Derek's on his way back to Kate when he hears the scream.

"So it's like..." Derek struggles. "A vision?"

"No," Lydia says. She's shaking, breathing hard. Kira holds her by the shoulders, sweeps a wild strand of hair out of her eyes. "It's just a feeling. A really, really horrifying feeling."

"Banshee Monday horrifying or extra spicy horrifying?" Stiles asks.

"I'm not using that rating system," Lydia says. "But if I was, this would be a ghost pepper."

"A what?"

"It's the hottest chili pepper in the world," Lydia says. "It's four hundred and one point five times hotter than Tabasco sauce."

"Four hundred and one point five, huh," Stiles says. "Awesome."

It's a baby.

She's tiny and pale and dressed in a little coat with wolf paws for mittens.

Her little pink hat has wolf ears on it. Underneath, her eyes are wide open and bloodshot.

Derek has never felt sicker.

"Someone killed a baby," Stiles says, fighting not to freak out. "Someone murdered a baby in little wolf hat and wolf paw mittens and dumped her body in the fucking woods. Who does that?"

"Don't—" Scott says, like the dead baby might be badly affected by Stiles' choice of expletive.

"No, seriously," Stiles says. He's very pale, and his eyes are watering. "What the fuck? This is whole new levels of screwed up, even for us."

Lydia hasn't said a word since they found her.

"It's not your fault," Kira tells her. "You did everything you could."

Lydia stares at her.

"What's the point?" she asks. "What am I supposed to do with this if I'm always too late?"

Malia makes a miserable whining noise and buries her head in Stiles' chest. His arms come up around her, draw her close.

"Next time will be different," Scott says firmly.

Lydia lets out a shaky sob-laugh, eyes wide. "Next time?"

"We'll be faster," Kira says.

"Cora was right," Lydia says. "We really do just find the bodies."

"Cora said that," Derek asks.

That picture at his apartment, it still doesn't—That's not Cora, that's not his Cora. His Cora hates the fifth grade and stole his brand-new copy of Order of the Phoenix before he could finish it to use spoilers as bargaining chips.

She doesn't stand here and look at this.

"What do you—do?" Derek asks. His head spins. "When you find—We can't just leave her, but—"

"I texted my dad," Stiles says, waving his phone slightly behind Malia's back, his other hand running rhythmically up and down her side. "But he's—He's gonna need a story of how he found her, you know? Can't really just say 'banshee did it.'"

"I didn't do anything," Lydia says sharply.

"Found it," Stiles corrects. "Sensed it. I didn't mean—"

"Oh, who cares," Lydia says, and leans her forehead heavily on Kira's shoulder.

"Jesus," Stiles' father says, shining a flashlight over the spot. The baby looks worse under the bright beam, skin tinged pale purple-blue, her little face contorted in pain. "What the hell have you gotten yourselves into?"

"It wasn't us," Stiles says, like that's a possibility. "Lydia's a banshee, I told you. She had a ghost pepper-level feeling."

"A—" Stiles' father shakes his head. "You need to get out of here, I've got backup already on the way."

"Right," Stiles says, nodding.

"And next time Lydia gets a 'feeling?'" Stiles' dad adds.

"Yeah?"

"For the love of god, don't bring a crowd."

"Derek, there's something—" Stiles says, his whole body an apology. He'd pulled Derek aside as soon as the group got to his house. Most of them sprawled in various despondent positions on or around the couch. Malia followed Stiles, is only now standing down the hall, waiting, because Stiles asked her to. "There's something I haven't told you, and it's—But listen, it's not your fault."

Derek tenses. There's something else, of course there is. What is it this time? He couldn't have been a very good alpha, considering he's all alone. Where are his betas? Did he get them killed too?

"It's about—" The pained look on Stiles' face gets worse. "Derek, it's about the fire."

A new weight settles over Derek's chest, tries to strangle him.

"What'd I do?" he manages.

"No, it wasn't—" Stiles shakes his head. "It's gonna sound, to you—But no one's gonna blame you but you, okay? You didn't—"

"I didn't know," Derek says dully.

Of course. Of course he didn't.

"No, listen," Stiles says, then, "She manipulated you, you couldn't have—"

"Just tell me what I did," Derek says tightly. Maybe too tightly. Down the hall, Malia hisses at him.

"You didn't do anything," Stiles says. "Forget it. It doesn't matter."

Malia watches Derek, barely blinking, for a long time. Even Stiles notices.

"Hey, easy," he says, tilting her face gently towards him. "He didn't do anything, okay? I said something dumb, that's all."

Derek wonders what dumb thing Stiles was planning to say about how the fire wasn't Derek's fault.

"Who would kill a baby?" Kira asks.

"Child sacrifices date back to Aztec times," Lydia starts. Derek rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, but she wasn't sacrificed," Stiles says, cutting the Wikipedia lecture short. "There were no ritualistic wounds, or—and her blood wasn't drained—"

"How do you know that?" Kira asks.

"Because it settled," Stiles says. "That's why she looked bruised, it's livor mortis."

"Maybe it wasn't supernatural," Scott says. "Maybe it wasn't even murder. Someone could've accidentally—"

"Or someone could've found their child dead and panicked," Kira says.

"And dumped her in the woods?" Stiles says.

"What if the baby was supernatural?" Scott suggests. "Someone could've, I don't know, killed a fox or something, never realizing—"

"Or only realizing once the body shifted back," Kira says.

"Why would someone kill a baby fox?" Stiles asks, visibly disturbed. "They're like the cutest things ever."

"Because baby foxes turn into adult foxes?" Lydia suggests. "Which are less cute, more—"

"There weren't any hunter's marks on her," Derek points out. "No traps, no arrows. Nothing that broke the skin."

"So what, she was poisoned?"

"Or smothered," Lydia says.

"She was wearing a little wolf coat!" Malia snaps. "Are you saying someone was really so stupid they couldn't tell the difference?"

"He's saying maybe that was added later," Lydia says. "You are, right?" she asks Scott.

"Someone just happened to have a little baby sized—"

Scott covers his eyes. "Can we—"

He cuts off when Stiles' father comes in with a file folder and a dark look in his eyes.

"It's late, Stiles," he says. "I think it's about time everyone went home."

Derek stands up.

"Derek, you can stay." It doesn't sound like a suggestion. Derek sits down.

Stiles hugs Lydia, pats Scott on the back, kisses Malia goodnight. His father waits until they're all gone.

"Dad, what is it?" Stiles asks, the easy goodbye grin slipping off his face. "Did something else happen?"

"I got the preliminary report on that kid you found," Stiles' father says. "They've nailed down C.O.D."

"What is it?"

"She was smothered to death," Stiles' father says. Stiles closes his eyes, rubs his eyelids, drags his hand down his face. "Which is especially interesting because the M.E. found animal hairs in her throat."

"God," Stiles says, and sways a little. Derek shifts closer, steadies him.

"That's not all," Stiles' father says, hesitating a little. "The animal hairs the M.E. Found..."

"What about them?" Derek says, but Stiles' father isn't looking at him. He comes closer, puts a supportive hand on Stiles' shoulder.

"Stiles," he says, and Derek knows the look on his face. It's the same look Stiles has been giving him any time he mentions Derek's family, what happened to them, what Derek did.

"Stiles," his father says heavily. "Stiles, they were coyote hairs."