels like it's vibrating, but none of it's out of fear. It's more like coming down from an adrenaline rush, my mind going back to the little nickname Derek gave me, those two words nagging at my brain like the poem I just read.

Bright eyes. Bright eyes. "Catch up, bright eyes!"

"Shh." I whisper to myself shakily, feeling the ensuing panic. "It's okay. You're at the library. You have another hour before Mrs. Garcia lets you go home." My hands are still shaking, but I pull them away from my face. Staring at my fingers, I remember Stiles's trick. "One." I begin to count each digit. "T-two. Th-three. Four. Fi-fi-five. Six. Seven. Ei-eight. Nine. Ten." I count again, and again, and again until I'm sure I only have ten digits. This is real life, this isn't a dream.

With a groan I bang my the back of my head against the bookshelf. What the hell just happened?

It'd be easy to tell you I handled everything like the mature adult I am. I could say that I looked into old family albums hidden in the attic and found pictures proving I wasn't losing my damn mind. I could tell you I confronted my parents and learned the truth. But those would be lies. I did none of that. I couldn't. Werewolves I can handle. It's not something unimaginable anymore.

But my parents lying to me about something this big? That's unthinkable.

I do the next best thing; distract myself with Scott's dilemma and adopt Stiles's method of "ignoring the problem until it eventually goes away".

Unfortunately for the three of us, the best thing we can think of is for our fanged friend to fake an injury. The problem with that? Melissa McCall. She'd just drag his ass to the hospital. Or - because she's a hell of a nurse and an even better mother - she'll figure out Scott's pretending real quick. No offense to Scott, but I know he'll forget to play injured as soon as he's distracted by food, video games, one of us, or Allison.

"'Just talk to Coach'." I mimic Stiles as I wait outside Finstock's office, where Scott is attempting to talk his way out of first line. I did also suggest purposefully lowering his grades so he'd have no choice but to be benched, but Scott had pouted about already having to work twice as hard to maintain a C+ average that I was quickly vetoed.

As I'm checking my chipping black nail polish, Scott groans and exits the office. He rubs his eyes as he walks up to me, heaving a frustrated sigh as his forehead slams down onto my shoulder. I jolt but play with his hair.

"No luck?" I ask.

Scott shakes his head, exhausted. "No. He wouldn't listen."

"There's still time to pull an injury."

Scott nods and I wrap an arm around his shoulder as we walk to his next class. His cell beeps as we approach the main staircase and Scott pulls it out of his pocket, groaning. "Dammit, she got the shift off." Scott grumbles.

"Hey." An angelic voice greets, and we look up to see Allison coming down towards us.

"Alli!" I leave Scott's side to give her a quick hug, the new girl laughing. She wraps an arm over my shoulders as we face Scott.

"Busy?" She asks him, noticing the phone in his hand.

"No, no, it's just, uh, my mom, she's nothing. I mean it's nothing. I'm never too busy for you." He smiles at Allison, who laughs and smiles back. Oh my God, I'm getting damn cavities.

"I like the sound of that. I have to run to French class, but I wanted you to know that I'm coming to see you play tomorrow." Allison nervously looks down at the ground before staring at my best friend.

"You are?" Scott asks.

She nods. "And we're all going out afterwards. You, me, Lydia, Jackson. Trish, if you feel like slumming it with the underclassmen." I grin. "It's gonna be great. Tell Stiles to come, too. Uh, save me a seat at lunch!"

"Wait, Alli, I'm gonna walk with you. I have to stop at my locker." I tell her, the two of us waving to a worried Scott. I mime texting and he nods in understanding, awkwardly making his way to his next class.

"I can wait for you, if you'd like?" Allison offers as we walk towards my locker.

With a smile, I shake my head. "No, it's fine. I'm heading home."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. I only had one class today. AP Calculus."

"Wow, that's insane. How'd you manage that?" She asks, and we turn down the hall.

I shrug. "Junior year I basically doubled my requirements. My mom helped me prepare my case for the school board and everything. It sucked, but it was also totally worth the extra work. I think I'm the only senior not stressing right now."

She laughs, and stops briefly when we reach my locker. "Are you some kind of genius?"

I bark out a laugh. "No. I wish. I'm just really determined to get out of high school."

She nods, then groans when the warning bell rings. "Crap, I gotta run. I'll see you tomorrow?"

I nod. "Of course. Want to go out to the Beacon Bean?"

"Hell yeah. Au revoir!" Allison calls, walking off to her next class. I grin and open my locker, coming face-to-face with a cardigan. My cardigan, from Lydia's party. I completely forgot I left it. Maybe Lydia returned it? If anyone could break into my locker, it'd be her.

I pull it down and smile, sliding my arms through the sleeves before grabbing my bag. I look around, thinking I'm hearing something. The warning bell rings and I jump before closing my locker with a laugh, walking out of the school.

Fifteen minutes later I'm back home, the house completely empty due to the fact it's barely 11 o'clock. I cross over to the fridge and pull out the leftover pancakes, having decided not to eat breakfast this morning.

I pull off my cardigan and stare at it, confused. I text Lydia. Thank you.

For what? Is her response.

My cardigan.

What cardigan?

I blink, biting my nails worriedly. Nevermind.

You're going crazy in your old age. And what's this about Scott McCall not playing Saturday?

Uh-oh. A curious Lydia is a dangerous Lydia. Ask him. Gotta go, bye!

I ignore whatever she's texted me to heat my pancakes, drizzling more than enough syrup over them. I walk into the living room and turn on the TV, listening to the news and thinking about how I could have gotten my jacket back. Maybe I did remember? I could've worn it at some point this week and not realized it - I've been distracted enough.

"Still, the police are unsure of who is responsible for the killing. While wolf hairs were found on the victim's body, police are doubtful this was an animal attack." I look up at the woman standing in front of the preserve and turn up the volume, leaning forward. "Anyone with any information of a missing woman in Beacon County is encouraged to come forward. We've been told the upper half of the body remains unfound. If you've seen anything suspicious, please, go to the Sheriff's Department. Back to you, Steve." I lower the volume again, shoving my empty plate to the side in order to make room for my calculus assignment.

Two hours later I put the paper and pencil down, shaking out my hand. The front door opens and I look to see my dad entering, groaning. He had the night shift, and is basically stumbling into the living room.

"Hey kid. Is school over already?"

I snort. "Only for me. I just had AP Calculus today."

"Right, right. I'm going to take a nap. You're going to the game tomorrow, right?"

"Of course. My boys need a personal cheerleader. I'm going to hang out with Allison and Lydia first, though. Girl time."

My dad snorts, and kisses the top of my head. "Alright, kid. I'll see you when I wake up."

"Okay!" I call as he walks up the stairs, groaning as he moves. The bedroom door closes and I put my homework away, excited that I basically have the weekend free to deal with this whole werewolf situation. I close my eyes and lean back, before sitting up straight in shock. There was someone else at that party. Someone else could use his crazy sense of smell to find my cardigan. Someone who's been following me.

I fumble for my phone and press 4. I only have to wait a second for the boy on the other end to pick up. "Pat? What's wrong?" Scott asks, and I struggle to speak, mind going a mile-a-minute. What game is Derek playing? Is this a warning, does he know we're failing to get Scott out of the game? Why couldn't he have given the cardigan to me at the library? "Hello?" Scott repeats, bringing me back. "Pat, what's wrong?"

"M-my cardigan. I left it at Lydia's on Friday. S-someone. S-someone left it in my locker. I think it was Derek. He's been following me."

Scott growls. "Stay calm. I'm going to take care of it." He hangs up and I sigh, climbing onto the couch and rolling over to face the TV, changing the channel.

It was only a few hours later when Stiles practically knocked down my front door and dragged me into his jeep, throwing the occasional concerned look my way at my lack of a verbal response. We park in front of the McCall house and Stiles pulls out the keys he copied from Scott, running up the stairs. I calmly close it behind me and follow him up.

"What did you find? How did you find it? Where did you find it? And yes, I've had a lot of Adderall, so…?" Stiles asks, Scott fixing the net on his stick.

Scott gets up when he sees me and pulls me into a hug. "I took care of it, Pat. Whatever's going on, you've got me.."

"Thanks, Scotty."

"What happened?" Stiles asks.

Scott turns to our best friend. "Derek got into her locker and left her cardigan for her."

"That dick!" Stiles yells, pulling me into a hug as well. "So you left to confront him?"

"Yeah. And I found something at Derek Hale's. There's something buried there - I could smell blood."

"Wow! That's amazing. I mean that's terrible." He nods at my unimpressed glare. "Who's blood?"

"I don't know. But when we do, your dads can nail Derek for the murder." Scott nods at me and Stiles, radiating confidence. "And then you help me figure out how to play lacrosse without changing. Because there's no way I'm not playing that game."

A few hours later we walk into the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, our plan mapped out while munching on two large pepperoni pizzas at the McCalls. Stiles will act as a distraction while Scott and I examine the body, and he figures out if he recognizes the scent or not.

The doors slide open and we're surrounded by harsh lights, so different from the darkness outside. "Hey." Stiles points towards the morgue.

"Okay." Scott looks at me. "You ready?"

"One scare isn't enough to set me back."

"Good luck, I guess." Stiles tells us awkwardly. I give him a look and shove Scott towards the morgue door.

We walk past a nurse, who's too busy to pay attention to us. I duck down by the door, standing behind Scott. "Anyone there?" I ask.

"No. Let's go." He opens the door quickly and I follow him, quietly shutting it.

I look around the cold, empty room and turn to my partner. "We're looking for a Jane Doe. It should be a 'partial' tag."

"Got it." He whispers back, and we walk past the different containers. All those people, dead. They had lives, families. Hopes, dreams. Ambitions. And that's enough gloom-and-doom for one day, thank you very much, brain. "Found it."

"Oh, thank God." I rush over to Scott and cover his shaking hand. There's a whole slew of emotions on his face, mainly fear and disgust. Not wanting a werewolf freakout, I muster up some courage. "Hey, I'll open it. You just put that nose of yours to use."

Scott nods and removes his hand so I can pull the lever down and open the little hatch. Pulling on some nearby medical gloves I pull out the slab, lifting the sheet. The woman's dirt covered feet are revealed, and both of us wince. I look away. Scott clears his throat and I quickly flip down the sheet, rolling the body back where it belongs and removing the gloves from my hands, throwing them away.

Stiles is sitting in an uncomfortable looking chair, reading a pamphlet on the menstrual cycle. Scott pulls it out of his hands and he freaks out a bit. "The scent was the same." Our werewolf buddy tells him.

"You sure?"

"I hope so." I mutter, getting a nod of agreement from Scott.

Stiles stands up. "So he did bury the other half of the body on his property."

"Which means we have proof he killed the girl."

I shake my head. "No. It's circumstantial evidence at best. We still don't have a motive." I remind them, and Scott looks at me in disbelief.

"Pat, he freaked you out on purpose, remember?"

"Trust me, I won't forget." I sigh. "But we have to be absolutely sure he did it, otherwise we're just getting him arrested so you can play a stupid game. There's no justice in that. Not to mention, he's friends with my parents. Allegedly. What happens if this backfires on them? I can't go dragging them into something like this for no reason, even if they're hiding things from me."

Scott groans. "Come on, Pat."

I sigh. "Fine. Fine." I hold up my hands in surrender. "Hopefully you're wrong."

We look at Stiles, who nods at Scott. "I'm with you. I say we use what we have."

"Okay. But how?" Scott asks.

"Let me ask you something, since we both know Ricky's got a point; are you doing this because you want to stop Derek, or because you want to play the game and he said you shouldn't?" Stiles questions, sounding an awful lot like his father.

Scott glowers. "There are bite marks on the legs Stiles - bite marks."

"Okay." Stiles nods. "Then we're gonna need a shovel."

I huff as the three of us make a quiet trek through the Preserve, trying not to make too much noise so we don't alert the possible murderer of our late night intentions. We watch from the shadows as Derek leaves the ruins of the Hale House, getting into his shiny black Camaro. As soon as his car disappears, we turn on our flashlights and get out of our crouched positions. Shovels in hand, Scott leads us towards one side of the haunted-looking house. He pauses momentarily, halting me and Stiles in our tracks.

"Wait, something's different."

"Different how?" Stiles asks him

"I don't know." We walk up to where the other half is buried. "Let's just get this over with."

I exhale at Scott's order and join the boys in digging. The dirt's dry, making it harder to break ground. Thank God we've got a werewolf to help move things along.

Still, it's not enough. Scott stops digging, leaning against his shovel to take a break. "This is taking way too long."

"Just keep going." Stiles huffs out, panting.

I pause for a moment as well, sparing a nervous glance around our immediate area. "What if he comes back?" I ask, my voice no louder than the wind.

"Then we get the hell out of here!" Stiles curses under his breath when his shovel slips a little

"What if he catches us?" Scott asks, going back to digging. A little delirious, I start humming the song the boys sing in the movie Holes. Stiles nudges some dirt my way to get me to stop.

"I have a plan for that."

There's silence. Finally, I grow impatient. "Which is?"

"You guys run one way, I run the other. Whoever he catches first, too bad."

I glare at Stiles's nonchalant shrug. "You are awful. You know that, right?"

"Pat's right. I hate that plan." Stiles snorts and brings his shovel down, when we hear a thud.

"Okay, stop, stop, stop." We toss the shovels to the side and I kneel down in the hole with them, helping them pick up some fraying rope.

"Hurry." Scott urges.

Stiles groans. "I'm trying. Did he have to tie the thing in like, 900 knots?" I quickly move his fingers out of the way and quickly slip my smaller, thinner ones in, unraveling each side. The boys open it and I shriek, scattering back. The boys do the same, screaming and pulling me out of the small pit of doom.

Inside the tied up bundle lies a wolf's head and part of its torso. It's black, its fur matted with dirt and eyes glazed over. "What the hell?" I ask, looking up at the boys.

"It's a wolf!" Scott yells, unhelpfully. I roll my eyes.

"I thought you smelled blood - human blood!" Stiles argues.

"I told you something was different." Scott tries to explain. I look up and out, and see a strange purple flower. I blink, recognizing it from all of Stiles's research.

"Aconite." I mutter, getting up and rushing over to the flower. The boys stop arguing and watch as I tug the plant up, realizing it's attached to another thick rope.

"That's wolfsbane." I nod at Stiles's words.

"What's that?" Scott asks.

Stiles looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. "Uh, haven't you ever seen The Wolf Man?"

"No."

"Lon Chaney, Jr.? Claude Rains?"

"The original werewolf movie?" I ask, still holding the flower.

"No. What?" Scott asks, frustrated.

"You are so unprepared for this." Stiles tells him, and I snort despite the situation we've found ourselves in. I lift the flower some more and walk in a spiral, leading me backwards in an inward spiral, and I watch as a red light follows my movement. I keep walking when Stiles and Scott stand up.

"Pat?" Scott asks, and I finish bundling up the rope. I walk over to where they stand, looking at the wolf. Only there's no longer a wolf. Instead, there's a naked, blood-and-dirt covered woman in it's spot, mouth open in shock and frightened eyes staring up at us.

As Stiles dials 911 and Scott covers his mouth and nose to try and block out whatever he's smelling, I can't help but crouch down beside the pit. Despite the situation, her brown eyes fill me with warmth. A laugh echoes at the back of my mind, and I quickly turn away from the woman, head going silent once more.

While I wanted to be with the boys to witness the aftermath of our discovery, I'd promised to have a breakfast date with Allison. I was eager to get as far away from my house as possible that morning, my mom having been holed up in her office since I got out of my bed. My dad was probably already at the Preserve, arresting Derek Hale.

God, whatever's going on, I hope my parents aren't involved.

Allison turns out to be a great distraction, telling me stories from her life before Beacon Hills that has us giggling into our coffees and pastries. I wasn't able to forget about the dead woman buried in Derek's front yard, or that right now my whole world was flipped upside down, but I could at least put it all on the backburner in favor of bonding with Allison over our dislike of the color pink and our shared terrible poetry writing phase.

"So, why journalism?" Allison asks, finishing her iced latte with one long sip. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you're good, but I would've figured you for a lawyer, or a detective."

I shrug, stealing a glance at the foamy remains of my cappuccino. "I mean, investigative journalism kind of has both careers included. Besides, I love writing. Not poetry, I seriously suck at it -" Allison laughs with me, "but there's something about being able to tell a story objectively that's really interesting. It's challenging, but when you find the right voice - the kind that gets a reader thinking without telling them what they should be thinking - it's worth it. I don't know, as soon as journalism gets all talky and subjective, I'm ready to throw something out the damn window."

Allison grins teasingly. "So you don't want to be a news anchor?"

I snort. "Oh, God no. Absolutely not."

With Allison having to spend the rest of the day with her parents - including her secret werewolf hunting dad - I agree to meet Lydia at the mall, having been guilt tripped with a, "You're always hanging out with the boys, I only have a few months left with you until you leave Beacon Hills."

Seriously. Lydia Martin's terrifying. She's more persuasive than my mom, and my mom's a damn good lawyer.

I huff as Lydia drags me into Macy's, already carrying two full bags of clothes and makeup products. It's nothing compared to the four carefully placed on the strawberry blonde's arms. I'd offered to pay for my own stuff, but Lydia had been adamant that she cover me, stating it was her dad's card anyway - he gave it to her in a moment of guilt.

"Sweetheart, we need to get you more skirts. Your legs look so good in them!" Lydia states as she pulls me to a rack, flinging a stack of them into my arms, along with a few new dresses and some form-fitting tops.

"Lydia, this seems a bit excessive." I groan under the weight of her offerings.

"Fashion is not excessive. It's an important part of life. You are a senior, you're meant to turn heads!" She gripped with the authority of her popular girl status. I mean, not that I'm not popular, too. I'm just not "Lydia Martin" popular.

She forces me towards the changing rooms, taking my other shopping bags along the way. Just before I'm ushered inside, I manage to say, "I'm older than you, remember? Respect your elders."

"I will, when you get new clothes." Lydia calls after me.

With no other choice I start trying everything on, unsure whether I'm irritated by the stupidly-long shopping trip, or the fact Lydia was right about every single item she tossed my way.

It isn't until we've returned to our cars - ten bags each, plus a milkshake - that I find the time to check my phone. With nearly twenty notifications from Stiles, I'm quick to call him back, praying the service doesn't drop in the mall parking garage. "Stiles?"

"Jesus Christ, Watson. What the hell, I've been calling you all day!"

"Sorry. I just went shopping with Lydia for five hours, she didn't give me a chance to check -"

"Oh. How is she? Did she ask about me? You know, I saw her at the hospital yesterday. I'm pretty sure Jackson's going to cheat today, she wanted him to get injected with some performance-thing, and -"

"Stiles." I cut him off with a groan. "What happened?"

"Oh. Right." Stiles sucks in another breath. "I just had a minor freakout, you know, because Scott practically broke the Jeep's door in his effort to escape my car! I've got no clue where he is!"

"And why was he trying to escape Roscoe?"

I could see Stiles's wince. "Remember the wolfsbane we found at the grave?"

"You kept it?" I groan, rubbing the bridge of my nose.

"Yes. I did. I've got no clue where my bag is, either, because I threw it into the woods just before Scott ran."

I sigh. "Did you try his house?" Stiles goes silent on the other end, and I snort. "You're such a dumbass. Go see if he's home, and if he's not, then we can panic."

"You're so smart. And mean."

"Mhmm. I'll see you at the game."

"Ooh, are you doing a report on it? Make sure you talk about how bravely I cheered on the team from the bench."

I huff and put him on speaker, getting ready to drive home. "I don't know how I got roped into it, but yes. I'll make sure to give a shoutout to my favorite benchwarmer. Now find Scott." I hang up before he can respond.

The drive home is quicker than usual, or maybe I'm just super focused on my destination. By the time I get inside the house, it's completely quiet. The boys are probably still at some playdate, but the door to my mom's office is closed. I knock, but there's no response. Licking my lips, a plan forms in my mind.

I rush to my room to quickly drop off my bags before returning to her office, picking the lock and flicking on the light. As usual, everything is completely organized, especially the piles of paperwork covering her desk. I make sure to be careful as I read over every file mentioning Derek or the Hales - her computer's not an option, mom changes the password everyday as a security measure (probably against me, which is both awesome and insulting) and I'm not feeling up to playing the guessing game. Taking stock of the amount of stacks littering my mom's desk, it's all too clear why my mom knows Derek. She's the family lawyer, which means she's his lawyer, which means I'm clearly not the investigative journalist I thought I was.

I can't read through everything, of course, not without knocking the piles over and giving myself away to my mom. Believe me, she'd know if I messed with her things. I'm too old to be grounded.

I frown as I read - taking as many pictures with my phone as I do - not finding anything about any prior arrests for Derek Hale. Usually there're signs, right? I mean, aside from following around the daughter of your family friends. Like, killing animals without remorse. Does it count if you're a werewolf going on a hunt? Do werewolves hunt? I mean, they have to - they're wolves.

My snooping comes to an unexpected stop when my eyes catch a name I never would have suspected.

In a detailed police report, listed under the casualties from the Hale House fire, is my great-grandmother's name. Ignoring my earlier cautiousness I pull the report from the pile. It takes a few moments to get my hands to stop shaking so I can take a picture.

As far as I can remember, my great-grandmother died of a heart attack. She wasn't the victim of a house fire. I was at her funeral, I saw the casket -

None of this makes any sense. I breathe in deeply to calm myself, putting the report back where I found it. This whole adventure's left me with more questions than answers, so I eagerly turn off the lights and lock mom's office behind me.

What was great-grandma Diane doing at the Hale House?

That question haunts me even as I enter the lacrosse field, ready to watch the game and reluctantly take notes for my article. So much for the editor-in-chief being free of athletics reporting.

I can't find Scott or Stiles, but I do see Allison. Or, rather, she finds me first, practically dragging me up to where her father's waiting on the stands. I shake his hand as firmly as possible, making sure my tone's even as I introduce myself. Chris Argent seems nice enough, if it wasn't for the fact he nearly shot one of my best friend's with a crossbow.

You know, because he's a werewolf hunter. Seriously, what the hell, universe?

"What's with the pad, Patricia?" Chris asks, nodding amusedly to my notebook and pen.

"School newspaper. I got roped into doing the report."

"She's the editor-in-chief, dad." Allison adds, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I thought Kyle was supposed to be writing the article?"

"Kyle got in a battle of the wits with Coach Finstock in economics yesterday, so he's banned for the next three games. I don't get why I'm being punished." I pout, and the Argents laugh kindly at my griping.

Eventually Stiles and Scott wander onto the field. Taking my chance to finally meet with my best friends face-to-face, I excuse myself and ask Allison to save my seat. I can't help but grin as she winks and tells me, "I'll do my best, but I can't guarantee Lydia won't take it for herself."

I wave the brunette off. "That's fine. Just make sure the spot next to her is free."

She flashes me a thumbs up and I wave to Chris before hurrying down to my partners-in-crime-solving. I'm quick to detour over to the side with Stiles as Lydia appears out of nowhere and stalks straight up to Scott, pulling him into what I'm sure is a terrifying conversation.

"Stiles." I quietly call him over, the lanky boy jogging towards me with wild limbs.

"Hey. What's wrong? I didn't miss any of your calls, right? Unlike a certain someone, I don't ignore my friends in a crisis -"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry." I roll my eyes. "No, I didn't call. I got distracted. Listen, I think I know how my parents were friends with the Hales. I'm 99.9% sure mom was their lawyer, which means we've indirectly caused her a hell of a lot more stress with this whole 'Derek murdered someone' thing."

Stiles gets a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You mean, a 'Hale' of a lot more stress. Ow! Sorry." He scowls as he rubs his sore arm. "Whatever." He then exhales, shaking his head as he watches Scott get ready for the game, Coach Finstock aggressively bellowing out his marching orders. "How likely is your mom to get Derek free? Assuming she really is his lawyer."

"I'd be surprised if she wasn't, considering all the legal documents she has on the Hales." I murmur, more to myself than to Stiles. "And probably very likely, depending on what our dads find out. Unless my dad plants other evidence to throw your dad off the scent. So to speak."

My best friend shakes his head. "Yeah, I think you're giving your dad too much credit. He doesn't exactly scream 'dirty cop' to me."

"None of them do, until they are. Not that I want him to be, but it's a little hard to trust my parents right now, considering they know Derek and won't tell me how they know Derek!" I practically yell, only for Stiles to pull me into a calming hug. A few finger counts later, I'm breathing evenly again, and the game's about to start.

Stiles glances at Scott, then back to me. He speaks so quietly I have to stand on the balls of my feet to hear him. "Look, we can't tell him yet. He's already freaking out enough as it is."

"Why?"

"Jackson."

I groan. "Because being a teen werewolf isn't enough, of course he still has to deal with that jerkwad."

Stiles shrugs, but before he can respond Lydia and Allison call me over to the stands. He waves at Lydia, who gives him a tiny sarcastic wave back before flicking her hair out of her face and pulling Allison back into another conversation. "Well, that's progress, I guess."

I pat my best friend on the shoulder, reminding him I'll be cheering on his bench warming before rejoining the girls in the crowd.

The whistle blows and the two teams run out on the field. I clap with Lydia and Allison, standing on the former's other side. "Let's go Cyclones!" I shout from my seat, Lydia joining in.

The starting whistle blows soon enough, and the two players fight for the ball. Scott's wide open, but the other teammates start to pass to each other, ignoring number 11. I frown, but then quickly force a smile, getting a look from Stiles. The arrival of the Sheriff distracts the both of us, and I wave at my best friend's dad, getting a fatherly grin in return.

My focus returns to the game just in time to see Number 37 - Jackson - knock Scott out of the way to get the ball. My best friend falls to the ground as the crowd cheers. I growl, anger coursing through my veins, every protective urge in my body telling me to pounce on Jackson and give him a good beating. Lydia's smart enough to cheer less ecstatically for her boyfriend, sending me an apologetic grimace of a smile.

As Coach Finstock runs around, praising his star player, I look at my best friend.

"C'mon Scott. Please get up." I whisper, knowing he can hear me. He looks at me and nods, standing. I look to the side where he's now glaring, and see Lydia and Allison standing and holding up a "We Luv U Jackson" sign while cheering loudly.

I wince, then turn back to the werewolf. Near the other side of the field, Jackson is talking to the rest of the teammates. By the way Scott is tensing, what they're saying isn't good.

"Aw, crap." I mutter. This is gonna be so bad.

The opposing team Scores five goals, but Beacon Hills is stuck on three. Scott is bending over, looking sick, but after a ref checks on him he straightens, body tense.

The game starts again, the whistle blowing. Scott jumps up and manages to take the ball, literally leaping through the air and dodging the rival players, scoring a goal. We're at four points now.

"Yeah!" I roar, jumping to my feet. "That's it, Number 11! That's how it's done!" I shout, cheering for Scott, along with Allison. I smirk internally at the dejected look on Lydia's face. Finstock yells for the players to pass to him, and I laugh at the defeated look on Jackson's face. Something incredible happens in the next round - the opposing player actually passes the ball to Scott, willingly.

Which means he's wolfed out. Awesome.

Scott rolls with it though, scoring another point.

Finally, we're down to the last play. And just like the past two times, Scott scoops up the ball. He pauses, though, and the crowd yells for him to shoot. He scores, winning Beacon Hills High the game. As the crowd cheers I notice something is wrong with Scott, and he runs off. Before I can follow, Lydia pulls me into a hug, jumping up in excitement. Over her shoulder I see Allison chase after him, only becoming more worried.

The strawberry blonde finally releases me to join in the celebration on the field. Not interested in watching her make out with Jackson Douchemore, I shove my way towards Stiles instead. He gives me a look as soon as I'm close enough to catch it, nodding towards the direction Scott ran. "C'mon, Scott'll never forgive us if something happens to Alli. I won't either." I mutter, taking Stiles's hand so we can protect our best friend's almost-girlfriend.

Before we can run, though, Sheriff Stilinski gets a call. It's a call that has him hanging up with an exhausted groan, the explanation slipping out too-easily in his frustration. What he tells us has fearful guilt tangling up in my stomach. It's what jumpstarts mine and Stiles's original mission, the two of us running towards the school and ignoring the Sheriff's worried shouts.

We rush into the locker rooms, and I know we're both praying for no bloodshed and a still hopefully blissfully-ignorant Allison. We end up stopping in our tracks for a very different reason, doing our best to rein in our gagging as we catch Allison and Scott playing their own version of tonsil-lacrosse. I pull Stiles behind some of the lockers, waiting for it all to end. There are just some things best friends shouldn't have to witness.

After another quick peck, we hear Allison walking towards us. With that we stop hiding, acting as though we've just come in. "Stiles, Trish." Allison awkwardly greets us, leaving in a blushing mess.

"Hey, yeah." Stiles says, and I smack his arm so we can talk to the blissed-out Scott. He walks towards us, taking small steps and smiling like an idiot.

"I kissed her." He says, giddily.

"We saw." Stiles tells him.

"She kissed me."

"Yes." I nod. "But we need you to snap out of it."

"But why?" He asks cutely. "I controlled it. I pulled myself back. Maybe I can do this. Maybe it's not that bad."

Stiles scoffs. "Yeh, heh, we'll talk later then."

"No, we can't." I glare at him. I turn to Scott. "Buddy. Come back to Earth."

"What?" He asks, becoming more serious. I look at Stiles, who nods.

"The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found."

"And…?"

I look up at him, holding a hand out to stop Stiles. "Let me get straight to the point. The medical examiner determined the cause of death animal, not man -"

"Derek's human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail." Stiles interrupts me.

"Are you kidding?" Scott asks.

Stiles shakes his head, looking more serious than I've ever seen him. All I feel is guilt. "No. And it gets worse. They ID'd the girl. Both halves. The victim is Laura Hale. Derek's older sister."