The bestiary was, in fact, pretty nifty. Stiles, Scott and I left the pool to go out to the parking lot, and when we got back to the car, Scott pulled out his laptop and inserted the stolen thumb drive. It was filled with scans upon scans of what probably was, at some point, a physical book. There were plenty of gorgeous pictures, hand painted and detailed, that looked like they could be dated back to medieval times. I was left to marvel at just how old Allison's family was, how long they'd been doing this, just how screwed we were if they ever found out we'd seen this. The only problem was, of course, that none of us knew how to read texts from medieval France.

"Is that even a language?" Stiles groaned, staring at the intricate calligraphy with overwhelmed annoyance.

"Of course it is," I sighed. "Just not one any of us can read."

"How are we supposed to figure out what this thing is?" asked Scott.

I let the cursor hover over one of the paintings and shrugged. "Cross your fingers and hope the Argents were also really accurate artists?"

"It's called a kanima."

All three of us turned, with varied amounts of shock and anger, to stare at Derek. He was walking toward us solemnly, Erica in tow. Apparently, whatever he was going to do to "take care" of the pool area, it still wasn't as important as eavesdropping on our conversations.

"You knew the whole time," Stiles accused, but Derek shook his head.

"No. Only when it was confused by its reflection."

My eyebrows knitted together, lost for a moment until I remembered the large shard of mirror Scott had been holding before the lizard—the kanima had bailed. I'd been too busy saving Stiles to notice anything else. From the sounds of it, the creature had caught a glimpse of its own scaly face in the glass and been scared off.

"It doesn't know what it is," Scott concluded.

"Or who."

"Well what else do you know?" Stiles demanded.

Derek glared at him, obviously not appreciating the tone. He grit his teeth as he answered, "Just stories. Rumors."

"But it's like us?" Scott asked him.

"A shapeshifter, yes, but it's—it's not right. It's a…"

"An abomination," Stiles finished for him.

The answer took Derek by surprise, but he nodded in agreement.

So, something had corrupted the kanima's transformation. For one reason or another, it wasn't able to transform into its wolf form, or even the mutated wolf-bear that had been Peter's favored form. Instead, it was reptilian, and no one seemed to know why. That wasn't the real problem, of course. It didn't matter if they'd been born that way and come to Beacon Hills, whether it'd been created here, why it had scales instead of fur. What it boiled down to was the fact that it was still a they, a person just like Scott or Derek or Boyd or Erica. And they were killing people. We had to stop them, but without knowing who it was, that seemed nearly impossible.

Derek nodded to Erica and turned to leave, but Scott called him back.

"Derek! We need to work together on this. Maybe even tell the Argents."

"You trust them?!" Derek growled.

"Nobody trusts anyone! That's the problem! While we're here arguing about who's on what side, there's something scarier, stronger, and faster than any of us, and it's killing people! And we still don't know anything about it!"

"I know one thing. When I find it, I'm gonna kill it."

Derek turned on his heel and stormed away. He didn't even need to beckon Erica to follow. They climbed into the Camaro, leaving the three of us to stare after them in dismay. We had no help, no teamwork, no plan; just a name for the thing that was trying to kill us. We'd barely moved forward on the space that was still square one.

"There's got to be something we can do to stop it," Scott said desperately. He turned back to the laptop and scrolled through the images, waiting for something to jump out at him. "There has to be something, a weakness we can use. Something that's not murder."

"Maybe there is, but I don't think we have time to find it," said Stiles, hands on his hips. "Even if the word 'kanima' is still written the same way, you'd have to scan every word of that book to find it, and there are literally hundreds of pages. And that's all before you sit back and remember that none of us know how to read whatever the hell language this stupid thing is written in."

"I might have an idea."

Stiles and Scott turned to me in surprise. I looked between them, steeling myself before I continued. I knew what the answer was going to be, but I had to try.

"Lydia."

"What about her?" Scott asked.

"Look, I don't know what language they were using to write in medieval France, but I'm willing to bet that it's at least somewhat related to Latin. And Lydia reads Latin. I think she's the best chance we've got."

"What are you gonna say?" Stiles asked with a frown. "Just like, 'Hey, Lyd, you know how people have been dropping like flies? We're trying to figure out what kind of magical creature is doing it, so can you look at a hundred pages of maybe Latin on medieval beasts? Thanks.' She'll never buy it."

"I'm not so sure."

Scott shared a dubious look with Stiles and raised his eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"I think that…with the right explanation…she'd believe us," I said cautiously. "She knows a lot more than she's letting on. I was talking to her before, about what happened at formal, and…she saw Peter."

"W-what?!"

"What do you mean she saw Peter?" Stiles asked urgently. "Like—like she saw him inside at the party? Like she saw him when he was talking to you on the field?"

"No, I mean like she saw him with his eyes glowing and his fangs growing out of his skull right before he bit her. She's been having nightmares ever since. It's…it's tearing her apart."

I knew Lydia would hate me for talking about her like that, showing off her weakness, but I knew this would be better in the long run. I couldn't go on watching her like that. I needed my best friend back, and I was going to do whatever it took to get her back.

Stiles and Scott softened for a moment, and I leapt to take advantage of their hesitation.

"Guys, I—I can't stand by while she's struggling like this. I can't. She can't make sense of anything, even though it's all sitting in front of her. She is the only one who doesn't know, and she knows that she doesn't know. She knows she's being lied to, and I think that if we just told her, she could help. She could stop freaking out and doubting herself and thinking that she's crazy when she's not!"

"Of course she's not crazy," Scott sighed. "We know that."

"Well she doesn't, Scott. She's got no idea that she's not crazy. Someone needs to tell her! I need to tell her!"

"Sadie, we can't," Stiles sighed, and I rounded on him.

"Why?! Why can't I tell her, Stiles?! She got attacked at the video store too! She was attacked at formal, just like I was! She has been hurt every bit as much as I have! She actually saw Peter coming at her with fangs, and the only reason she doubts herself is because I am lying to her! She knows way, way more than I did when you told me. So why can't I tell her?!"

"You—you're different."

It was a moment before Stiles realized what he'd said, a millisecond before a flash of horrified regret crossed his face. But I was already shoving him back in rage.

"I'm different? I'm—Lydia is different! Lydia was bit by an Alpha, and she's not a werewolf and she's not dying! She is something very, very different, and she deserves to know that about herself! Okay?! She is smart and she is capable and I know—I know that she will want to help once we tell her! She'll understand—"

"And what if she doesn't?" Scott demanded. "Sadie, you—you have to remember that most people wouldn't be okay having a werewolf for a friend, okay? They'd be scared. Terrified. I mean, do you remember what it was like when Allison first found out? Or Jackson? Everything got worse. Way worse."

"Lydia is not Jackson! And she doesn't come from a family of werewolf hunters! If I can explain—"

"Then she'll still be scared. I'm a werewolf, same as Peter. She has every right to be scared of me."

"Scott, she'll understand," I pleaded. "And even if she needs some time to adjust, so what?! You already don't talk to Lydia. Are you that scared she might want to stay away from you?"

"I'm not scared of her avoiding me. I'm scared that she'll avoid you."

"…What?"

I stopped short, paralyzed by the very thought. And just like I had, Scott took advantage of my hesitation.

"Sadie, I know you want to tell her," he said, moving closer and turning on those puppy dog eyes. "And if I trust anyone to explain everything that's happened in a way that makes sense, it's you, but…Lydia might not be relieved when you tell her. She's gonna be scared, and angry that we all lied to her. And if Lydia's keeping her distance from us, then we won't be able to protect her from the kanima, or from the Argents."

"But—no, she—she's not turning into anything, so they can't—"

"The Argents don't know what to do with her, but they know something's going on. They could take her, torture her, test her. I…I promised you that I wouldn't let her get hurt. Right now…I think there's too much going on to risk it."

I pressed my lips into a tight line, trying to ignore the prickling sensation in my eyes. I hated that he was doing this. He was using my compulsive need to protect Lydia against me. The Argents could already grab her at any time. If Lydia knew the truth, she would steer clear of them, even if she was also keeping her distance from us. She wasn't stupid. She would understand, but…I didn't know how long that would take.

Scott was right about one thing: we were on the clock, with a list of problems longer than I could truly comprehend. The kanima was killing people. Derek wanted to kill the kanima. The Argents wanted to kill Derek. If Gerard ever found out I'd helped kill Kate, he might want to kill me too. The hunters were calling in reinforcements. Derek was building a pack. Something was happening to Lydia, but none of us knew what. I was adamant she would be better off knowing the truth, but it wouldn't make life any easier. It was going to complicate things, and things were already complicated enough.

I folded my arms over my chest. "We're only delaying the inevitable, you know. We have to tell her eventually."

"I know," Scott said immediately, "and when we do, I will be right there with you to prove it to her, but for now…for tonight, just…please don't say anything. Okay?"

I closed my eyes. For a few moments, I was able to maintain my resolution of refusing him. Lydia needed to know. No, it was not okay. I was going to tell her.

Then Scott rested a hand on my shoulder. I could practically feel the sorrow and the guilt and the desperation seeping out of him. Or maybe he was pulling the stubbornness and conviction out of me. Was that another werewolf superpower? Emotional manipulation? One way or the other, I felt my resolve weaken. And I broke.

I gave a small nod, and heard both Scott and Stiles let out a sigh of relief. The sound sparked a prickle of anger in my chest, and I was almost ready to take my concession back, but Scott was already tugging me toward the car.

"Come on. I'll drive you guys home."

I might have agreed for the moment, but I was determined to make it well known that I was not happy about the decision. I didn't talk at all on the drive back to my house. Thankfully, the boys didn't bother trying to make conversation. Neither of them knew what to say, so they didn't say anything at all, even in an attempt to distract me. We sat in awkward, ongoing silence, and in some petty, sadistic way, that made me feel a little better.

I did say goodbye to both of them before climbing out of the car, thanking Scott for the lift and promising I'd talk to them both tomorrow. I'd planned to just go inside and sneak up to my room—I didn't want to explain to my mother how I'd gotten soaked at a lacrosse game—but I paused when I heard another car door close behind me.

"Hi," Stiles said awkwardly, wringing his hands in front of him.

I cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah. Hi."

"So, I should be getting the Jeep back this weekend. Spic and span and in perfect working order. I was just wondering if uh…if you'd like to go out to celebrate."

"Wow, the Jeep's triumphant return from the evidence lot. Sounds like a party."

"Actually, it's pretty exclusive. I was thinking just you and me. If, uh…if that's okay."

He smirked, as if it was supposed to distract me from the way his cheeks were tinged pink. It didn't work of course, not entirely, but it made my stomach twist just the same. Angry as I'd been in the car, I could feel the burn in my cheeks as I fought not to smile.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "That actually sounds very okay."

"Okay! Good, um…okay."

Stiles chuckled for a moment, pleased to have gotten out the question and received an answer with much less hassle than it'd taken us last time. We were both still blushing, but it was progress. The longer we stood there, the more his smile faded, and after a few seconds he was simply staring at me with a hollow, nervous look.

"What's wrong?" I asked warily.

"I don't know. You haven't told me yet."

"I think I made my thoughts about Lydia pretty—"

"No, it's not just that. I don't know what it is, but…I know it's not just Lydia."

I bit my lip, dropping my eyes to the pavement and frantically searching for a better reason. I was about to make an excuse about being stressed and tired and bolt for it, but Stiles stepped forward and grabbed my hands.

"Look, I saw you back at the pool. I saw how you froze up when that thing attacked you. It's the same thing that happened at the mechanic, and at the precinct. I'm…pretty sure that means it has something to do with Kate, but…I also feel like there's something I'm missing."

"Stiles—"

"It's okay," he said before I could apologize. "I know how shitty it makes you feel to talk about it. I don't want to harp on you or bully you into telling me—though now that I think about it, I should totally be allowed to considering the way you bullied me into telling you about werewolves—"

"Stiles."

"I know, that's—that's not the point. The…the point is that I don't know what it is that's bothering you, and I don't know what I'm supposed to say to make it better. But I know you're gonna beat it. And I wanna help. You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to, but…I'm here, and I know you're gonna get through this. Because I know you, and…Sadie Bennet can do anything."

I really hoped that I hadn't dried off from the pool just yet. I had to bite my lip hard, but I could still feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, and I knew I was gonna have a hard time passing them off as pool water this time.

Sure enough, Stiles blanched in horror. "Oh my God, I'm—shit, I'm sorry. Should I—should I just punch myself? Did I say the wrong thing or—"

"No, no, no." I pulled one hand free to wipe at my face. "No, that was…that was very much the right thing. Thanks."

He nodded awkwardly and the smile finally won out on my face. I pulled him into a hug, burying my face in his sweatshirt and enjoying the feeling of his arms around my waist. I tried to hone in on his usual, comforting smell, but tonight we both smelled like chlorine. I was probably going to smell like chlorine for days. I knew that, for a while, the smell would carry the memory of drowning, the kanima, Stiles's unconscious body—but I didn't want to think about it like that. Stiles had jumped into the pool to save Derek. We'd all gotten out. If anything, we smelled like chlorine because we survived.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Stiles asked softly, one of his hands smoothing out the hair hanging down my back.

I took a deep breath and leaned back. "Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Now get inside before I start thinking about the fact that you're wearing a wet, white T-shirt."

"Perv," I shot, but he simply smirked and shrugged.

I kissed his cheek and backed away, watching as he climbed back into the passenger seat of Scott's car. They stayed at the end of the driveway until I made it to the door. I gave them one last wave, and then ducked inside.

I had to be very careful on the stairs, trying with all my power not to make a sound or draw any attention to myself. I knew it was late, way later than it should have been. With any luck, my mom was already in bed, but luck hadn't exactly been on my side tonight. If she found me sneaking in late, I wasn't sure how—

"Sadie?"

I stopped dead in my tracks. Lydia was standing in front of me, wearing a silky set of pajamas and a very suspicious expression. She took in my soaked clothes and folded her arms over her chest.

"Uh…hi, Lydia. There is…a very good explanation for this…um…"

"Just please tell me it wasn't shower sex."

"What?!" I squeaked, snapping upright and shaking my head. "No! No, I didn't—"

"Then I don't care. Go to sleep, Sadie."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched toward the bathroom, tugging at the bandages around her knuckles. I knew I should let her go, that I'd promised to, but I called her right before she ducked inside.

"Hey, do…do you still want to talk?"

Lydia paused. In the light of the bathroom, I could see the uncertainty etched across her face, the flicker of fear. But in the car, it had taken over an hour for Lydia to let her guard down enough to ask for help. Now that we were home, she'd put those walls right back up.

"No. Sweet dreams!"

She shot me a sickly sweet smile, and closed the bathroom door behind her.

I deflated, alone in the dark hallway. I wouldn't have to break my promise to Scott, but part of me still wished I had.

I tried not to think too much as I got ready for bed. I didn't want to think about how Lydia would react when I finally told her the truth, what the Argents might do if they got a hold of her, but I forced myself to believe that Scott was right. I had to think about the bigger picture. People were dying, and that had much more immediate consequences than Lydia's nightmares. I promised myself that I would tell her. Until then, I'd just have to continue to protect her.

"Protect her, right. You're doing a bang up job at that, babe. You can't even fire a gun anymore."

I glared at the ceiling over my bed. I focused on my breathing and tried to force the voice to the back of my mind.

"I don't think so, Sadie. How long are you gonna run from this? You can't escape me. You can't escape yourself."

That didn't mean I couldn't try. I laid in bed for what felt like hours, but must have only been minutes. Kate's voice chipped away at the corners of my brain, making my stomach churn with insecurities and regret. She was right. I couldn't escape. I had to stop running, but that didn't mean I had to give in to what Kate wanted me to be.

I sat up in bed and ripped the charger out of my phone. I squinted at the screen's bright light, dialing the only number I could think of. I chewed on my lip while it rang, waiting for the predictably annoyed voice to pick up on the other end.

"What do you want, Sadie?" Derek asked, not bothering with the traditional convention of asking how I was.

"Can you come pick me up? There's something I need to do."

He didn't even argue. Fifteen minutes later, I was sneaking out of the house once more, speed walking down the street and climbing into the black Camaro that was waiting for me at the corner.

"Thanks," I whispered, closing the door behind me.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Want to tell me what I'm doing here?"

"I told you, there's something I need to do. It's a couple towns over, if you don't mind the drive. I just have to get the address—"

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on."

I turned to Derek in exasperation, but his jaw was set. It wasn't like I had a lot of options. I'd thought about asking Allison, but the way her parents had been tracking her lately, I didn't think making the drive would be smart. If I got caught, if I got in trouble, she needed to be completely and genuinely surprised. Stiles or Scott would drive me if I asked, but that was only going to make me more nervous. With Derek…things had always been different.

"Fine," he spat. "You're gonna be like that?"

Derek kicked the car into motion and started driving back toward the house.

"No, no, no!" I begged, jumping to the edge of my set. "Stop, please!"

"If this is about the kanima—"

"It's not."

"Then if this is about Erica, or Isaac—"

"It's not!"

"Then what the hell is—"

"It's Kate! It's about Kate, okay? I—I keep hearing her voice, all the time, taunting me, and it's driving me up the wall. I can't focus, I can't aim, and if I can't use a gun, then I can't protect any of my friends from the kanima, or from the Argents. I just…I need to get my head straight. And I need you to drive me."

I screwed my eyes closed so I didn't need to look at the shock on his face, the fury that came with the very mention of her name. I sagged back into my seat, waiting for him to start shouting, for the biblical lecture I could feel brewing like a storm.

But Derek didn't say anything. All I heard was a soft sigh. The car pulled into a U-turn and we drove down the street toward the main road.

I wasn't totally off the hook. It was a long drive, and Derek made me recount everything that had happened—from first hearing Kate during her funeral to the words she'd been saying right before I called him. I told him about how I hadn't been able to shoot the hunter at the precinct, how I hadn't been able to save the mechanic, how it had been Kate I was telling to stop at the pool and not the kanima. I tensed as I grew closer to the end of the story, but again, Derek took me by surprise. When the whole speech was over, he only said one word.

"Okay."

"…Okay?" I gaped at him. His calm response was honestly more alarming than a full-blown tirade. "That's—that's it? Okay?"

"Yeah, Sadie. That's it."

"…Oh…"

Derek shook his head at the road, his hands tight on the steering wheel. "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing, I just…I don't know. I figured you'd be annoyed with me."

"I am annoyed, because you didn't say anything, to anyone."

"I told Scott," I said meekly.

"Yeah, this week," Derek snapped. "This has been going on way too long, Sadie! I mean, do you realize how many different ways this could have gone wrong?"

"Yeah, I do. Thank you."

"I'm being serious, Sadie. You should have told me."

"What would you have done, Derek? It's not like Kate's a ghost. This isn't a supernatural problem. You can't fix it by giving me the bite or punching someone in the face. It's just my head being screwed up."

Derek opened his mouth, then closed it again. I thought it was because I'd made a solid point, but as it turned out, he was just steeling himself. He let out a long, slow breath, then spoke in a gentler voice.

"You're not the only one who's screwed up."

I didn't have the strength to look at him. I stared determinedly out the window, the tightness in my chest making it hard to breathe. Of course I knew I wasn't the only one. That was why I'd called Derek. He was frustrated with me, I knew, but he understood what I was going through better than anyone else, better even than Allison. He could lecture me all he wanted about how I needed to forgive myself and move past what had happened, but Derek's guilt complex was even bigger than mine. What room did he have to criticize me?

"It happened to me too, you know."

"I know," I sighed, addressing his reflection in the window. "Kate's whole thing was manipulation and—"

"No, I mean this. The regret, the guilt, doubting yourself."

I frowned, rolling my head to look at him at last. He kept his eyes on the road, but even if he hadn't been driving, I had the feeling he wouldn't be looking at me. His jawline was even more defined as he clenched his teeth, muscling through the bad memories to find the right words.

"After the fire, Laura and I left Beacon Hills. We ran to New York, but even there…I saw her everywhere. I figured she was hunting us down, trying to finish the job. At some point, it was like I wanted her to show up, just so I could stop waiting."

"Did…Laura know?" I asked hesitantly.

"No. Not about…that. She knew it had to have been the Argents. She knew I was waiting for them to catch up. That's it."

I nodded, and decided it was better not to ask any more questions. I didn't need a deeper explanation to know that Kate was the reason Derek had trust issues. The last time he'd trusted someone completely, his entire family had been wiped out. He was aggressive and broody because he'd spent six years on edge, waiting for Kate to finally put him out of his misery. I wondered if he still saw her now—in every sassy brunette, every girl who flirted with him. I couldn't imagine recovering from something like that. Was that what I had to look forward to? Six long years of Kate laughing in the back of my head?

Derek stopped the car abruptly and we both jerked forward in our seats. It was already dark out, and the lot behind the hair salon was completely empty. Not that I expected to see any cars in the first place. I'd never seen anyone parked back here but Kate.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Derek's voice had lost its reproachful edge. It wasn't a sarcastic jab, but genuine concern, a silent reassurance that I shouldn't push myself too hard and too fast if I wasn't ready. The fact was, I wasn't sure that I was ready. But the world wasn't going to wait on pause for me to get my shit together.

"Yeah. Let's go."

I hopped out of the car and headed for the back door. Then I stopped and stared at the handle. Kate had always had a master key, but I didn't know where she kept it. I thought fleetingly of Gerard's keys, sitting in Scott's backpack, or perhaps already back with the Argents. Had one of those been the key to this door? I wish I'd thought of this plan a few hours ago. It would have made everything a hell of a lot easier.

Derek noticed my hesitation. He nudged me aside, grabbed the door handle, and twisted it so hard that the knob came loose. When he pulled it open, I heard the crunch as the deadbolt cracked in the wall. Derek stood back with a smirk, his eyes glowing red as he waved a hand.

"Ladies first."

I choked back a laugh and preceded him into the building.

I had to feel around for the light switches, but didn't have any trouble finding my way down the stairs. The fluorescent bulbs came to life with an annoying hum, lighting the shooting range up lane by lane. Everything looked exactly the same: the benches, the targets, the hunting gear. It was like my memories were echoing through the room, fleeting images of our previous visits. I half expected Kate to push past me with a large cheese pizza, laughing about what kind of dress I was going to wear to formal with Stiles. Terrible as Kate had been, she'd never been terrible here. Not to me. Here, I almost wanted to smile.

Derek, on the other hand, looked as uncomfortable as I'd expected him to. He eyed the rows of bows and rifles with distaste, his eyes hovering on the low range of red. He had to know that it was only the two of us here, but he seemed ready to spring in case any of the hunting equipment got ideas of its own.

"Sorry," I apologized. "I know it's…I didn't know where else to go."

He grunted in response, but didn't say any more than that. I was lucky I'd gotten him this far. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable any longer than I needed to. I just had to hope it wouldn't take me long to fix my problems.

"You're kidding, right?" Kate's voice giggled. "You think one shooting session is gonna fix your problems? Hon, you're trying to cram a decade of therapy into an hour at the range. Good luck with that."

I squeezed my eyes shut and forced myself into the room.

It was simpler than my previous trips to the range. When Kate had taken me, she had bags and bags of equipment, different guns and different ammo. I only had one gun; all I needed was some bullets. With a little help from Derek, I was able to get the case open behind the counter, and selected a couple boxes. I took more than I needed, probably way more than I needed, but I was only going to break in once. After this, it would be too risky for me to come back, either because the owner would fortify their security, or because the Argents would guess what I was doing.

Armed and ready as I was ever going to be, I led the way into the side room. The stalls lit up just as the archery lanes had, paper targets hanging at the end of long rows.

"Ah, the slayer returns to her natural habitat. See, this is where you belong, Sadie. Honing those skills, prepping for your next kill. And you even brought Derek! He would make for some great target practice, you know. His whole face just screams 'I'm not having fun, please put me out of my were-misery.'"

I donned a pair of goggled and earmuffs and offered Derek a weak smile as I handed him his own. He took the gear, but his eyes never left the gun in my hands. The guilt curdled in my gut.

"Derek, you…you don't have to stay in here. I get it. If you don't trust—"

"I'm fine." His words were clipped, but when I flinched, he forced himself to relax. "It's not you. I just don't like guns."

"I don't blame you. Really, you got me this far. If you wanna wait in the car—"

"No." He shook his head, slipping the glasses on and nodding toward the targets. "Go ahead. I'll be here."

Despite my reassurance, it had been the answer I wanted to hear. I didn't want to be alone with my memories of Kate, especially when I had a gun. I didn't think I'd get very far in my recovery. Still, I hoped Derek couldn't sense just how relieved I was. It was a little embarrassing.

Cautiously, I stepped into one of the booths, staring down the paper target at the other end. Here, it was all too easy to feel Kate's presence. I could practically feel her hands on my shoulder, hear the words of advice she'd whispered in my ear as she coached me through each shot. I blocked out her voice and started to shoot.

I don't know what I had expected. It had taken me weeks just to pull the trigger, let alone take aim. Even when I wasn't presented with a breathing target, my eyes and hands wouldn't cooperate. I was all over the map. Sometimes I hit the target, sometimes I clipped the paper, and sometimes I missed all together. I ran though one magazine, then another, changing lanes, shaking out my hands, cracking my neck. If I could find the problem in my body, then maybe I could fix the problem in my head.

But it wasn't working, and I knew that it wouldn't. There wasn't a problem with my hands or my neck or my eyes. The problem was my brain. Every time I missed, Kate's laugh got louder. Every time I hit, I felt her hovering just behind me. When I failed, it was my fault; when I succeeded, it was only because she'd taught me what to do.

A hand grabbed my shoulder, and I was struck with a panic so strong that I actually whimpered out loud. It took a second for my brain to remember that it couldn't be Kate behind me. Kate was dead, and her hands hadn't been that large or strong. She was dead. Dead.

"You need to stop," Derek said, squeezing my shoulder.

"I don't have time to stop," I replied, clearing my throat in an attempt to get rid of the tremble in my voice. "You said it yourself. The kanima is killing people. If I don't get this under control, then—"

"The kanima isn't your responsibility. If you keep putting that pressure on yourself, you're never going to make any progress. Focus on yourself. You know how to shoot. Just let it happen."

"Wow, what a way with words, huh? 'Just do it.' Ha! No wonder this guy is so miserable."

I glowered at the target and screwed up my face in frustration. I pulled the trigger three times, but each bullet ripped through the white paper along the edges of the target. My heart sank. Useless.

"You're not committing," Derek said firmly. "Stop closing your eyes and focus. If you think you're going to miss, you will."

A chill ran up my spine, and my grip loosened on the gun.

"When you're scared of the gun, the gun is scared of the target," I murmured.

"Yes, but that's only part of your problem." Derek's hand fell from my shoulder and he leaned on the stall wall next to me. "You're not as scared of the gun as you are of yourself. But hitting that target won't make you a bad person."

I fidgeted under his gaze. I hated being so easy to read.

"The better I am, the more dangerous I am," I argued, placing the gun down on the counter. I leaned back on the wall opposite him. "The more likely it is I hurt someone."

"Sadie, it's a gun. You're gonna hurt someone if you don't know what you're doing, too. Having good aim is a skill. You can practice all you want, but it's up to you to decide how to use it. Like these." He held up his hand, showing off the claws he'd summoned by pure force of will. "I could hurt someone with these. I have. That's my skill."

"You sound like Scott," I groaned as my head thumped back against the wall. "He keeps trying to tell me that you guys are dangerous too, and somehow that's the same thing."

"He's right. I'll tell you the same thing I told him, the same thing my mother told me: just because we're predators doesn't mean we need to be killers. Being dangerous doesn't make you evil. You know that. Because if you didn't, neither of us would be here right now."

I let my head fall forward again, staring down at my shoes. I didn't think Derek was evil. I didn't think Scott was evil, or Allison. All of them had hurt people, but I didn't think they were evil. Somehow, it was a lot harder to extend the benefit of the doubt to myself. So Derek did it for me.

He picked the gun up off the counter and held it out to me. I took it immediately, thinking more about his comfort than my own, but now I was holding it again, feeling just as badly as before. Derek grabbed my shoulders, turning me forward and squaring me off in the stall. When he was satisfied I would stay, he released me and folded his arms over his chest.

"Okay. What do you need to do to shoot?"

"Grip, stance, aim, fire," I recited, and he nodded for me to go ahead.

I took a deep breath, following each instruction slowly. I pulled the trigger again, three consecutive blasts. They were closer, but still not centered. If I'd been shooting at a moving target, I would've missed every time. Derek hummed behind me.

"What's the last thing you think before you shoot?"

"I don't know. Something like, 'Here goes nothing?'"

"Sadie."

I huffed. I knew it was pointless trying to lie to werewolves, but it was really starting to grate on my nerves. I had to get better at controlling my heartrate.

"It's more what I'm trying not to think of," I admitted. "With…Kate always told me to think of my problems. To picture something I feared or something I hated and then let loose. Me or my problems. My choice. It…it was the last thing I said to her, and now…"

I couldn't bring myself to finish.

"You can't rely on what Kate told you to do," said Derek.

"Ha, thanks. Trust me, I know that."

"No, not just because it was Kate. Because everyone's different. If there's one thing I learned from trying to teach Scott, it was that. Honestly, you and Stiles did a better job of teaching him to control himself than I did."

I looked at him over my shoulder, floored. "Really?"

Derek raised his eyebrows, challenging me to mention it again, then pushed my head forward again. "Focus. How did you teach Scott?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "There was a lot of physical abuse. We all got detention. At the end of the day, we realized it was Allison. Scott could focus on her voice and pull himself back. Like an anchor."

"Then use that. Stop thinking about all the things that are going wrong, and start thinking about the people who actually matter."

I took another deep breath, letting my eyes flutter shut. He was right. Scott had been right. If I wanted to control myself, I needed to focus on the reason why: why did I need to hit the target? Why was I doing any of this? I wanted to save people, but it wasn't just that. I wanted to protect my friends. After everything they'd done for me, all they'd forgiven me for, I didn't want to let them down. I wanted to prove that I could be the person they all seemed to think I was. That I was worthy of them.

"Come on, Sadie, we both know who you really are. You really think you're gonna beat me with this 'power of love' crap?"

"Stop talking, Kate. I'm thinking."

I adjusted my grip on the gun and planted my feet on the ground. I raised my arms and paused, taking another deep breath and staring down the target. Who were my friends? Who did they think I was? What did that make me?

Lydia.

"You're my best friend and I want you to be happy."

Allison.

"I'm gonna be right there with you, no matter what happens."

Derek.

"You're not Kate because you actually care, about everyone."

Scott.

"Whatever you think, whatever your brain is telling you that Kate would say—you are good."

Stiles.

"Because I know you, and Sadie Bennet can do anything."

I pulled the trigger, again and again, repeating their names in my head. I let the gunshots drown out the voice in my skull. Kate wasn't important. She was gone. I had people who needed me, who loved me, who believed in me. They believed I was good, and so I had to be good. For them, I could be.

I pushed the headset down to hang around my neck, my hands quaking as I stared down the bullet-strewn target. Derek clapped a hand on my shoulder, and I let a small smile tug at my lips.

Bulls-eye.