TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains descriptions of a funeral, intense grief and guilt. Please proceed with caution.

This had been a terrible idea. I had to wonder if I'd always been such a colossal idiot, or if hanging out with Scott and Stiles was starting to affect my brain. Because this had been a terrible, terrible idea.

I'd gotten home from the animal clinic feeling better than I had when I'd left. It felt nice to go through the motions, see faces I hadn't seen in a while, and my conversation with Allison had lifted a weight off my chest—some of the weight, at least. I'd gone up to my room, sat down for about five minutes, and then decided to do the one thing that would make me feel the worst I could possibly feel.

Now I was sitting in the car again, dressed head to toe in black, staring at the angry mob protesting at the edge of the cemetery. The parking lot was packed, cars parked bumper to bumper along the paths that lead from the front gate out to the green. Even in the van with the windows closed, still a dozen yards away, I could hear the shouting. It was enough to make me think twice about getting out of the car.

Kate's funeral had been postponed due to the investigation. I guess not even the Argents could fast track a murder case with six bodies—fourteen, if you included the fatalities from the Hale fire—and that wasn't counting Peter and his insanely creepy nurse, Jennifer. He must have done some planning before he offed her, because I hadn't read anything in the news about the coma patient who'd miraculously disappeared after six years in long-term care. I felt like I'd been holding my breath the entire time, waiting for Sheriff Stilinski to kick down my door and drag me into the interrogation room, but nothing had happened. It looked like the Argents had succeeded in keeping everything quiet.

Coming to the service had been a snap decision, but it had been weighing on my mind for weeks. I'd spent a lot of time trying to hate Kate and kept coming up short—not just because of my guilt.

Knowing the whole story, I could see what Kate had meant about seeing herself in me. She'd been passionate about her beliefs, was stubborn and reckless and hurt. She had lived a life that no normal person would understand, gone through dark and dangerous things most people couldn't imagine. Kate was sarcastic and funny and unapologetic. And at the same time, she was damaged and twisted and, even though she'd tried to bury it, scared of being hurt. That was the reason she was the way she was. And that didn't excuse anything, but…how could I truly hate Kate when I'd started to walk down the same path? I couldn't. I didn't have a right to.

On the other hand, I was petrified of walking up to her grave. Not because of the mob, not even because of Argents, lying in wait to exact revenge. I was just scared that being too close to Kate, even just standing near her body, might pull me back down that path again. Kate might be gone, but what if she still had a hold on me, even in death?

I flipped the car visor down, looking at myself in the mirror. The last time I'd been dressed in all black was in Kate's clothes. Back then I'd felt powerful; now I just looked sick. My skin seemed too pale against the dark turtleneck, and the color brought out the dark circles under my eyes.

But then I caught the glint of light on my neck: my dog tags. It had been less than a year since my father's funeral, and I still remembered how it felt. It was pure, unadulterated hell. I'd been in pain the entire time, a complete wreck, and that funeral hadn't had a rabid team of news journalists trying to get a soundbite. I couldn't imagine what Allison was going through, but I knew I couldn't let her go through it alone.

I grabbed my leather jacket from the passenger seat and slipped out into the cold.

The noise of the crowd doubled the moment I stepped out of the van. It seemed to be mostly media crews, but there were plenty of civilians too. Some of them must've been the friends and family of Peter's victims, come to blame the only person they could for their losses. I tried to shake off the chill that went down my spine and eased my way along the side of the group up to the barrier.

Halfway through the crowd, a sharp elbow caught me in the gut. I gasped in pain, and narrowed my eyes reproachfully at the boy. He barely glanced back from his camera to mumble an apology, but then, he did a double take.

It took me a second to place his face. It was the brunette guy from my English class, the one Allison had been talking to in the hallway earlier. I was expecting him to apologize again, maybe a little more sincerely, but instead his face morphed from surprise to a deadly glare. He pushed past me hard enough to make me stumble, and before I could recover, he'd disappeared into the crowd of photographers.

I huffed, though I barely heard it over all the yelling and screaming around me. Attempting to shake off my annoyance, I tucked my elbows in tight and continued my journey to the barricade.

The railing had been set up several yards away from the gravesite. There was a green tarp lying on the ground, giving the illusion of a pleasant green lawn in the middle of the dead grass. The casket stood at the edge, sleek and black in the dull light. There were a few rows of chairs set up for guests, but I knew most of them must be for show. There was no way that many people were attending the funeral. At the moment, only Allison and her parents sat in the front row, accompanied by two men in suits whom I assumed would be running the service.

I leaned my torso over the railing, attempting to get Allison's attention. All I managed to do was alert one of the officers to the face that I was trying to get past the barricade. He descended on me immediately.

"Hey! Get back behind the—Sadie?"

"Oh, um…hi, Sheriff Stilinski," I said, smiling sheepishly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in total confusion.

"I'm here for the funeral."

Instantly, a shadow passed over his face. It was a very paternal look, one that said, "I completely disapprove of this idea, but you're trying to be kind, so I can't be angry with you." Mom made that face often enough that I was familiar.

He looked around the crowd, glanced behind him at the Argents, and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, Sadie."

"Any harm in asking?" I suggested hopefully. The sheriff's face suggested that, yes, there could be a lot of harm in asking, but I persisted. "Maybe if I had a police escort who could drag me out by my ears if it turns out I'm trespassing?"

Sheriff Stilinski deadpanned, not looking all that amused by the joke. Nevertheless, he nodded and, taking my arm, lead me through the barrier.

As soon as the crowd at my back noticed that I was being allowed entrance, the screaming tripled. People surged forward, trying to take advantage of the gap, but Sheriff Stilinski herded them right back. He waved for his fellow officers to control the situation, rested a hand on my shoulder, and steered me over to the plot.

The Argents had obviously noticed the sudden swell of protests. Mr. and Mrs. Argent both tensed upon seeing me, their outrage stowed under a cool, calm demeanor. Allison just looked horrified. Wide, incredulous eyes followed me as the sheriff walked me right up to the edge of the tarp, and the family stood to meet us.

"Sadie," Mr. Argent greeted tightly.

His sharp eyes watched my every move intently, and I could barely bring myself to nod in response.

"She tells me she came for the service," Sheriff Stilinski informed him. "I don't know if you folks were expecting her, but I thought she should ask."

There was a moment of silence as the Argents all exchanged looks. I was bracing myself for Mr. Argent to growl that, no, he had certainly not expected me to have the gall to show up at this particular service, but Allison spoke up first.

"I invited her," she lied. Her parents turned to glare at her, making her flinch, but she maintained her resolve. "I told her she could come. Kate really liked her, and…she felt bad."

I watched as Allison's mother gave her a seething look, as if she were trying to melt her daughter on the spot.

"It's up to you, sir," said Sheriff Stilinski.

Mr. Argent looked to his wife and held her gaze for several, silent seconds. They were clearly having some sort of silent discussion, but unlike most people, they were able to do so without using a single muscle in their face. No widened eyes, no raised eyebrows, no clenched jaws. Just completely blank faces. At last, they turned their eyes to me, picking me apart inch by inch, from my leather jacket, to my skirt, to my black heels. I tried my best not to fidget, to convey my feelings while motionless like they had. It was a lot harder than it looked.

"I'll handle it, Sheriff," Mr. Argent announced. He nodded dismissively, but kept his eyes trained on me.

No one moved for a couple of seconds, but I felt Sheriff Stilinski's hand tighten on my shoulder. I looked up to see him watching Allison's father, his eyes narrowed warily. I shrugged my shoulder slightly to catch his attention.

"Thank you," I said quietly, and nodded with reassurance.

He glanced back at Mr. Argent once more before following my lead. With a gentle pat on my back, he turned to rejoin his colleagues at the barrier. Mr. Argent waited until the sheriff was safely back at the perimeter before turning his cold eyes back to me.

"Sadie, while I'm sure your intentions were honorable, I can't say we're entirely comfortable with the idea of you attending Kate's funeral."

He enunciated every word clearly, almost violently, as if he believed the sharp consonants might cut me like the knives he couldn't use in public.

"Because I was attacked?" I asked, glad to hear my voice wasn't wavering.

"Among other things."

I flinched, losing my battle to stay expressionless—but I deserved that much at least. I'd shot his sister twice right in front of him, and no matter how many terrible things she'd done, that couldn't have been easy to watch. Which is why I had to take the first step, and face the hardest part.

"I'm sorry."

I gripped my hands tight in front of me and left it at that. I wasn't going to give any long speeches, not now. Mrs. Argent looked about ready to shoot me herself, even with the cameras of ten different news stations watching my back. In this case, I had to hope my actions would suffice. Maybe doing something as colossally stupid as showing up to the funeral of the woman I'd shot, knowing full well the Argents might retaliate, would show them I was willing to take the risk to deliver my apology.

Mr. Argent didn't reply, so his wife spoke up for him.

"How dare you," she hissed. "You have the audacity to intrude here, to harass us, and pretend you're sorry? We don't need sympathy from someone like you."

It took a second for that to process. The lurch in my stomach told me she meant someone violent, someone who'd caused so much pain and done too little to make up for it. When I realized what she was actually talking about, I felt a surge of confidence.

"Seriously? Someone like me? I'm still human, and I have the scars to prove it. So if you want to turn me away in front of the media, that's fine. I'm just here to pay my respects."

A breeze swept through the graveyard, the rustling leaves the only sound that passed between us. I met her glare with as much force as I could muster. It was silent for a whole minute, and I was just about ready to give up.

"Chris!" Mrs. Argent snapped suddenly, glaring at her husband.

He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes. I hadn't noticed his resolve softening, because I hadn't been focused on him. Kate had said that the Argent women were the ones who made decisions, but given that this was his sister's funeral, it seemed Mrs. Argent was leaving the decision with her husband, no matter how much it enraged her. I lost no time in taking advantage of the weakness.

"I came here to support Allison," I said earnestly. "And to say goodbye to Kate. I'm not looking for a fight."

Mr. Argent's jaw clicked as he clenched it shut. Then he tilted his head a few inches, indicating the seats. It was as much of an invitation as I was going to get, but I nodded my thanks anyway.

Allison's parents didn't seem comfortable sitting near me. They stuck me at the end of the first row, grudgingly allowing Allison to sit on my left. But before they let us be, it seemed I had to be threatened one more time.

Mr. Argent leaned down, eyes piercing me like an arrow.

"I want you to listen to me very carefully, Sadie. The other people attending this service do not know everything about what has happened here. They do not know about Scott. They do not know about your involvement. They do not know that you have any idea what is going on. And if they did, it would not end well for any of us. So I highly suggest that as long as they are here, you do your best to keep quiet."

"Yes, sir," I said softly.

He nodded once and then walked away to sit with his wife at the other end of the row. The moment he was seated, Allison sagged in her chair and rounded on me.

"Are you insane?!" she whispered. "Are you actually insane?! I told you not to come!"

"I know. I'm sorry. I just…I was sitting at home, and…I couldn't."

Allison shook her head at me, folding her arms over her chest. "You're lucky they didn't kill you."

"Well, at least there's already a hole," I offered.

Just like at school, I saw Allison purse her lips to hide a smile. It felt good to make her laugh, but we were still under the hostile glare of her mother, and I was sure she wouldn't appreciate me cracking jokes at a funeral. So instead I grabbed Allison's hand.

"Hey. I wasn't going to let you go through this alone. Even if it means standing up to your parents."

"You're definitely insane," she repeated, but with much less conviction than last time. She squeezed my hand, and shot me a stealthy smile. "But thank you."

"Always."

Another commotion at the barrier interrupted the moment. The screaming behind the railing had suddenly fallen into a hush. When we looked over, we found that there were a few new people on our side of the barrier.

One of them was the rude camera boy. He was talking to an older man, head balding with white hair on the sides, and dressed in a neat, dark suit. He was flanked by two large men who looked like they'd been dressed by some secret government agency out of a Hollywood film, complete with unnecessary sunglasses—but I didn't need the bodyguards to tell me that this man was important. It was written all over the way he held himself, the sharp way he narrowed his eyes, the precise fingers that disassembled some camera part he'd taken from the boy and then scattered the pieces to the ground.

Whatever he said made the boy slink off, and the new arrivals walked toward Kate's plot. Mr. and Mrs. Argent immediately stood from their seats. I shot a curious look at Allison, but followed her lead to stay in my chair.

The man practically glided up to Allison's parents. They all hugged and exchanged quiet condolences. Then he turned and strode over to stop squarely in front of Allison. She looked up slowly, her doe eyes wide with apprehension and maybe even a touch of fear. If he noticed her distress, he didn't acknowledge it; instead, he smiled.

"Allison, dear, you need to stop growing. Reminds me just how old I am."

She attempted a smile, but it was feeble at best.

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you remember me?"

Allison nodded, barely moving her head an inch. She glanced to the side, and I tried to give her an encouraging smile, but after a moment, I realized she wasn't looking at me. She was looking past me. I frowned, but fought to hold my ground, just in case I wasn't supposed to be caught looking at what was there. I had a pretty good idea what I would find anyway: a poorly concealed werewolf ducking behind a headstone, maybe accompanied by a plaid shirt.

But the man seemed to notice Allison's glance too. His head snapped to the side, trained eyes searching for a target. When they found no immediate threat, he relaxed and turned back to us.

"Considering I haven't seen you since you were three, I don't suppose I can assume you'd call me Grandpa."

Allison smiled politely and I fought to bury my surprise. It shouldn't have come as a shock that the rest of Kate's family would be in attendance at her funeral. Kate had only mentioned her father a few times, reminiscing about all the times she'd rebelled and snuck out of the house. Suddenly, I felt a whole new respect for her bravery. If this man had been my father, I don't know that I ever would have broken a rule in my life.

"If it's comfortable, call me Gerard for the time being," he assured Allison. "But I'd prefer Grandpa."

He sent her a small wink, closing the subject. I expected him to take a seat, but when I looked up, I found that his sharp, calculating eyes had found their target on me.

"And you must be Sadie Bennet."

My mouth fell open. I turned to Allison for direction, but she seemed just as surprised as I was. Even Mr. and Mrs. Argent seemed to be panicking, exchanging looks that were much less expressionless than they'd been before. So much for "the others" not knowing who I was…

Gerard picked up on my confusion immediately and chuckled.

"My daughter mentioned that she'd been spending quite a lot of time with Allison and one of her friends. I think you'll find she was quite fond of you two. I expect you've been taking good care of Allison in my absence?"

I shot Allison another quick glance before forcing myself to look him in the eye. "Yes, sir."

"Sir!" He laughed, brandishing a finger at me and smiling warmly at Allison. "Ah, I like her. It's important to have a good judge of character. Kate also told me that you were a fairly talented markswoman."

If there was anything that could have made the situation worse, that was it. Allison and her parents had gone rigid, but Gerard and I both seemed to be pretending we hadn't noticed. I struggled to keep up the casual air, trying not to picture Kate's cowering body on the other end of my gun.

"My dad used to be a policeman," I explained with a small shrug, "so I've had a little practice."

"Ah, the police. Protectors of the peace. Considering joining the family business?"

"Actually, I prefer books."

Gerard smirked, and I prayed to God I hadn't sounded too challenging. I knew enough to realize that Gerard was not one to mess with. He'd raised Kate, and even his own son seemed to be terrified of the consequences should Gerard find out that'd he'd done something wrong. Gerard might have been smiling me, that Father Christmas twinkle in his eye, but there was no doubt in my mind that he was dangerous.

"Well, there's just as much power in knowledge as any other weapon," he replied. I smiled awkwardly, faltering when he leaned forward. "I want to thank you for coming to show your support. It's nice to see the effect she had on people."

He patted my hand and stepped away to assume his seat, leaving me to ponder what that could possibly have meant.

The way Kate had spoken about her father, I wouldn't have expected them to be close. That must've happened after Kate's reform, when she'd decided to make hunting her passion and shelve her rebellion. Still, the idea of her giving status reports about my marksmanship made my blood run cold. Had Kate really seen so much potential in me that she was giving regular updates to the head of the family? How much had she told him? Had she mentioned she thought I was hiding something? Did she tell him she was going to use me as bait? Could he possibly know the truth of the Hale fire, or what Kate had driven me to do?

Or maybe I was just being paranoid.

Only a few more Argents showed up for the service, each of them offering sympathetic glances toward the immediate family, each of them shooting me an inquisitive, reproachful glare. Was it just because I was an outsider? Or could everyone see what I had done? Did Gerard intend to have me join his family business? Or was this whole funeral a trap so the Argents could cut me in half as revenge? Was I going insane?

"Pretty much, kid."

I froze. The voice had been clear in my head, but—no. No, it was only in my head, and I could shut it down. I just had to take a deep breath and stop myself.

"Oh, come on, Sadie," Kate's voice snickered from the back of my skull. "I think we both know self-control doesn't really work like that, right? If it did, there might be a few less bullet holes in my corpse."

I nervously glanced over at Allison, but her teary eyes were still locked on Kate's casket. No one else seemed to think anything had changed. The man up front was still doing his reading, the attendees were still following along, muttering responses to prayers and poems at the appropriate times.

"Just you and me, honey. I mean, yeah, they're my family or whatever, but I was kind of…a lone wolf? I don't think I had such a profound effect on them, you know?"

I blinked hard, staring intently at the grass beneath my feet.

"Stop."

"Because you, Sadie—you're truly a piece of work. My little protégé. I would've had you slashing up shifters in a heartbeat, thriving off all that danger and power. Who knows? Maybe I still will."

"I said stop."

"And at the rate you're going, you're obviously gonna snap. I mean, you are literally hearing me in your head. That just can't be healthy."

"Stop. Please, just stop."

"You can't say I'm wrong. We're two peas in a pod, Sadie. Look at the way you shot me! That is just a prime example of poor anger management. One minute you're shooting your mentor, the next you're cutting your best friend in half. It's a slippery slope, and you are cruising down it like a water slide."

"STOP!"

"Sadie?"

I jumped in my seat, looking up to find Allison standing next to me. She was looking down in concern, a lily in each hand, one of which she was holding out to me. She seemed to be the only person who noticed something was wrong. Everyone else was standing, lining up to drop their flowers on Kate's coffin, which had already been lowered into the ground. I looked around in bewilderment and blinked the tears out of my eyes. I didn't even remember starting to cry.

"Are you okay?" Allison asked.

I nodded, swiftly grabbing the flower and getting up from my seat. I tried to avoid eye contact while we stood in the queue, as if people would be able to see what was happening in my head just by looking in my eyes. Allison kept shooting me curious, worried looks, but didn't question it outright.

Gerard went first. He dropped his lily on the coffin and stood at the foot of the grave, staring down into its depths in contemplation. Then he stepped aside, moving into position so he could shake people's hands as they left.

As I approached the coffin, I tried to focus on the good times I'd had with Kate: going out to lunch, getting ready for the party on Halloween, eating pizza and gossiping about boys. I wanted to believe that was the real Kate, that she hadn't been using me. But if that was the real Kate, then that was also the person I'd shot.

The flower slipped from my fingers, joining the pile below.

"Murderer."

I could only bring myself to nod at Gerard before scurrying back to my seat.

It was over soon after that. People began leaving only a few minutes after the flowers were gone. I took my cue to stand up, and Allison pulled me into another hug. She let her forehead rest on my shoulder, holding me tight.

"Thank you so much for coming," she whispered. "Even if it could've gotten you killed."

"What are friends for?" I asked with a dry laugh. "Anyway, I…I think I needed to do this. And I'm hoping it earns me a little leeway with your dad."

Allison pulled back from the hug, eyeing me again with growing concern. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a long day, so…I'm probably gonna go home and get some sleep. I don't want to push my luck."

I fished my phone out of my purse to check the time, not entirely surprised to find that there was a text from Stiles waiting for me.

"Heyyy, when you get a chance, could you spring Scott and I from my dad's cruiser?"

"Uh oh," I chuckled. "Looks like your two-man support team got busted."

"Are they okay?" Allison asked urgently.

"Oh, God, no," I said quickly, waving her off. "Not your parents. The sheriff must've found them lurking. So, looks like I have to go play knight in shining armor."

She nodded shyly, glancing around to make sure her parents were well out of earshot before continuing. "Can you…? Just, thank Scott for coming, too. It meant a lot to me."

"Got it," I said with a smirk. "Deliver the love letter promptly."

Allison smacked me and furtively checked over her shoulder again. I should have known better than to retaliate though, because she leaned back to me with a smirk.

"Actually, it was sweet of both of them to come, but I don't think Stiles was here for me."

"Okay, and that's my cue to leave," I said hastily, clenching the straps of my bag. "I love you, and I will see you later."

Before she could do anything more than shake her head at me, I was walking away. I nodded my thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Argent and then tried to avoid the press as I made my way out of the graveyard once more.

It wasn't that hard to find Scott and Stiles. There was still a small group of cruisers in the parking lot, but only with two figures slouching in the backseat. Admittedly, springing Scott and Stiles from the backseat while the sheriff was still in the car was a lot more than I had bargained for.

I crept up behind the cruiser, trying to stay low and move quickly in case he decided to check his mirrors. I splayed my hand over the glass window, making Stiles jump, but his spastic motions were common enough that his dad didn't seem to have noticed. Very carefully, I pried the back door open, letting Stiles and Scott scramble out as quietly as they could. I was ready to close the door too, but Stiles grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the tree line.

"Nope! Leave it, leave it! Go, go, go!"

Bewildered, I let him drag me into the forest. It took me a minute to regain my footing, what with my heels sinking into the dead leaves, but we finally came to a stop in a tiny clearing, all of us panting for breath.

"Yeah, you're welcome, assholes," I grumbled, brushing dirt off of my skirt.

Stiles ignored my attitude, almost beaming. "Have I ever complimented you on your impeccable sense of timing?"

"Um, no? I'm not exactly the most punctual person."

"We just heard the sheriff get a call on his radio," Scott explained, wiping the smile off Stiles's face.

"Right. 415A."

"Okay? What does a—um—disturbance in a car have to do with us?"

"Not just any car. An ambulance," Stiles elaborated. "Apparently it got hit on the side of the road, and now there's blood everywhere because something got into the back."

"Or someone," Scott added gravely.

My heart turned to lead inside my chest. He didn't need to say anything more than that.

"Okay," I forced myself to say. "We uh…we know where we're going?"

At a pointed look from Stiles, Scott nodded. "Yeah, just follow me. And stay close."

He turned and led the way deeper into the forest, leaving Stiles and me to trail after him.

We walked in silence for a while, focusing on forging the path in front of us instead of thinking about where it might lead. Stiles kept his hand on my elbow, holding back branches for me and doing his best to help me navigate through the foliage in my heels.

"If I'd known I was going hiking, I would have worn sneakers," I remarked as Stiles helped me over a log. "Or just taken the van."

He laughed as he guided me to the ground, his hand sliding lower to hold my wrist instead of my arm.

"I'd offer to carry you, but I'm pretty sure that my complete lack of upper body strength would only make things worse."

"Ha. Well, I guess it's the thought that counts."

"I could offer for Scott to carry you?" he suggested.

My smile spread a little farther over my face, and I rolled my eyes. "Really, Stiles. I'm fine."

He nodded and left the subject be for the moment. I watched him as he scrambled to move another tree branch out of my way and got a face full of spiderweb. Stiles squawked, frantically beating at his face and chest to wipe it away, petrified that something had dropped on him, and I giggled.

"So…that's it?" I asked hesitantly, picking my way around him. "No lecture?"

"Lecture about what?" he asked distractedly. "Your shoes?"

"Actually, I was thinking about the fact that I went to a murderer's funeral…"

Stiles stopped flailing. He gave me a pointed look, eerily similar to the one his father had given me when I showed up at the barrier, but didn't launch into a tirade.

"Nah. I kinda figured you were gonna do something super nice and unbelievably risky."

"Thank you…?"

"You're welcome." I thought he might mean it sarcastically, but his grudging smile looked genuine enough. "I mean, I wouldn't have done it, but you're a lot nicer than me. I guess I get it—making amends, trying to find closure."

"Closing out the chapter," I agreed with a feeble nod.

"I was gonna say like saying goodbye on a Ouija board so a demon doesn't stick around to infest your home, but sure. That works too."

I giggled again, and promptly tripped over myself by mistake. Stiles caught my arm before I could fall into the dirt and this time, when we continued forward, he slipped his hand down into my own.

By the time we'd walked around the woods to the part of town where the ambulance had been ambushed, it was already dark out. Stiles was practically dragging me through the leaves by that point. My feet were sore, I was freezing, and I was exhausted. God, I really wished the boys had let me go back for the van. But now I had to keep walking, no matter what, because we needed to find Lydia.

We edged up the hill that led to the road, kneeling in the dirt and trying to keep low. There were a few cop cars parked around with their lights flashing, the officers milling around as they tried to figure out what might have happened. The ambulance was still there, back doors swung wide open to reveal the carnage inside. The man was still lying back on the stretcher, blood coating every inch of his body, seeping through his shirt and dripping down the once sterile, white walls of the vehicle.

I bit my lip and let my nails dig into the dirt as I forced myself to look away. Stiles had already assured me that the man in the ambulance had already been dead when the ambulance crashed. He was a heart attack victim, DOA, but that didn't make it any easier to look at. First the grave robbery, now a corpse torn apart in an ambulance, and Lydia was still missing. If it had been her, it was getting more and more important to find her. The second victim was only recently deceased, and there was no telling when she might start looking for fresher morsels.

Stiles shot me a nervous glance before leaning over to Scott, keeping his voice low. "Okay, so what kept you from doing that? Was it Allison?"

"I hope so," Scott answered quietly.

I closed my eyes, and tried not to think about what that might mean for Lydia. I knew she loved Jackson, but he hadn't been the most receptive person over the last couple of weeks. She loved me, she loved her mom, but that wasn't the same kind of love as Scott's devotion to Allison. I could only hope that it would be enough. If this was Lydia—and I forced myself to say 'if' as if it weren't—then she needed an anchor.

"Do you need to get closer?" Stiles asked.

Scott sniffed the air for a moment before he shook his head. "No, I got it."

There were a few tense seconds as he tried to lock onto the scent, then pushed himself to his feet to follow it, but before he could even make it a step, Stiles's hand shot out to grab him by the arm. He glanced back at me and pulled Scott a few feet away. They conversed in whispers for a few seconds, always looking back at me. I wanted to know what they were saying, but for some reason, I couldn't seem to move. It was as if in forcing myself not to look at the ambulance, I had to force myself not to move anything at all.

Eventually, I saw Scott nod, and they walked back in my direction.

"Sadie, I'm gonna find her," Scott promised. "I will."

"Thanks…"

He nodded, then turned to jog into the forest. I quicky moved to follow him, but Stiles stepped in front of me, his hands unyielding on my shoulders.

"What are you doing?" I asked. "We've gotta go."

"Sadie, he's gonna find Lydia. It'll be okay."

"Yeah, I know, Stiles. And I'm going to be there when he does."

"Sadie—"

"No!" I pushed his arms off of me, shouting probably louder than I should have. "No, Stiles! I did the whole 'go home and try to get some rest' thing yesterday. And you know what? It sucked. I am not giving up!"

"I'm not asking you to give up," he pleaded. "I'm asking you to let Scott find her. You need to—"

"I'm fine, Stiles!"

"No, you're not! Okay? Scott can hear your heartbeat, Sadie! He heard you freaking out during the funeral, and I could see you crying, and I know that something is wrong. I don't know if it's just the guilt or something else, but I can see it, so don't expect me to just accept that you're okay!"

We stood in silence for a full minute, breath coming out in crystalized puffs in the darkness as we stared at each other. I wanted to argue, but it was hard when I knew in my gut that Stiles was right. I wasn't okay, and I knew it. If anything, the funeral had just proved that. Between my guilt, my exhaustion, worrying about Lydia, and literally hearing Kate's voice in my head, I wasn't sure that I'd even been less okay in my life.

But going home wasn't going to fix that. This wasn't the kind of problem I could fix with a good night's sleep. That's part of the reason I was so desperate to find Lydia. Even if everything else was still terrible, I would have her back. It was the one thing I could do right. I just needed one win, and then maybe I could hold on until the rest of it worked out.

I wasn't sure how to even begin explaining that to Stiles. But somehow, he seemed to know.

"I know you're worried about Lydia," he said softly, "but I'm worried about you. If you want to keep looking, that's fine, but…at least let me drive. We will drive down every street until morning if that's what it takes. I promise."

I pursed my lips, still unhappy with the compromise, but knowing it was all I was going to get.

"Fine," I sighed. "Back to the cemetery."

I took a few steps back into the woods, only for Stiles to block my path again.

"Are you kidding me? Sadie, you look like you're gonna freeze. And honestly, if you trip on another branch, I think we're both gonna die. Come on. Dad'll drop us off."

He put his hand on my should to spin me on the spot, then slid them down my back to help push me up the hill.

"Drop us off?" I asked skeptically as I wobbled up the incline. "Aren't you a little worried he's gonna arrest you for escaping police custody?"

"Psh, like that's the worst thing I've ever done. Besides, you're the one who sprung us, so I don't see why I have anything to worry about."

That managed to coax a smile out of me. Stiles grinned, rubbing my back soothingly as we headed up the road. I did my best not to look into the ambulance as we approached. Thankfully, and not thankfully, it was only a minute before Sheriff Stilinski spotted us.

"Uh…heeey, Dad," Stiles sang awkwardly.

"Stiles," he greeted, folding his arms over his chest. "And the third accomplice."

I winced, but lifted my hand in a feeble wave. "Hey, Sheriff Stilinski."

"You know, I could probably have you arrested for breaking delinquents out of the back of a police patrol car."

Stiles muttered something suspiciously close to "told you so," and I had to resist the urge to smack him.

"I know they're annoying, but they're not legally delinquents unless you charged them with something," I reasoned. "And I wasn't breaking. The door was unlocked…"

The sheriff shook his head, wiping his palm across his forehead in that frustrated way of his. "Sadie, stuff like that can still get you in a lot of trouble."

"Am I in a lot of trouble?" I asked meekly.

He stared at me for a few seconds before heaving a tremendous sigh. "Not tonight. And I know it doesn't mean anything to you two, but please don't do it again?"

"Again? Psh!" Stiles chuckled nervously, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Why—why would we do it again? We're practically saints, Dad."

"Stop talking, Stiles."

"Yup."

"Do I want to know what you two are doing at another one of my crime scenes?" the sheriff asked. "Or am I gonna regret it?"

"Crime scene?" Stiles looked around in mock surprise, as if he'd just noticed the bloody ambulance and several police vehicles. "What? Oh, we—no! We were just—you know, we were…on a walk…"

"Uh huh. You went on a walk?"

"Yes. Yes, Dad, we went on a walk."

"Why were you walking through the woods at this time of night?"

"Because of me," I volunteered, making both of them look at me. "I…I wanted to look for Lydia."

It was the truth, for the most part, and something no one could argue with me about. I watched the sheriff's face soften, morphing into that same disapproving look from earlier.

"You realize that's not safe, right?"

"It's not safe for her to be out there either," I argued, and he cocked his head to the side in reluctant agreement. "You still haven't heard anything?"

"No," he sighed. "Unfortunately, we still haven't heard anything. We sent out search parties today, but between a missing girl, a grave robbery, funeral security, and this, the force is a little spread out."

"And what exactly is this?" Stiles asked, wandering toward the wreckage.

"We're not sure." The sheriff grabbed his son by the back of his shirt and pulled him right back. "And if we're not sure, then the last thing we need is you poking around."

"What, me? I'm—I'm not poking around."

"That's right. You're not. Because you're going to get in the car, get the Jeep, make sure Sadie gets home, and then you're going to go to our home and stay in your room just like you were supposed to stay in the cruiser this afternoon."

"…does it have to be my room? I mean, like, can I be in the living room? Or the kitchen?"

"Stiles—"

"No, seriously! I wouldn't want to accidentally violate the terms of my punishment because you weren't specific enough. What if I have to go to the bathroom?"

A small smile made its way onto my face as the two continued to bicker, one crack after another, but it was short-lived. Sheriff Stilinski had just reminded me that Lydia's search parties had gone out today—students and parents and teachers all scouring the woods for her. And where had I been? At Kate's funeral, with a bunch of people who were planning on hunting Lydia down and then putting her down. And then I'd gone traipsing through the woods with Stiles and Scott, the woods where she was still running around, lost and scared. Had I even been paying attention? We could have walked right past her, or a clue to where she was, a long piece of strawberry blonde hair snagged on a branch that told us which direction she'd been going in. I'd been worried about myself, about my shoes, about Stiles. What kind of friend did that make me?

I felt my eyes start to sting and blinked hard. I really did not want to break down in front of all these people, in front of Stiles and his dad. I was so tired of seeming weak, and I didn't think I could handle a single person worrying about me when the first priority should have been Lydia.

But the stinging wouldn't stop. It was getting hard to see through the water welling up in my eyes. I glanced between the Stilinskis, but neither of them seemed to have noticed anything was wrong.

Making a snap decision, I turned toward the nearest cruiser. It looked like the sheriff's, but I couldn't really tell. I didn't really care. I just needed to get away.

I was about halfway to the car when I heard it. There was a rustling coming from just beyond the trees on the side of the road. I froze with my hand on the door handle, watching as the branches swayed slightly, twigs snapping as something moved its way out of the trees.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a pale hand reached out of the darkness, shaking violently like one of the dead leaves on the branch it pulled aside. The hand was followed by an arm, attached to a trembling, naked body, belonging to a terrified girl with wide eyes and wild red hair. She shuffled out from the foliage, huge eyes focused on the ground. There were leaves trapped in her hair, dirt smeared over her skin. The only thing she wore was a white hospital bracelet, still wrapped around her wrist after two days wandering in the woods.

"Lydia?"

My breath caught in my throat. The whole world seemed to be silent, though whether that was because everything else had stopped or because I'd blocked it all out, I wasn't sure. I took a step forward, but the movement made her flinch. I forced myself to stop again.

"Lyd?"

Her eyes flicked up to mine, still watery and out of focus for a moment. I was certain the silence behind me was real now, everyone finally noticing what was going on and waiting with baited breath.

"Lydia?" I asked one last time.

She snapped her mouth shut, swallowed, and nodded.

My world reeled into motion once more. I leapt forward, seizing her by the shoulders and pulling her to my chest. I wrapped my arms around her trembling body, buried my face in her shoulder, and finally let the tears fall from my eyes. I could hear myself talking, sobbing, muttering apologies and thank you's and prayers and whatever else wanted to pour out of my mouth. All the while, I held her tight, adamant that I was never going to let her go again, in case she slipped through my fingers once more. I couldn't handle that.

It took me a few seconds to remember that Lydia was shivering too, infinitely more than I was. I pressed my palms flat against her skin and instantly pulled them back, like I'd laid them on a slab of ice.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry! Here, here, here! I'm sorry!"

I promptly ripped off my leather jacket, grabbing her hands so I could guide her arms into the sleeves. It wouldn't be especially warm, but it was better than nothing. Without thinking twice, I pulled my turtleneck over my head as well. She made a coughing noise as she tried to speak, but I was already wrapping my arms around her again, doing my best to tie the sweater sideways around her waist like a skirt.

"Oh my God, a skirt," I babbled, shaking my head. "Do you want the skirt too?"

"N-no…"

Her voice was hoarse and shaky, and the word came out muffled, as if her lips were still trying to remember how to form words. I narrowed my eyes at her, fingers already fumbling with the clasp at the back.

"Lydia, you are taking this skirt. You've been outside, naked, for over twenty-four hours. It's a miracle you're not frozen solid."

"And I'd rather f-freeze to death than wear something that hideous. S-seriously, where did you even get that?"

I stared at her for a moment, my lips trembling. Then I barked out a watery laugh and launched myself at her again, kissing her head before securing her against my chest.

I heard her let out the ghost of a laugh too, relieved to be alive, relieved to be back, relieved that her attempt to pretend everything was normal had been accepted for the moment. She wrapped her arms around my waist, hugging me as tightly as she could in her weakened state. She propped her chin on my shoulder and called over my back.

"Are you all just going to stand there and gawk at two, half-naked teenage girls? Because some help would be appreciated!"

My face split into a wide, genuine smile for the first time all day, and I pulled back from Lydia to wipe my eyes. I looked over my shoulder to find everyone staring at us, some apprehensive, most relieved, but no one nearly as comical as Stiles.

His jaw was hanging completely slack, and even from this distance I could see the red splotches forming in his cheeks. His maple eyes were wide, locked on Lydia and I as they darted from inch to inch of exposed skin. A cold breeze blew across the road, and suddenly the reality of the situation hit me full force: I had just taken off my shirt, and was now standing on the side of the road in my bra, in front of my crush, his father, and half the police force of Beacon Hills.

"Oh my God…"

I squeaked, hurriedly trying to fold my arms over my chest. But Stiles didn't seem to mind. He stood there gaping, one hand absently reaching for his dad's jacket as if he were going to pull it off. He took half a step toward us and then toppled forward, tripping over his own feet and careening to the ground. My hand flew up to cover my mouth, and Lydia snorted next to me.

Sheriff Stilinski rolled his eyes in exasperation, pulling off his own jacket and stepping over his son's flailing body. "Jesus—yep, here you go."

There was a brief scuffle as Sheriff Stilinski tried to decide which one of us needed the layer more, but I insisted he give it to Lydia. My leather jacket wasn't doing much to stop her shivering, and I was already worried that she might be suffering from hypothermia, frostbite, or both. Besides, Lydia had been outside for a whole day. I could stand a few minutes in my bra. I was probably blushing hard enough to keep me warm anyway.

I helped Lydia zip the jacket up to her chin, her own fingers still trembling too much from the cold. It was a good thing she was so much shorter than I was; the sheriff's coat was long on her, hanging down around her thighs and covering everything that my sweater couldn't. I rubbed her arms encouragingly, then coaxed her toward the sheriff's cruiser.

Stiles had scrambled to his feet and rushed over in an attempt to help. He nearly tripped himself again putting the brakes on, hurriedly averting his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck. He stole a glance over his shoulder, cleared his throat to speak—

"Don't even think about it, Stilinski," Lydia snapped.

His head snapped forward once more. I could've sworn I even heard him whine.

I helped the sheriff ease Lydia into the cruiser, tucked in the backseat of the driver's side. I gave her a bracing smile and then rushed around to the passenger side to climb in next to her. I was about to get in when Stiles cleared his throat again.

He was determinedly not looking at me, but he'd shrugged off the plaid button down he'd been wearing over his T-shirt. He shook the fabric at me insistently, unable to speak. I felt my cheeks sear and I carefully plucked the shirt from his hands. I wasn't exactly in any position to argue.

I hastily shrugged the shirt on, mumbled an unintelligible word of thanks, and slipped into the backseat.

Even if Lydia's plucky attitude was intact, she'd still been wandering around the woods for forty-eight hours. The backseat of the police cruiser was probably the first place she'd sat down since her hospital bed. As soon as she'd climbed inside, the exhaustion seemed to catch up with her. She was curled up on her side, hands lying under her head with her knees tucked up to her chest. As gently as I could, I slid her closer to me, letting her rest her head in my lap.

While Sheriff Stilinski drove, Stiles and I spread the good news. He texted Scott and Allison to give them the all clear, and I called Lydia's mother. Natalie broke down crying on the other end, thanking me and the sheriff and God and whoever else she could think of for keeping her baby safe. I told her that she should meet us at the hospital and, bashfully, asked if my mom could bring us both a change of clothes.

The whole time, one of my hands stroked Lydia's hair. It was matted and tangled from the wind and branches, but I did my best to pick out the leaves where I could. When I hung up the phone, Lydia shifted in my lap, turning to blink up at me.

"Sorry," I whispered with a teary smile. "Did I wake you up?"

She scrunched her nose and moved her head, but the action was so small that I couldn't tell if it was a shake or a nod. She licked at her chapped lips and winced, pushing herself closer to me.

"I don't want to sleep. I can't…"

"It's okay, Lyd. You're back. And I'm not going to let anything else happen to you. I promise."

Lydia nodded feebly. Then she rolled onto her side again, grabbing my arm and hugging it to her chest. Her eyes drooped closed, just as she mumbled, "Thank you…"

My smile faltered, and I gently brushed the hair out of her face.

"Don't thank me yet."

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry this chapter's a little late. Monday was my birthday and I got sidetracked. Still, I'm as relieved as Sadie to have Lydia back again. Thank you all for reading, happy belated holidays, and I'll see you on New Year's Day!