Noshiko listened quietly as her daughter spoke. She held herself still but inside she was anything but calm.

She and her husband were aware of the activities Kira had been involved in since she'd befriended the local teen alpha. Most of them. She suspected there were many things they didn't know. Because the things they knew about already scared Noshiko so badly, she was pretty sure she didn't want to know the rest.

Kira had been hard to console when her boyfriend's disappearance had been discovered but she'd hardly been seen since then. The alpha's pack were no doubt offering due diligence in finding him and Kira was, whether her parents liked it or not, called one of the pack by the odd combination of teenagers that were associated with it. Kira had been less than manageable since she'd met Scott and his friends.

Noshiko was reminded much of herself at the same age.

Kira was growing up but she was still young. Very young. She hadn't received her first tail and wouldn't for such a long while yet. Kira should not yet be fighting the battles she had embroiled herself in since they'd arrived in Beacon Hills. She was inexperienced and her fox was volatile. She had no control yet. But she had power and it was growing because she was aware of it.

A growing power without control headed nowhere but disaster.

Damn whatever curse it was that had drawn Noshiko to the town full of supernatural.

Kira's power made her brave. It made her fierce. It made her foolish.

Kira was learning to run full on into danger and she would not stop when one of her friends needed saving. Nothing Noshiko could do would convince her daughter that this was a losing battle. That this was dangerous. That she wasn't ready.

Yes. Noshiko saw herself more than ever in her daughter.

Kira and her red-haired friend left the house with Noshiko's reluctantly-given information based on her centuries of knowledge and experience. They left with a new determination, infused with energy at a first clue.

Noshiko feared for her daughter. Kira was not ready to face one of their own.


Mason breezed into the busy hospital on a mission. No one was staying at the McCall house, as it was currently deemed a crime scene as well as unsafe for the remaining occupant. It had shocked Mason to realize that he had no idea where Ms. McCall might be if not at her home. He hoped someone closer to her than himself had at least taken the time to find out where she was staying. Until then, Mason knew of only one other place where he'd always been able to find her before.

He'd thought himself foolish, at first, for even considering that she'd be at work just a couple days after her son had been forcibly abducted from their home, but he was vindicated when he asked the first person he saw and was told that she was there somewhere.

Melissa McCall and the Beacon Hills hospital just went together. It seemed unnatural to think that she might not have been there, regardless of the circumstances. He was sure she went home sometime but he'd seen her in the hospital far more often than he'd ever seen her in the McCall house.

That bothered him somehow but he wasn't sure if it was because of an indication of how little she was home or because of how often he was at the hospital.

Mason scoured the halls. He peeked into every open room, then traversed the same halls again in case she had been in a closed room during his first trip. He took a trip to the cafeteria in case she was on her dinner break. He almost hung around the closest women's lavatory just in case but he started getting hostile and suspicious glares from the ladies coming and going and decided that if Ms. McCall was still in there, she was best left alone.

Just as Mason was considering who he could call who would best know where she might be – Stiles, maybe? - he looked up and saw her far down the hall he'd walked three times already. He only saw her from the back and she quickly disappeared into a door that closed behind her, but he was positive it was Ms. McCall.

Mason rushed down the hall and began scanning the doors. From the distance, it hadn't been clear which room she'd gone into but he knew the general area; approximately halfway down the hall. Most of the doors were already open and a quick glance into each easily eliminated them as possibilities. That left three. Two patient rooms and a utility closet.

She had to be in one of the two patient rooms and only one was on the side of the hallway she'd disappeared into. Mason put his hand on the doorknob and quietly began easing the door open. He realized belatedly that perhaps he should have knocked but it was too late now. He expected to be met with surprised sets of eyes and a reprimand from Melissa about invading the privacy of a patient, but at least he'd have found her.

To his own surprise, there was none of that. The room was dim, only the TV casting a faint glow. A figure in the bed snored lightly. Otherwise, the room was empty.

Mason's brow furrowed in confusion as he eased the door shut with a faint click. He tilted his head at the other closed door across the hall. It was the only other patient room she could have gone into, but she hadn't been on that side of the hall. That meant…

Mason glanced at the utility closet next to the room he'd just checked and, ignoring the EMPLOYEES ONLY sign, opened the door quietly. He'd almost decided no one was in there when he heard a horrifying sound.

Someone was crying.

He stepped further into the room slowly, glancing around in concern. "Ms. McCall?"

Melissa glanced up at him, her fist holding a crumpled tissue to her mouth. Her eyes were not surprised; instead, they were filled with anguish and, for just a second, hope.

Mason shook his head, instinctively guessing what she hoped for, and hated himself for making it disappear.

"Are you okay?"

That was probably the stupidest question he'd ever asked.

Melissa stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. Mason sat next to her on an unopened box in the enclosed space.

He was silent, unsure what to say to Scott's mom. He couldn't offer her hope or a promise. He couldn't offer her solace.

He barely knew her. There were others better suited to being with her in a time of fear and tears. But he was the one who had come looking.

Mason glanced up at her, wishing he knew how to make her pain go away. He'd been drawn to find her for some reason. He'd wanted to check on her. But now that he'd found her, he had no idea what to do.

He reached out a tentative hand and set it awkwardly on her shoulder. Her fist pressed harder to her lips. She lifted her other hand from her lap and laid it on top of his on her shoulder and she cried.

Mason didn't hold her and she didn't hug him, but Melissa did not cry alone for the first time since Scott had disappeared.


Liam sat cross-legged in what had become his corner. An elbow rested on each knee and his chin was propped up by his hands. He stared morosely through the bars of their cage.

It wasn't the same cage they'd awakened in days before but it might as well have been. It was the same size and shape. The same bars. The same electrical backup. But they'd been moved from the lone cage in the large empty building to another building with many similar cages, several of which were occupied. Every cage held a pair; an alpha werewolf and someone the alpha cared about. Usually a beta but sometimes a human or werewolf family member. Liam wondered how he'd rated abduction with Scott over his mom then felt immediate guilt for thinking it.

Liam shifted on his dirty blanket and the new collar chafed against his neck. Both he and Scott had been fitted with the tight accessory not long after Scott's first meeting with Mr. Cross. They'd been warned that the collars were electrified and it had been painfully demonstrated to dispel any doubt. The memory of the body-convulsing pain was usually enough to keep Liam from behaving too obstinately.

Usually.

A thick fold of the blanket bunched uncomfortably underneath him but he didn't care enough to readjust it or himself. He half-listened to the sounds around him but not with enough intent to hear anything. He'd almost gotten used to the overwhelming odor of unwashed bodies and seeping, half-healed wounds. Anger and despair and hunger and desperation was the bouquet that spiced it all.

Boredom had become Liam's biggest complaint, most especially when they'd take Scott away. Sometimes he almost wished they'd take him instead, but he always changed his mind when he saw Scott's condition on his return. If Scott didn't always win, Liam didn't think he'd have half a chance. Not against alphas.

Just as Liam heaved a heavy sigh, praying for Scott's return, the far doors slid open with a whoosh of fresh air. He sucked in as much of that air as he could, wishing as he always did that their confinement was closer to the doors.

Liam slowly rose to his feet and stepped as close as he dared to the humming bars. He tried rubbernecking around the cages and pillars that obstructed his view to see if it was Scott they were bringing back.

It was and it was a painful sight.

Scott's feet dragged as he was prodded forward by the batons. Fresh blood dripped and unhealed wounds seeped. Liam knew, now, that even an alpha healed slowly from the wounds of another alpha. It was one of the lessons he'd learned lately.

The chains between Scott's ankles and his wrists clanked morbidly, syncing with the odors and dankness of the surrounding environment and the sounds of pain and despair as fittingly as it would have in a medieval dungeon. The longer chain connecting the wrist shackles to his collar bumped heavily against Scott's bloodied chest.

This one was bad. Liam stood and began what had become his ritual upon Scott's returns from the arena. He spread each of their blankets, one atop the other, in a pallet of pseudo-comfort on the damp concrete floor. Next was the water. This Liam did as covertly as possible. Not all of the visiting werewolves 'keepers' were as accommodating as the man Scott called Mr. Cross. Scott and Liam had to ration their supplies but at least they got some. They were less malnourished and less desperate – relatively speaking – than most of the others that came and went randomly.

No one could have accosted Liam for the bottle of water he quietly pulled from it's hidden spot under the towels. They were kept apart by their various manners of confinement. Bars for some and chains for others. But Liam moved discreetly and kept his eyes down anyway.

It wasn't fear. It was guilt. You could only take so much of another man's pleas for a sip of water before it hurt too hard to hear them. But not quite hurtful enough for him to risk ending up in the same situation and sharing with all those who were in need. Not after that first time he'd tossed a bottle of water to a nearby ragged woman in chains. They'd had to go almost two days without water themselves because it had been their second to last bottle, the other one only half full. It was meant to last a couple more days before they would be given more.

Holding the bottle close in with the intention of hiding it from hopeful eyes, Liam tipped it and let a little dribble onto a semi-clean towel. Just enough so that it was just a little more than damp.

He laid it next to the thin pallet, along with two of the granola bars. One was his but Scott would need it more and Liam didn't mind missing dinner on the fight days to give Scott the energy he'd need to heal well.

As much energy as a wounded and hungry werewolf could get from two granola bars, anyway. Scott would refuse more than that no matter how bad off he was so their rations didn't dwindle too rapidly.

Scott's chains were removed and he was pushed through the cage door where Liam took over. He helped Scott to the blankets on the floor and helped him settled in the least painful position.

As he wiped a strip of his forehead clean of blood, Liam asked quietly "Did you kill them?"

Scott's eyes jerked to a corner, anguish evident, before he closed them and turned his head away.

"I wouldn't be here if they were alive."