It was quiet. Too quiet. It was way too quiet.

I shifted nervously in the driver's seat, trying not to show any emotion as I glanced over at Erica. I had texted her after Stiles dropped me off at my house, letting her know that I was on my way to pick her up for our play date. I hadn't even made it all the way to the railcar when I saw her walking down the side of the road. Apparently, she was so anxious to get out of the den that she'd gotten a head start to meet me in the middle.

Now she was sitting in the passenger seat, scrolling through the songs on my iPod. I thought I'd give her a break and let her pick the music on the ride to my house. It was meant to be an olive branch, but so far, it hadn't done much good.

She must've sensed that I was looking at her, because she finally clicked on a song and unceremoniously dropped my iPod between the seats. "You have terrible taste in music."

I sighed, annoyed, but also relieved at the return of our usual dynamic. "Ever heard of the saying 'Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole'?"

"Ever heard of the saying 'I literally have claws and I would rather gouge my eyes out than listen to most of your music'?"

"…No…"

Erica snorted and rolled her eyes. "What did you tell your mom you were doing tonight? Can't imagine it's easy to get the car these days."

"I told her the truth."

"Yeah? Which part convinced her: the werewolf gang or the murdering kanima?"

"I told her I was going to a concert with some friends."

"Friends? Is that what we're calling this now?"

"Well, I thought it was cleaner than explaining the whole girl-who-had-a-crush-on-my-boyfriend-and-got-turned-into-a-werewolf-who-I-have-a-working-relationship-with-until-we-can-stave-off-the-town's-impending-doom thing."

That one didn't get a laugh.

"What about you?" I tried instead. "What do your parents—"

"My parents don't think anything."

Her voice was sharp, and we descended into awkward silence once more. I instantly regretted trying to make conversation. I hadn't expected things to go smoothly, but…I guess I'd hoped that since this whole thing had been her idea…

"Mom and I don't talk much anymore."

I turned to Erica in surprise, only to find that she looked just as taken aback. She quickly looked away, sitting up a little straighter as she continued.

"Ever since…well, since the bite, I haven't needed her as much. Perfect hair. Good complexion. No medication. I guess now that I don't need to be coddled, I don't make much of a daughter."

"I'm sure that's not—"

"You don't know my mother. She's always had my life nailed to a time table. She had to be there for every little thing, every waking moment. God forbid I breathe without telling her. I'm sick of it. And my dad, well…he hasn't even stayed home long enough to notice that my skin cleared up…"

She flexed her fingers in front of her, inspecting the nails I half-expected to be claws. But they weren't. They were just the long nails and chipped polish of a girl who had a less than desirable relationship with her parents. That was something I was finding all too relatable these days.

"Sounds like they did notice something," I offered. "You're different."

"Yeah. They know I'm different. They just don't know I'm preparing for the next full moon and not sleeping around and doing drugs."

"Can you not do both?" I tried, and she snorted again.

"Not with Derek as an Alpha. He's very into the whole 'constant vigilance, brooding boot camp' sort of thing."

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me. He's got a very good drill sergeant scowl."

"He literally has us doing obstacle courses. Jump off the railcar, unnecessary front flip, table jump, try and beat the crap out of your Alpha. Like, you've got twenty-something years of experience being a werewolf. Big surprise I can't beat you after a couple of weeks."

"I know he's a hardass," I said with a grin, "but I promise he does it because he cares. He was the same when he was trying to train Scott. Derek doesn't talk about it much, but…he's been through a lot. He doesn't want anyone else to have to experience that. I just…don't think he's used to showing affection."

"Well, for someone who's not used to showing affection, he's a pretty good kisser."

I almost crashed the car. Erica sat calmly, a smirk stretched over her face and one delicate eyebrow raised as I fumbled with the steering wheel, gaping at her but trying to stay on the road.

"Y-you…? What? Like actually, what? You seriously kissed Derek?!"

"Yup," Erica replied, popping the 'p' at the end of the word. She shrugged in an overly casual way and flicked a curl over her shoulder. "We were in the middle of a training exercise, and I didn't want to listen to him lecture anymore. So I jumped him."

"Oh my God, what did he do?"

"I got him to respond for like, half a second. And then he threw me on the ground and told me to never do it again."

"And did you? I mean, have—have you two been…?"

Erica looked at me imperiously, but didn't answer. She wasn't going to say anything until I asked, and I wasn't sure I had the strength to do that. I was ninety-nine percent certain that the answer was no—Erica dating Derek would be ridiculous, on so many levels, I couldn't even fathom it—but that one percent…I decided I wasn't going to risk the wrong answer while I was driving.

We arrived at the house after a few minutes of tense silence. Erica didn't wait for me to get out of the car, or to start walking to the house. I had to run after her, my purse sliding down my arm as I clutched my open backpack to my chest.

"Now remember, you're a friend of mine from school who I did a partner project with a few months ago. If Mom asks, you invited me to come tonight because you had a spare ticket, we have a mutual friend going who won't know anyone else there. We should probably just agree that it's Isaac. Mom should know him, so—"

"Yeah, yeah. Play nice, don't bark, don't pee on the carpet. I'm house trained, I got it."

I glowered at her, but stepped around her to get to the door. It was quiet inside, but I could hear the sink running in the kitchen.

"Mom? I'm home!"

"Be there in a sec!"

Erica looked at me with an expression of mild alarm as the sink turned off. Evidently, she hadn't counted on having to mingle when invited herself over to my house.

Before she could attempt to escape, Mom came strolling out of the kitchen. I noticed instantly that her smile was forced, but she walked over and gave me a kiss on the cheek anyway.

"Hi, sweetheart. And you must be Erica, hi! Sadie was just telling me about you earlier."

"Um…yeah. Nice to meet you."

There was an awkward pause, Mom looking at me while I looked at Erica, who was looking firmly at the floor. She might have had a wealth of confidence around the boys at school, but apparently that didn't carry over to authority figures. I thought about what she'd said about her mother in the car—policing her every move until she didn't feel like her own person. She hadn't said much about her home life, but if Derek had chosen to turn her, I was willing to bet that it wasn't pretty. Hopefully, it wasn't as bad as Isaac's.

"Well, I don't want to hold you girls up," Mom said finally, resting her hands on her hips. "Sadie, could I talk to you when you have a moment?"

"Actually," Erica interrupted, "I was just going to ask where the bathroom was."

"Oh, of course. Round the corner, second on your left."

Erica gave her a tight smile and scurried out of the room. To her credit, I couldn't decide whether or not she was acting. Either way, I was positive she was still listening to the conversation as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

"What's up?" I asked, grudgingly turning back to my mother.

"Nothing, just…how was school?"

"Fine."

"Did you do anything—"

"Mom."

She sighed, glancing toward the bathroom as if she too was anxious that Erica might be listening in. "Remind me how you know this girl again?"

"She's in my Biology class. We did a lab together last semester."

"I don't remember that."

"Yeah, 'cause that was the day Lydia was being a bitch. It was a nightmare, but Erica and I got to talking, and I have a couple other classes with her. She's…nice…"

I forced the word out of my mouth with a smile, and imagined Erica smirking in the bathroom.

"It's just, I've never heard you talk about her before," Mom continued. "And if this is about what I was saying yesterday about Scott and Stiles, this is not what I meant, sweetheart. I don't want you to feel like you have to immediately drop all your friends for different ones just because I have my reservations. I just want you to be careful."

"I know," I said resolutely. "Erica's friends with Isaac, and she knows Scott, Stiles, and Allison, too. She's my friend, and…she's really not as different as you might think."

"And…you're sure you want to go to this party tonight?"

"It's a concert with my friends, Mom. It's gonna be fun."

Mom nodded, still not looking convinced, but stepped forward to pull me into a hug. "Thank you for listening to my rambling. I just worry about you, sweetie."

"I know, Mom. I'll be okay."

I closed my eyes, pressing my face into her shoulder and hoping that part wasn't a lie. I wasn't going to a concert with my friends; I was going to a rave where I'd be attempting to trap and sedate a bloodthirsty, supernatural entity that was my best friend's ex-boyfriend, and then tracking down a serial killer. That was dangerous enough, but what if we failed? What if the mountain ash didn't work? What if they knew we were coming? What if Jackson killed the girl anyway? Killed one of us? I couldn't lose any more friends. Even if we all survived, there was no way the sheriff's department was going to be able to keep another incident quiet, not with the rising body count. How was I going to convince my mom that I was just accidentally at another crime scene? How long could I expect her to believe that was coincidence?

"I'll call you when we get there," I promised, pulling back from the hug. "And when I'm on my way back."

She looked like she was going to protest, but Erica chose that moment to flush the toilet down the hall. Mom put her smile back in place. "Thank you, Sadie. Oh, I hope you girls have so much fun. Go get ready, and let me know if you need anything."

"Thanks, Mom."

Erica waited until my mother was back in the kitchen to walk in, a solemn look on her face. I did my best to ignore it. I didn't want to talk about how much we were lying to our parents these days.

"Come on. My room's upstairs."

She followed me without protest. I thought she was going to let it go, until she caught up to my side on the stairs. "Your mom doesn't want you hanging out with Scott and Stiles?"

I wanted to snap like she had in the car, but the question came out gentler than I expected it to. I could tell she was a little surprised by the altercation. She probably expected me to have a bubbly, happy relationship with my mother, something she could add to the perfect life she seemed to resent me for. Usually, Mom and I were close, but with all the supernatural terrors we were dealing with, no one's life was perfect.

"The supernatural kinda takes its toll on everyone," I said simply, and she looked away. "Let's just focus on the rave, okay? I don't have a lot of appropriate clothes, but I've got costume piece—"

"Sadie?"

Erica and I froze in the hall in front of my door. Lydia was standing in the middle of the hallway, just outside her bedroom. Her hair hung lankly on her shoulders, her face clean of any makeup, and she wore a large T-shirt and sweatpants. I hadn't even known she owned sweatpants.

"Hey," I breathed, taking a few steps forward. I was relieved when she didn't flinch or back up, but she still had that glazed look in her eye, like she was only half there. "Are you okay, Lyd?"

"I heard voices."

"Uh, yeah. I brought Erica over. We're gonna go to that rave tonight. Do you want to come? I—I can see if anyone's…"

But Lydia had stopped listening. She was now staring past me, her eyes wide as they landed on Erica. I didn't think Lydia could look much more sickly, but suddenly, she looked like she belonged on her deathbed.

"Y-you were there. You were with Derek. You were there the night that Jackson…Jackson…"

Lydia's chest stared to rise and fall rapidly, and my heart clenched. I looked back at Erica, but she was already nodding, ducking into my room to remove herself from Lydia's line of sight. I ran forward to grab Lydia by the shoulders.

"Lydia? Lydia, breathe. No one's gonna hurt you. It's okay. I promise, it's okay."

"N-no, it's not," she choked out, her eyes welling up. "I—I don't know what's going on! I never know what's going on! How am I supposed to figure anything out? How do I know what's real?"

I was about to answer when her head snapped up violently. In a flash, her hands grabbed my wrists in a vice grip, her eyes wild, and she surged toward me in a panic.

"Sadie, you have to help me! Promise you'll help me!"

"W-what?"

"Sadie, please! I don't know how to stop it!"

"How to stop what? Lydia, what's going on?"

"He—he won't stop talking to me. He's always talking to me. I don't understand. And his—his eyes—I just want him to go away. Please make him go away, Sadie."

My first instinct was to ask when Jackson had started bothering her. Last I checked, they hadn't really spoken since the day of the break in, when they'd fought and then kissed. Now she couldn't get rid of him?

But the longer I stared at her, the colder my heart grew. The nightmares, her terror, his eyes—I knew exactly who she was talking about. I was overcome with another wave of hatred for him. Even death didn't stop him from hurting my friends. In that moment, staring down at Lydia as she unraveled, I was ready to watch Peter Hale burn to death all over again.

I pulled Lydia to my chest, letting her sob into my shoulder. "I know, Lyd. It's okay. He's gone. He's not real."

"You don't understand," she wept. "He is! He is real! Everything is so real, and I—I don't want to believe him!"

"Lydia, what is he telling you?"

"That…that you're lying to me. He says that you're dangerous and that you've killed people and that…you're the reason he attacked me…"

My blood turned to lead in my veins. Peter roaring as I emptied a magazine into his chest. Kate bleeding on the ground in front of me, screaming as I shot her in the shoulder. Me, shivering on the lacrosse field under Peter's pleasant smile as he offered me an ultimatum: accept the bite or let Lydia be teared apart.

I'd never told Lydia that part of the night. So how did she know now?

"I don't want to listen to him, Sadie," she whimpered into my shoulder. "I don't! I just want him to go away!"

"Okay, Lydia, listen to me." I took a deep breath and pulled out of the hug so I could look her in the eye. I held her face in my hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumbs. "He is not real. You know why? Because you beat him. You beat him, Lydia. You survived the attack, and he's gone. So next time you see him, you tell him: 'Sadie said you're not real. So you can fuck off.'"

Lydia sighed, attempting to control her breathing as she laid her hands over mine. "I hate this. I just want things to be normal again. But he just keeps telling me that I'm…"

Her voice trailed off, and I watched as the terror slowly drained from her eyes. Normally, that would have been a relief, but in that moment, my heart clenched and sank like a rock. No terror meant no reality. It was the most I'd talked to Lydia in a week, the most lucid I'd seen her in ages, and now she was gone.

"Lydia…?"

"You should get ready for the concert." Her voice was light and even, completely at odds with her tear-stained face. "I'm probably just going to stay home, but you never know. I may not be able to resist the temptation of a good party!"

A chill passed over me as Lydia smiled, winked, and turned on her heel to return to her room. I wanted to rush after her, to bang on her bedroom door, to shake her by the shoulders until her real personality fell loose again—but a familiar feeling was seeping through me. I couldn't move my feet, couldn't move at all, no matter how terrified I was or how badly I wanted to charge. I was frozen, and there was only one person who'd sent that kind of paralyzing fear through me before.

It took me several minutes to find the strength to return to my room. Erica had made herself at home while she eavesdropped. She'd pulled her makeup, clothes, and hair straightener out of her bag and was leaning casually up against my desk. I could tell she was uncomfortable, even as she cocked an eyebrow at my entrance.

"And you still think she's perfectly okay?"

"I said she wasn't the kanima. I never said she was okay."

I ignored her gaze, walking over to my closet and listless sifting through my available shirts. After that interaction with Lydia, this plan felt even more feeble and pointless. What were we really going to accomplish tonight? Did we ever accomplish anything? It felt like the only thing I'd ever managed to do was hurt people—hurt them on purpose with a gun or hurt them on accident with my lies and neglect. I couldn't do anything right.

"Do you care about these?"

I turned around to find that Erica had invited herself into my second closet. She was holding up an old pair of jeans, one of the ones with tears in the knees.

"Um…no? Not real—"

A ripping sound cut through the air and Erica dropped what had been about ninety-five percent of the jeans to the floor. She threw my new cutoffs across the room, and before I could protest, she was wrist deep in my underwear drawer. Her hands reemerged with an electric blue bra I had no recollection of buying, and I grimaced.

"Is that really necessary?"

"It's a rave, Sadie. You want people to tell the cops there was a suspicious girl lurking around in Mary Janes and a cardigan?"

"Okay, I do not wear—"

"If you don't want to look like you're lurking around, you have to play the part. So yes, the bra is necessary. And so are these."

She reached into her bag again, this time emerging with a pair of bright pink fishnet stockings. I narrowed my eyes at her, but for a wolf, she had an unshakeable Cheshire Cat smile.

I had a sneaking suspicion that my rave camouflage was not as necessary as Erica was making it out to be, but I put on the clothes without a fight. The pink fishnets went under the cut offs, and I pulled black over-the-knee socks on before my combat boots. The blue bra was hidden under a baggy, white T-shirt, but you could still see the shocking color if you looked close. I almost laughed at myself in the bathroom mirror. Maybe it was a good thing Lydia was totally removed from reality; I could only imagine what she'd say if she saw me dressed like this.

My suspicions about Erica's motives were confirmed when I returned to my room. She'd already changed, and by all accounts, she looked even more casual than she normally did. There were no Farrah Fawcett curls, satin corsets, or leather jackets; just a white tank top and some black shorts. She snorted when I walked into the room, and she was so pleased with herself that I almost cracked a grin.

"Laugh it up, Catwoman. Laugh it up."

For the most part, it was quiet while we got ready. I put on some music to stave off my nerves, but it didn't quite work. This was so different from getting ready with Lydia. Besides picking out my clothes and barking some orders about more makeup, Erica didn't fuss over me. She didn't ask for my opinion or want my help. She just stood to the side, confident and independent, straightening her hair without sparing me a glance. I battled between wanting to make conversation and not having anything to say, but Erica solved that problem too.

"Who was she talking about?"

I looked up from the bright feathered hair clip Erica had graciously provided for me, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. She stayed concentrated on her lipstick; I followed her lead.

"Peter Hale," I said, returning to my reflection as I pinned my hair back.

"That's Derek's uncle, right? The one he…"

"The one he killed, yeah."

I saw her hand falter in the mirror. She didn't like thinking of Derek as a murderer, not after everything he'd done for her. That was certainly something I understood. And since she'd gotten pulled into this mess without truly understanding, I figured she deserved the truth.

"It wasn't all in cold blood, if that's any consolation. All those people who were killed last year. It wasn't Allison's aunt—it was Peter. I don't think…he wasn't the same kind of Alpha as Derek. He…he was a monster. He wanted revenge for the fire that killed his family. That one was Allison's aunt. In the end, I guess Derek wanted revenge too."

Erica seemed to sense that I wasn't willing to reveal anything else about Derek's past, because she didn't push it. At the same time, she wasn't satisfied.

"And Peter attacked Lydia?"

"At formal," I confirmed, though she had to have known that already. "That's why she was hospitalized this semester."

I combed my fingers through my curls, trying to make the feathers lie naturally on top of them. I tried not to think about the feathered headpiece Lydia had worn to formal, the champagne pink dress that had been torn apart, splattered with blood…

"It was my fault," I said quietly. "He wanted to turn me, so I could help him. He only attacked Lydia because I said no. And now…now I don't know what's happening to her…"

"Sadie."

I turned to Erica, surprised to see that she was facing me head on. She was clearly thinking hard, and for a terrifying moment, I thought she was going to launch into a consoling lecture about blame and guilt. Then she reached forward, claws extended, and ripped off the bottom half of my shirt.

I squealed and jumped back, making her roll her eyes. "Relax. I'm only gonna hurt you if you keep squirming."

"Right. S-sorry."

I took a shaky breath and stood my ground, trying not to blush as she cut the sleeves and collar away, leaving a dangerously deep neckline that showed off my bra whether I wanted to or not. She added some smaller cuts here and there for texture, then stood back to consider her artwork.

"There. That's as close to sexy as I can do."

She fluffed my hair, fixed the feather piece, then jerked her head toward the mirror.

I had to give Erica credit: I looked the part. I looked much more the part than she did, which I had to assume was part of whatever sort of revenge she was trying to enact on me, but I didn't look bad. The outfit was just as loud and revealing as she'd promised, and I had enough eyeshadow on to rival a magazine model. I eyed my bra straps nervously, but the moment I felt the anxiety in my stomach, I shut it down with one of the few things I'd kept from Kate.

"Your looks are a weapon, just like a gun. Insecurity stands out. So own it."

I glanced back at Erica, giving her a genuine smile. "Thanks, Erica."

"Whatever," she scoffed with something that looked suspiciously like fake annoyance. She was far too cool to admit that she enjoyed the gratitude. "Now shut up and let me finish my makeup."

"Mind if I ask why you're so good at this stuff?" I asked, plopping on the floor to redo my laces.

"Yes. I do."

"Hey, Erica, why are you so good at this stuff?"

She glared at me in the mirror before returning to her mascara. "You don't have to be attractive to have style. I got pretty into makeup when the name Pizza Face started sticking in middle school. I know what looks good on people. I just never thought it looked good on me. Derek gave me the bite, and now everything's hunky-dory."

I beat down my impulse to pry. The least I could do was treat Erica with the same distant respect she'd given me. She hadn't commented on my guilt complex, so I wouldn't address her insecurities. However, there was one more question I had to ask.

"You're seriously not hooking up with him right?"

"Why?" Erica laughed. "I'm not allowed to have Derek either?"

"Of course not. I mean—of course that's not it. Not why I'm asking. Not 'of course you're not allowed to—'"

"I get it. Chill."

"He's just old and gross and…Derek."

I cringed, letting my arms flail around me as I shooed away the idea of Derek dating one of his betas. I knew, objectively, that he was attractive, but he was also a grumpy, old werewolf man, and I would continue to view him as such.

"Plus," I continued, hoping to convince her as much as myself, "Derek's totally not your type."

"Excuse me? What about a handsome, hulking, bad boy seems not my type to you?"

"Erica, you liked Stiles," I reminded her with a grin. "Handsome, hulking, bad boy is a bit of a jump."

"Look, I know you're new around here, but Beacon Hills isn't exactly hopping with desirable bachelors. Especially ones who are down with all the creepy stuff."

"Well, I don't know…"

"You're not setting me up with Isaac," she said in a bored, but firm tone. "He's fine, but the guy's all talk and no action. He's a complete tool when he gets on one of his power trips, and I know you wouldn't guess it, but he's a total horndog. Besides, I'm not his type."

She gave me a pointed look in the mirror, which I pointedly ignored.

"Actually, that's not who I was talking about."

Erica paused, putting screwing her mascara closed and delicately placing it on the dresser. Her nails drummed on the surface, and her eyes dropped down to meet mine. "Boyd? Really?"

"Why not?" I asked with a shrug. "He told me he likes blondes."

"Oh, bullshit. When has Boyd ever talked to you about his taste in women?"

"Hey, not shit! We had a lovely conversation at lunch before winter formal. When I was hiding from Stiles."

"Typical."

"Fine, don't mind me." I held my hands up in surrender, smirking up at her as she shook her head. "It was just a suggestion."

"Well, keep your suggestions to yourself before I help suggest you stop breathing."

Things were less awkward after that. I grabbed a sweatshirt to hide my tattered shirt from my mother while Erica finished off her hair by curling the two pieces on either side of her face. When she was done, she saved me from staring morosely at Lydia's door by roughly grabbing my wrist and dragging me downstairs. We said goodbye to my mother, who eyed our legs with displeasure, but she left her criticism to a short comment that she hoped we wouldn't be too cold. We were quick to leave after that.

Before we drove to the edge of town, we stopped by Toby's to pick up dinner for the pack. It cost a small fortune to feed four werewolves and a regular teenage girl, but it made me feel better about accepting the rave ticket from Derek. I let Erica put on her own music—base-filled techno mixes that made the whole car shake on the downbeat. She insisted that it was in preparation for the rave, and yes, it had to be that loud because she had to start preparing her sensitive hearing for the volume at the concert, and I was not allowed to have any control over the radio. For a moment, I was able to see the similarities between Erica and Lydia, not that I'd ever say that out loud; I didn't have a death wish.

The sky was already pitch black by the time we reached the abandoned parking lot. Even though I'd visited half a dozen times, I still had to force myself out of the car. There was something about the place that always seemed eerie to me, even with Erica and her claws by my side and the light peeking out from the stairs. I had to make a conscious effort not to look back over my shoulder.

Erica strode ahead of me with half the takeout bags, but stopped short just before we reached the door.

"By the way," she hissed, "if you so much as breathe a word about the conversation you were trying to have with me back at your house, I will rip your tongue out and shove it permanently down Stiles's throat."

"Don't worry. I promise not to make things awkward. Thanks for letting me know you're still thinking about it, though."

I smirked bravely against her glare, even as the very real possibility of murder flashed across her eyes. She turned her back on me and marched ahead into the wolf den.

I followed her inside, walking about half as fast down the stairs as I looked around. The place had changed a lot since I'd first found it earlier in the year. With all the lights on, the old paint on the walls looked almost golden. There was still trash and junk everywhere, but most of it had either been shifted toward the walls or repurposed. Some tires had been pulled into a circle around a box for a makeshift table and chairs, and I could see some equipment lined up for what must have been the obstacle course Erica was talking about.

At the moment it was all pushed the side, clearing the floor for sparring practice. Isaac and Boyd were currently snarling at each other, eyes glowing bright as they jumped around the room and dodged attacks. Isaac jumped up and propelled himself off a wall, did an impressive front flip, and caught Boyd around the neck. He almost succeeded in knocking him over, but Boyd's feet stayed firmly on the floor, even as he bent backwards to accommodate Isaac, who seemed intent on holding Boyd in a headlock until he won the match.

"Break it up, boys," Erica called as she hit the floor. "We've got company—if that's what you want to call it."

Isaac looked up from his fight, his eyes finding me on the stairs. "Sadie?"

In the next second, Boyd threw his feet up over his head, flipping clear over Isaac's shoulders and throwing him down to the concrete. I winced at Isaac's muffled groan, but Boyd just smirked and dusted himself off.

"Weak, man."

"Sure," Isaac groaned, peeling himself off the floor, "but I'm still winning three to two."

"Best four out of seven?"

"You're on."

He grinned as Boyd stuck out a hand, pulling him up to his feet. They pushed each other around, and I found myself smiling too. I was worried about Derek's pack, obviously. Derek might have tried to explain the situation to them before the bite, but there was no way for them to truly understand the life they were signing up for until it was too late. To be spending so much time with Derek, underground and training non-stop, I assumed they all must be as worried and miserable as the rest of us, even worse off. Isaac's smile made me reconsider that. I wasn't sure how long it'd been since I'd seen him with such a genuine smile, if ever. Maybe some good had come from the bite after all.

"You're not fighting again tonight," Erica interrupted, shoving them apart. "Stop fucking around and eat. We've got bigger things to worry about—or did you forget about the literal serial killer?"

Isaac had stopped listening after the word 'eat.' He made a beeline for me and seized half of the takeout bags without invitation, rummaging through them to inspect what we'd brought. Boyd was a little more polite, accepting the burger Erica handed him with a grateful smile before peeking into the bags to help himself to fries. She grinned right back at him, her gaze dropping to the floor before she set about feeding herself. I hid my smirk and kept my comments to myself.

I put the rest of the bags down on the table, rationing off a box of curly fries for myself before anyone could claim the last box, then dropped my purse next to Isaac. He was already finishing his first burger, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand before he turned to me, looking up from under his curls.

"Uh, thanks for buying, Sadie."

"Of course," I replied, grabbing the bag with my burger and fries. "It's probably going to be a long night, but at least we'll be well fed."

"Well, as far as last meals go, I'd say burgers are a pretty sweet deal."

"Speak for yourself," Erica said, wrinkling her nose at her sandwich. "I swear to God they always overcook these."

"It's fast food, Erica," Isaac shot. "They're not sitting at the grill waiting to hear how you want yours done. Don't be a priss."

"Say that again and you're gonna be done."

Boyd stopped her before she could get up from her seat, passing her a container of chicken fingers. She took it grumpily and gave him her burger in exchange. I didn't say anything, but I must have been thinking too loudly, because Erica's eyes flitted over to mine with murder in her eyes again. I averted my eyes and busied myself with my food.

Before I sat down, I tugged off my sweatshirt to lay on the ground beneath me. I plopped down on the floor next to Isaac, only to find him staring at me, slack jawed. Boyd laughed loudly on the other side of the circle, while Erica rolled her eyes.

"What?" I asked in concern.

"Oh, uh…" Isaac didn't get the chance to answer. His pink cheeks suddenly blanched white, and he froze in alarm. "Uh oh…"

"What? What's wrong?"

"What the hell are you wearing?"

I looked up as Derek's voice cut through the air. He was storming out of the railcar, his brow knitted in such intense irritation, it was almost one line. I glanced down at myself in confusion, then back up at his furious eyes.

"Uh, they're shorts, Derek."

"They're ridiculous," he retorted. "Maybe you forgot, but you're trying to stop a murder, not going to some stupid high school dance party."

"You know what? You're right. I was only thinking about looking nice and having fun when I got ready. Totally forgot about the fact that my friends and I might die tonight. My bad."

He growled at my sarcasm, and I caught the flicker of red seeping into his eyes. "You're not going like that."

"Excuse me?" I climbed to my feet, laughing derisively as I turned to face him down. "Right—so as hilarious as it is that you want to have this conversation right now, I'm not one of your betas. You can't tell me what to do."

"Like hell I can't. You can change into something of Erica's."

"Ha! Because her Victoria's Secret corsets are so much more modest."

"At least they're not shredded."

"Which was not my idea!"

Derek cast a sharp glance over at Erica, who quickly held up her hands in a gesture somewhere between defensive and apologetic. She, Isaac, and Boyd were all watching with terrified eyes, like guests awkwardly watching a friend fight with their parent. If I'd been less annoyed, I might have laughed.

"Look," I huffed, turning back to Derek, "I get that tonight is important. I'm not gonna waste time going through Erica's shit because you suddenly have a dress code. Can we just eat and go over the plan? Please?"

There was a minute of silence as he looked at me carefully. His jaw was clenched, his muscles visibly twitching with the effort of swallowing his lecture. He glowered at me, and then at the rest of his pack.

"You've got fifteen minutes. Then we leave."

I hid my smile of victory as he walked back to the railcar. Boyd let out a low whistle behind me, which I thought was pretty gutsy all things considered. I grinned at him as I collected my food and a takeout bag for Derek, then followed him into the railcar.

I took a seat in the same chair I'd been in the last time I had dinner with Derek, propping the box of fries open on the seat next to me. I pulled a burger from the bag and tossed it to him without bothering to check if he was looking. He caught it effortlessly.

"Where are Scott and Stiles?"

"At home," I answered, returning to my fries. "I'm going to meet them at the back entrance of the warehouse. Everyone can head inside, and Stiles and I will surround the place in mountain ash. Supposedly it'll make some sort of barrier that no one supernatural can cross. Deaton says we need to believe in it for it to work, but…gotta say, that's not going too well at the moment…"

"Mountain ash is powerful enough on its own. All you need to do is lay the circle and let it do everything else. It'll work. You're too stubborn for it not to."

I smirked at the jab, but he seemed to notice that it hadn't done much to reassure me.

"We're gonna be fine, Sadie. Stop worrying."

"If it works, you guys are gonna be locked in there. If things get out of hand with Jackson—"

"That's why we've been training. They're not the best fighters, but they can take care of themselves. I don't care how terrifying the kanima is supposed to be. He's not hurting my pack. It'll be five to one."

"Five to two," I corrected weakly. "If Jackson's locked in, so is the person controlling him…hopefully, anyway."

Despite his earlier confidence, Derek quirked a skeptical eyebrow. None of us really knew what was going to happen to the person controlling the kanima. Just because they were connected to a supernatural creature didn't mean they were one. There was a huge chance that they'd be able to waltz right out and leave everyone else stuck in a ring of death with the kanima. It was a weak hypothesis at best.

We ate in silence for a few minutes before Derek finally looked up again.

"I need you to drive Erica and Isaac."

"Why?" I asked with a frown. "You guys all fit in the Camaro."

"I want as many escape options as possible. Just in case something goes wrong."

"Okay, what about Boyd?"

"Boyd isn't exactly one for the party scene. He's staying on the perimeter with me."

"Uh huh. Sure. I think someone's playing favorites."

I definitely saw the smirk this time, even as he tried to look unamused. "And I think you should stop talking before I—"

"Yeah, yeah, my throat, your teeth, I get it. You seriously need to get some better threats, Papa Wolf."

Derek's eyebrows shot up incredulously. I was smart enough to leave before he could act on his threat. I hopped out of the railcar and collected my things, trying not to snigger.

"Come on. Isaac, Erica, you're with me."

"Wha?" Isaac asked through a mouthful of food. Honestly, I was surprised there was still any left. "I's only be'n leh ten mehnets!"

"I don't think Jackson's murdering on a timetable. You can eat in the car. Up."

Isaac's groan was cut off as Erica grabbed a fistful of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. He quickly grabbed the last side of fries off the table and followed her to the stairs.

"Hey," Boyd said, catching my attention as I shrugged on my sweatshirt once more. "Thanks for dinner, Sadie. I'm…I'm glad we're all working together now. It's better like this."

I gave him a small smile, more than a little taken aback. "Yeah. I think so too. Stay safe tonight."

"Yeah, you too."

He gave a solemn nod before heading to the railcar to regroup with his Alpha, and I jogged up the stairs to catch up with the others.

As reluctant as they had been to leave, they were both waiting very impatiently by the car. Isaac was bouncing next to the passenger door in a way I could only imagine had involved him shouting "shotgun." However, they both climbed in calmly when I unlocked the car, and were silent when I settled behind the wheel.

"Okay, one murderous rave coming up."

"Can you please stop talking like a PTA mom?" Erica growled from the backseat. "You're giving me a migraine."

"Sorry, it's the minivan. It makes me feel like a soccer mom. Is your seatbelt on?"

Isaac barely smothered his snort as I glanced at Erica in the rearview mirror, who was looking at me as if she were honestly contemplating ending my life. I shrugged and threw the car into drive.

"Alright, no more den mother jokes. You're no fun."

I put on Erica's music again to ease the tension, but she'd already checked out. She stared out the window as we drove, ignoring the quiet conversation Isaac and I were having about our favorite bands. I think it had to be one of the first real conversations I'd had with him, besides the night of formal. It was like getting a glimpse of that Isaac again, the shy boy before the bite. He was still there, just less shy now, and as worried as I was about him being under the sole care of Derek Hale, he seemed happy. If he could survive the night, maybe that would be enough.

I pulled up to the front of the warehouse first, stopping he car by a small group of conspicuous people who were doing a terrible job of hiding the secret party. Erica was jumping out of the van before I'd even stopped, and I had to call after her through the door.

"Be safe! Make good choices!"

Isaac laughed next to me, shaking his head. "Don't worry. I'll keep an eye on her."

"I was thinking that I need her to keep an eye on you." I hesitated for a moment, but gently grabbed his wrist. His body went rigid under the touch. "Just be careful, alright? I'm hoping this goes off without a hitch with so many of us, but…Jackson's dangerous, and we don't know what the person controlling him is capable of."

"I know what I'm capable of," he said in a steely voice, the tone making my stomach turn.

"Isaac—"

"I won't kill him," he said, the eye roll audible in his voice, "but I'm not going down without a fight."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about."

Isaac looked back at me, holding my gaze. He flipped his wrist in my grip and slid his hand into mine. It wasn't the kind of grip that Stiles would have had, with our fingers interlocked. Isaac kept his fingers together, his thumb brushing across my knuckles as he gave my hand a supportive squeeze.

"I knew that this was gonna be dangerous when Derek asked if I wanted the bite. All of us did. I didn't know that…that 'dangerous' meant fighting human lizards, but that's not the point. We're here to stop Jackson, and that's what we're gonna do. I'll be careful," he added in an exasperated tone, the moment I opened my mouth, "but you be too. Just cause you're not coming in doesn't mean you're safe."

"I know," I said softly.

Isaac let go of my hand and hopped out of the car. "Stop worrying so much, Sadie. It ruins your charm. We'll call you if you need back up."

He gave me a practiced, roguish smile and disappeared into the crowd.

Resigning myself to the fact that there wasn't much more to do, I pulled the car around to the back of the warehouse. There were less cars there, less people, less light, and I gave an involuntary shiver. I didn't have a good feeling about our plan. I couldn't even fathom how many things could go wrong, or which one was most likely. At this point, all I could do was hope we got out with minimal damage.

My anxiety lessened when I saw the Jeep, a light blue that stood out amidst the darker, shorter cars around it. I pulled into the adjacent spot just as the boys climbed out, and put on the best game face I could must before I slipped out of the car.

"Hey, good timing."

Scott smiled when he saw, cocking an eyebrow. "I guess Erica got her claws into you."

"Yeah. Literally."

I held up the edge of my shirt with a sheepish smile, preparing myself for a barrage of comments from Stiles…which never came. I looked toward the back of the car, where Stiles had opened the hatch and started to pull out of the garbage bags of mountain ash. He hadn't even looked up when I arrived. I shot a look at Scott, but he didn't seem all that surprised; just worried.

"Hey, uh…you okay?" he asked Stiles.

"Yeah, why?"

There was a hollowness in his voice that instantly betrayed that he wasn't okay, was far from it, but he didn't seem to have the energy to hide it.

"You just didn't say anything the whole way here. Not to mention, your girlfriend just showed up and you uh…didn't say anything."

Stiles looked up at Scott, looking genuinely confused, then finally spotted me next to the car. He hadn't even noticed I was there.

Stiles pursed his lips into a tight line, which I assumed was meant to be a smile. "Hey. You look nice. Definitely got the whole…rave vibe…"

"Yeah…thanks…"

He turned back to Scott with a small shrug. "See? I'm fine. Just grab the other bag."

"I can't. Remember, Deaton said you guys have to do it alone."

"Okay, this plan is really starting to suck," Stiles groaned.

"It's okay, I got it," I offered. I walked around to the trunk, laying what I hoped was a calming hand on Stiles's chest before I hauled the other garbage bag out of the Jeep. "You know, I really hope we have enough of this to go around. This building is huge, and I feel like this isn't a lot of—"

"No!"

I ripped my head out of the car, turning to Scott in alarm. His eyes were unfocused, his head turned toward the building and his body completely rigid. He listened for another moment before he jaw dropped.

"No, not here! Not now!"

Without another word, he took off toward the building, leaving Stiles and me baffled and alone.

"What? Scott! What are we supposed to…? Plan officially sucks!"

"Typical." I slammed the hatch to the Jeep shut and dropped the bag on the ground. "Great start to the night, huh?"

"Yeah, no kidding."

I watched him carefully as he glared at the bag in his hands. His knuckles were white from his grip, and I could see his jaw clench and unclench every few seconds.

"Hey, what's up?" I asked softly. I pulled one of his hands from the bag, holding his fingers loosely in mine. "Talk to me, Stiles."

"It's…nothing."

"Stiles, I'm serious. If something's wrong, you can always—"

"I said I'm fine, Sadie." He pulled his hand from mine and hauled his bag of magic dust over his shoulder. "Let's just get this over with and get out of here. I'll meet you on the other side."

"Stiles…"

But he wasn't listening. He brushed past me without so much as a glance, picking a hole in the plastic and laying the beginning of the circle. I couldn't do anything but watch as he walked away. His back disappeared around the corner before I could force myself to take a single step. It felt like my heart had sank all the way to my feet, rooting me to the spot no matter how much I wanted to go after him. 'Great start to the night' didn't even come close.

I reluctantly began my walk around the building, lugging my bag of mountain ash with me. I could hear the music pumping in side, and after a few more minutes, a sound I was sure was gunfire. Something was wrong, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The ash was the best line of defense we had for containing the damage, and I knew that it had to be my first priority, but how was I supposed to concentrate on making the mountain ash work when I knew that my friends were in danger and I wasn't doing anything about it?

I tried to absorb myself in the task of checking the width of the line. Deaton had said to make it two inches thick for the barrier to hold, and I spent some time pretending that was the most important part of the plan. Unfortunately, the mountain ash was all too cooperative. It created a straight, even line on the ground, even when I walked faster, even when my body swayed to the point I was sure I would leave a curve on the ground; it laid straight and true. That should have been a comfort, but at that moment, I was too anxious to appreciate it.

I could feel the darkness creeping in on all sides, the fear filling my body from the bottom up. A familiar giggle bubbled up from the back of my mind and my strength finally broke. I pulled my phone out, dialing Stiles's number as my eyes flicked nervously around me, looking for red eyes I knew couldn't be there.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

"No, I'm fine. I just…I thought it would be smarter if we stayed on the phone. You know, just in case…"

"Just in case one of us gets shot, or Reptar decides to leave the building?"

That made me smile, and I pinned the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I could hold the mountain ash with both hands. Even upset, he was still Stiles.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Fair enough," he sighed. "How are you holding up?"

"Okay. If you ignore my quickly developing fear of the dark and the feeling that something is going to go ridiculously and terribly wrong."

"Now why would you feel like that?"

"Funny. How are things on your side?"

"I'm starting to hate this whole magic dust thing. I just don't trust the guy. For all we know, we're circling the building with pencil dust or something."

"How many pencils do you think this is?"

I heard his grudging breath of laughter before he sighed. "I'm just worried this isn't going to work."

"I know, but we have to try. If we don't believe it, then it definitely won't work. If we believe it and it still lets us down, then we can go after Deaton together. Promise."

There was no agreement, no thought out plan of how we were going to trap and interrogate the vet. There wasn't even a chuckle. Instead, there was a pensive silence, and a mumbled confession.

"I hate being a letdown."

I faltered in my step, frozen by the painful tug of concern in my heart. "No. Stiles, you…you are not a letdown. Ever. You can do this. I know you can."

He didn't reply. I could barely tell the call was still going. I hoped the silence was a good thing. Maybe he was trying to focus on making the mountain ash work instead of arguing with me. Knowing Stiles, though, I doubted it. I willed my legs to move a little faster, anxious to see him again.

"I'm coming around the corner now. See you in a second."

I tried again to turn my attention to the last of the mountain ash, willing it into a straight line in my wake. I had to shake the bag toward the end, the last few sprinkles of dust collecting neatly into a pile. I stared down at it and tried not to be skeptical. This would work. Like salt was supposed to work on ghosts, right? Werewolves were real, and so were kanimas, and the mountain ash would contain them. Deaton had said so. Derek had said so. It would work.

Stiles rounded the opposite corner a minute later, and I tried to keep my face blank and concentrated as he approached me. Any concern might set him off, but a forced smile would probably do the same. It didn't really matter either way. Stiles kept his eyes on the ground as he watched the last of the ash drain from his garbage bag. And then he stopped. About fifty feet away.

Stiles lifted his head to stare at me in horror. His eyes began a panicked journey between my face, my bag, his bag, and the other end of the line. "Oh no. No, no, no. Don't you—fuck! Sadie, please tell me you're just taking a break because your arms are in so much pain from carrying your ridiculously heavy bag that's still full of mountain ash."

"No," I breathed, lifting my carefully emptied bag into the air. "No, I'm not."

"Shit."

He picked up his bag again, shaking the remaining powder into his hand. It was barely enough to fill his fist, let alone close the gap. My heart clenched in a cold grip again as Stiles looked up at me.

"You know how you were afraid something might go ridiculously and terribly wrong? I think it just did."