The days had past one then the other. I was welcomed in Derek's den… his home, like I was already a part of his pack. But there was still something that kept me from fully committing. We had a shared bond. I heard Stiles call it a trauma bond. We'd lost everything.

How did my trauma cause me to be a Sigma and the Hales were just broken?

I'd heard stories from Scott's pack. They told me I shouldn't trust Peter that he had done things. But none of them really knew that kind of pain. The kind of pain that warps the person you are. It makes you do things you wouldn't normally. But I wasn't in a place where I could justify what he did. But I could certainly understand how his path led him there.

"You're coming with me today, Little Wolf," Peter said. "I want to show you something."

"What about Derek?" I quirked a brow nervously. I wasn't scared of Peter. I could trust him. But I'd never been alone with him. I was nervous. There was something about his scent. The first scent I smelled since I transformed into this body. It drew me in.

Peter smirked, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Derek is busy brooding, as usual. Besides, this isn't for him. It's for you."

I hesitated, glancing toward the doorway where Derek had disappeared earlier. The thought of leaving the relative safety of the house made me uneasy, but there was something about Peter—his confidence, his assuredness—that made me want to follow. Maybe it was the pull of curiosity. Maybe it was his scent, lingering in the air, stirring something deep inside me. Or maybe it was the way he looked at me, like he saw something no one else did.

"Where are we going?" I asked, trying to steady my voice.

"You'll see," he said, his tone teasing but firm. "Trust me, Little Wolf. You'll like this."

I followed him outside, the morning air cool against my skin. Peter's car was sleek and black, much like him—dangerous and enticing all at once. He opened the passenger door with a flourish, motioning for me to get in. I slid into the seat, the unfamiliarity of it all making my senses sharpen.

The drive was quiet at first, Peter humming softly to a tune on the radio. I watched the world blur past, the trees thickening as we left the town behind.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Peter finally broke the silence, his voice light but probing.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted. "I'm still figuring out… everything."

He nodded, as though he understood. "Figuring things out is part of the process. You've been through more than most, Little Wolf. That kind of loss, that kind of pain—it shapes you. Makes you stronger. Or it destroys you."

"And you?" I asked, glancing at him. "Which did it do to you?"

Peter's lips curved into a sly smile. "A little of both, I think."

The car slowed as he pulled onto a dirt path, the forest thick around us. He parked and stepped out, motioning for me to follow. The air here was alive, teeming with the scents and sounds of the wild. It felt… right. Familiar.

Peter led me deeper into the woods until we came to a clearing. In the center stood an old stone ruin, moss creeping up its sides. It felt ancient, like it had been here long before either of us.

"What is this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

"It's a sanctuary," Peter said. "Wolves have used it for centuries. It's where we come to reflect, to remember, to reconnect with what we are. I thought it might help you… remember who you are."

I stepped closer, my fingers brushing the cool stone. The air felt heavy here, charged with something I couldn't name. My heart ached, a wave of emotion crashing over me.

"Why did you bring me here?" I asked, turning to face him.

Peter's expression softened, his usual smirk replaced by something more genuine. "Because I see you, Little Wolf. I see what you're capable of, even if you don't yet. And I think it's time you started to see it too."

His words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once.

"What should I do? How does this work?" I asked. Almost knowing the answer instinctively, I closed my eyes and sniffed. I could smell echoes of the wolves and werewolves that had passed through here.

"What do you smell?" He asked watching me thoughtfully.

"I smell Derek," I cocked my head to the side smile tugging at the corner of my lips, "you." Even with my eyes closed I could see his smile.

"What else?"

"She smells faintly like Derek but there's something else. Like more powerful," I open my eyes and look at him, "His mother?"

Peter nods, "My sister, Talia." There was deep sadness in the way he said her name.

I stepped closer to the stone ruin, my fingers tracing the grooves in the moss-covered surface. The air was thick with the scents and emotions that lingered here, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the lives of the wolves who came before me.

"She was here a lot," I said softly. "I can feel her presence. She was strong, wasn't she?"

"She held our family together, our pack, our world. She could do things most of us could only dream of. She had… balance."

"Balance?" I asked, tilting my head.

"She was a leader, a protector, a mother," Peter said. "She could shift fully into her wolf form, like you. She understood the duality of what we are—human and wolf. She made it look effortless." His gaze drifted toward the ruins, his expression momentarily distant. "And she loved this place. It was her sanctuary."

I looked down, feeling the weight of his words. "Do you think I could ever be like her?"

Peter's eyes snapped back to me, his expression sharpening. "You don't need to be like her, Little Wolf. You need to be you. You have your own strength, your own instincts. You're not bound by the same rules, the same expectations. That's what makes you a Sigma."

The word hung in the air, heavy with meaning. I had heard it before, but I didn't truly understand what it meant—what it meant for me.

"What does being a Sigma really mean?" I asked.

"It means freedom," Peter said, stepping closer to me. "It means you don't answer to anyone. No Alpha can control you. You're self-reliant, powerful in your own right. But it also means loneliness. Isolation. A Sigma doesn't have a pack, not in the traditional sense."

"But I'm here now," I said, my voice soft. "With you. With Derek."

Peter's smirk returned, though his eyes held something deeper. "And that's the paradox, isn't it? A Sigma who might just belong. But don't let that fool you, Little Wolf. You're different. You always will be."

I let his words settle over me as I turned back to the stone. There was a strange comfort in what he said, even if it made me feel more distant from the others. I knelt on the soft earth, letting my instincts guide me. I closed my eyes again and breathed deeply, connecting with the place, with the echoes of those who had come before me.

All at once another scent hit me, one I thought I'd forgotten. But in truth her scent was one that I'd never forget. "My mother was here. A long time ago. But she was here."

Peter's expression shifted, his usual smirk fading into something more serious. He stepped closer, his voice low. "Your mother? Are you certain?"
I nodded, closing my eyes again and inhaling deeply. The scent was faint, barely more than a whisper on the wind, but it was unmistakable. "It's her. I can feel it, like… like an echo of her presence." My voice wavered as emotions I hadn't let myself feel in years began to surface.
Peter crouched beside me, his hand resting lightly on my shoulder. "If your mother was here, then she may have known Talia. This place… it's sacred to our kind. Only those connected to the Hales would have known about it."

I opened my eyes, searching his face for answers. "You think they were connected? My pack and yours?"

"It's possible," Peter said thoughtfully. "Talia didn't share everything with the rest of us. She had allies, relationships outside the pack that we didn't always know about. Your mother could have been one of them."

A wave of conflicting emotions crashed over me—hope, anger, sadness, longing. "If they were connected, why didn't she ever tell me? Why didn't she come back here?"
Peter's hand tightened on my shoulder, grounding me. "Sometimes, the choices we make aren't ours alone. The hunters that took your pack—they were relentless, weren't they?"
I swallowed hard and nodded. "They hunted us to the edge of the earth. We barely had time to breathe, let alone find allies."

Peter's jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a mix of anger and regret. "If your mother knew Talia, she might have come here seeking refuge. But if the hunters were close…" He didn't need to finish the thought. I could imagine it all too clearly.
"She must have been desperate," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "She was trying to protect me."

"And she succeeded," Peter said firmly. "You're here now. Whatever your mother sacrificed, whatever she endured, it wasn't for nothing."

The scent of my mother lingered, wrapping around me like a ghostly embrace. I could almost see her here, standing in the clearing, strong and determined despite the danger. "I need to know more," I said, turning to Peter. "About her. About Talia. About the hunters."

Peter nodded, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that promised he wouldn't hold back. "Then we'll find out. Together."

"Derek said you survived the fire the hunters started?"

Peter nodded. "I wasn't who I was before for a long time. I'm still not him anymore."

"I like who you are now," I responded. I didn't know him before.

"You are one of few," he smirked, "I've done things. Not that I necessarily regret what I've done. Most of them deserved it."

Peter's smirk softened into something more introspective as he looked at me. "You're young, Little Wolf. You'll learn that the world isn't kind to creatures like us. It forces us to make choices—ugly ones. Choices that carve away at who we are."

I tilted my head, studying him. "But you survived. That has to mean something. You rebuilt yourself."

He chuckled, the sound low and bitter. "Rebuilt? More like pieced together from the ashes. And not every piece fit the way it used to." His gaze flicked to the distant trees, as if seeing ghosts in the shadows. "Surviving isn't always noble. Sometimes it's messy and cruel. Sometimes you do things you never thought you were capable of."

I reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on his arm. "I don't think survival is supposed to be pretty. It's just supposed to keep you breathing."

Peter looked down at my hand, his expression softening further. "You're wiser than you look, Little Wolf."

"I've been through my own mess," I admitted. "I know what it's like to feel like pieces of yourself are missing. To wonder if you'll ever feel whole again."

He turned back to me, his eyes sharp but not unkind. "You will. It'll take time, but you will. And in the meantime, you'll learn to live with the cracks."

I gave him a small smile. "Maybe the cracks make us stronger."

Peter laughed, a sound that carried a bit more warmth this time. "Spoken like someone who hasn't seen just how deep they can go."

I frowned, but before I could respond, he added, "Still, I appreciate the sentiment. And your optimism. It's refreshing, even if I don't quite share it."

I looked at him seriously. "You're not as broken as you think, Peter. I see you."

His smirk returned, but it was gentler now. "Careful, Little Wolf. Seeing someone like me can be dangerous."

"I'll take my chances," I said, my voice steady. "You don't scare me."

Peter's gaze lingered on mine, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Brave words. Let's see if you still feel that way when you know the whole story."

"I want to know it, to hear it in your words. Not coated with the bias of someone else," I replied.

Peter's smirk faltered for a moment, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful. He studied me, as though weighing the risk of letting me in against the benefit of being truly seen.

"You want the truth?" he asked, his tone quieter now. "The whole truth? No sugarcoating, no excuses?"

I nodded. "I've heard what the others think. But I want to know your side."

He exhaled, leaning back against a nearby tree. His usual cocky demeanor seemed to peel away, leaving something raw beneath. "Alright, Little Wolf. But don't say I didn't warn you."

I sat cross-legged on the ground, wrapping Derek's jacket tighter around me. "I'm ready."

Peter stared into the distance as he began. "The Hale pack was strong, respected, even feared in some circles. My sister, Talia, was our Alpha. She was... remarkable. Powerful. Fair. She made our pack what it was—our family. But being at the top means you make enemies. Humans who didn't understand us. Hunters who didn't care to."

He paused, his jaw tightening. "The fire was their message. They didn't just want to destroy us—they wanted to erase us. And they almost did. I survived, but not as the Peter you see now. I was broken, in ways I still can't explain. The pain, the loss... it turned me into something darker."

He glanced at me, his eyes hard. "I killed people, Little Wolf. Humans, hunters, anyone I thought had a hand in what happened to us. And when I ran out of them, I... lost control. I hurt people who didn't deserve it, trying to fill the void. Trying to quiet the rage."

I held his gaze, my voice soft but firm. "You were grieving. Lost. I can't say I wouldn't have done the same."

Peter shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "You say that now. But there's a line, and I crossed it more times than I can count. I became something my sister wouldn't have recognized. Something I barely recognized."

I leaned forward. "But you're here now. You're trying. That has to mean something."

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Am I? Or am I just playing the part because it's easier than fighting everyone all the time?"

"You let me in," I pointed out. "You didn't have to. That tells me there's more to you than the monster you think you are."

Peter's smirk returned, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Careful, Little Wolf. Keep talking like that, and I might start believing you."

I gave him a small, determined smile. "Maybe you should. You're not the only one who's had to survive."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. But surviving isn't enough. Not for either of us. If you want to hear the rest, you'll have to prove you can handle it."

I tilted my head. "And how do I do that?"

Peter's grin turned sharp, a flicker of the predator within. "You'll see. Stick with me, Little Wolf. The truth isn't just something you hear—it's something you live."

I wanted to understand what he meant. But despite the warnings, I trusted Peter. I felt bound to him. "I'll stick with you," my words soft and sincere. I'd been alone so long I couldn't stand the thought of going back to that. Even if my Sigma status meant I could survive on my own.

I'd spent too much time just surviving. I wanted to live.

Peter's expression softened, the sharp edge of his grin fading into something more genuine. For a moment, he looked almost surprised, as if he hadn't expected my answer to carry such conviction.

"Good," he said, his voice low but firm. "Because sticking with me isn't going to be easy. I'm not exactly the nurturing type."

I smiled faintly. "I don't need nurturing. I need someone who gets it. Who gets me."

He tilted his head, studying me as though searching for something in my words. "You've got more fight in you than you let on, Little Wolf. That's good. You'll need it."

I wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but I didn't press. The bond I felt with Peter wasn't something I could explain. It wasn't born of logic—it was instinctual, primal, like an invisible thread pulling me toward him. Even with all the warnings from Scott's pack echoing in my mind, I couldn't bring myself to doubt him.

Peter rose from his spot and extended a hand to me. "Come on. If you want to live, not just survive, we've got work to do."

I hesitated for only a moment before taking his hand. His grip was firm, steady, and oddly reassuring. "Where are we going?"

"To see what living looks like," he replied cryptically. "And maybe to remind you just how powerful you really are."

As we moved through the forest, a sense of purpose began to settle over me. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I wasn't just wandering aimlessly. I had questions, sure, but more than that—I had a reason to keep going. I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was moving toward something. Toward someone. Toward the truth.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.