Derek found Isaac huddled in the far corner of the high school's storage lot, where the dumpsters and shadows offered just enough cover to hide his trembling figure. The bite of garbage odor mingled with the iron scent of drying blood, and the single flickering lamp overhead cast Isaac's features in stark relief. Derek could see the deep bruising that ran along the boy's arm, the way Isaac kept nervously rubbing at his wrist as if expecting more pain.
"I—I couldn't hide it," Isaac stammered, voice raw and shaking. His eyes flickered to Derek's, then darted away again. "My dad… he—he saw me heal. Right in front of him."
Just the words made Derek's chest tighten. He stepped closer, letting his gaze trace over Isaac's face, noticing the freshly healed skin above his eye and the faint swell of a bruise that was fading too fast. "You're sure he saw the whole thing?" Derek asked softly.
Isaac swallowed hard, nodding. "He was—uh, about to break a glass and use it on me." His voice cracked on the last word. "I guess I got scared, and that's when I healed." He wiped his mouth, though there was no cut left to tend to. "He knew something was wrong. That I'm… not normal."
Derek forced himself to remain calm, ignoring the spike of anger in his gut. He scanned Isaac's stance—tense shoulders drawn tight, feet shuffling restlessly, eyes flinching at the slightest noise. Isaac's entire posture radiated a quiet terror. Derek recognized it: the same wariness, the same reflexive fear he'd seen in another person not too long ago.
Lucy.
It hit him with sudden clarity. The way Isaac seemed unsure whether to brace for more blows or run away—he'd seen Lucy do that, too. The flinching when someone moved too quickly, the lowered gaze, the way she tried so hard to be small and unnoticed. It was the hallmark of someone who'd been hurt too many times, who expected pain where others expected safety.
"You're not rejecting the bite," Derek said, keeping his voice level. "That's… that's good. Means your body's accepting it." He frowned, letting the realization sink in, but Isaac's anxious breathing held his focus. He wanted to snap at the boy to be braver, but the protective anger he felt stifled that impulse.
Isaac nodded uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot. "So… what do I do now?"
Derek's mind drifted again to Lucy: the haunted look in her eyes, the skittish hesitation that sometimes crept into her voice. She was older, but the signs were the same. He'd been so caught up in his own frustration—her deflections, her guarded smiles—that he hadn't named it for what it was. Now, with Isaac trembling in front of him, it all clicked into place. Lucy might have been hurt the same way.
"You come with me," Derek said, meeting Isaac's gaze. "Don't go back home if you can avoid it. It's not safe. I'll figure something out so you don't have to worry about your dad."
Isaac released a shaky breath, relief and uncertainty mixing in his eyes. He didn't protest, just gave a small, grateful nod. There was a vulnerable, almost childlike quality about him now, and Derek couldn't shake the protective surge rushing through him.
Beneath that protectiveness, another thought churned: Lucy. If he was right, if she'd lived through something like Isaac's fear and violence, that meant she was carrying a weight she never showed. She'd masked it with forced smiles and sarcastic quips. She'd created distance between herself and everyone around her—including Derek, every time he tried to push closer.
He clenched his jaw, anger sparking at the idea of Lucy suffering in silence. His mind lingered on her eyes—always darting away when things got too real, the way she startled at sudden movements. And it made him want to find her right now, look into her face, and figure out the truth. He needed to know if she'd been hurt. He needed to know who he was supposed to blame.
Derek swallowed against the knot tightening in his throat. Turning back to Isaac, he forced himself to stay focused on the immediate problem: getting Isaac safe. But an undercurrent of resolve gripped him, fueled by a new awareness of Lucy's possibly broken past.
"All right," Derek said at last. "Let's get you out of here."
Isaac followed him in silence, and Derek felt the prickling under his skin that always came when he thought of Lucy. Somehow, caring about this pack—about Isaac—intensified the pull he felt toward her. If he could protect Isaac, maybe he could protect Lucy, too. Even if it meant confronting the painful truth he'd only just recognized.
He only knew one thing for certain: He wasn't going to let anyone else who reminded him of Lucy slip through his fingers. And if Lucy was a victim, if someone was still trying to hurt her, he'd make sure that ended. Soon.
Lucy woke up the same way she had for almost a month now: with the pit of her stomach twisting at the single number on her phone's screen—29. Twenty-nine days since she'd made the deal with Tyler, and every morning since had felt like a countdown to the inevitable.
She slipped out of bed in a practiced motion, heart pounding more from anxiety than any actual exertion. The house was silent at this hour; even Scott was still asleep. That peace, she thought, was a lie. Just like the one she'd have to create when she disappeared again. No matter how many times she told herself she wouldn't do it, deep down she knew it was her only option.
In the bathroom mirror, she forced her fingers to steady enough to dab on concealer and mascara. Her reflection stared back, dark circles hinting at her restless nights. It was almost funny—putting on a façade for the world had become second nature ever since Tyler became a permanent fixture in her life. One big lie, propped up by all the little ones, each day more exhausting than the last.
Lucy pinched her cheeks to give them some color, then pulled her hair into a low, neat ponytail. She paused, letting her gaze drift to the scattered makeup brushes on the counter. Once upon a time, she loved this routine—fitting the day's mood into her style. Now, every stroke felt obligatory, a patch job on her fractured composure.
She pulled on her scrubs, the light-blue fabric feeling both comforting and foreign. They'd barely begun to feel like "hers." She had taken this job intending to settle in, to do something meaningful, to be near her brother again. But day 29 was a stark reminder she wasn't building a life—she was simply passing through.
The hallway outside her bedroom was still dim, but she squinted at the faint morning light edging through the curtains. Another day in Beacon Hills. Another day of stolen time. She slipped into the kitchen, stomach clenching as she scrolled through her phone. No ominous texts from Tyler, at least. That alone was a small mercy.
A quick breakfast of toast and coffee went almost untasted. Every so often she glanced at the clock, calculating how many minutes she had before she had to leave for work. As she rinsed her plate, her mind drifted to the script of lies forming in her head. If she was leaving soon, what excuse could she give Scott? A sudden job opportunity in another state? A crisis with an old friend? She hated herself for even thinking it, but the mental rehearsals were her only sense of control.
Lucy grabbed her car keys from the hook near the door. The Charger sat in the driveway, still an unsettling reminder of Tyler's hold on her. Yet she appreciated the reliability for the fleeting days she still had it. Sliding into the driver's seat, she turned the ignition, the engine's hum vibrating under her palms.
She backed out carefully, scanning the street for a car that looked too familiar or a face she didn't want to see. Ever since her deal with Tyler, every glance at the rearview mirror brought a jolt of nerves. The pang in her chest returned as she pulled away from the house—one more day, one day closer.
The drive to Beacon Hills High was unremarkable, but the tension in her shoulders grew with each passing mile. The radio played softly, though the lyrics barely registered in her ears. Every stop sign, every red light—she felt them stretching out, mocking her attempt to play normal. She imagined telling Scott about the empty pit in her stomach. She pictured the look in his eyes—hurt, betrayed, powerless. It tightened her throat more than she cared to admit.
At last, the school parking lot loomed into view. Lucy found her usual staff spot, cut the engine, and gathered her things. A wave of fatigue crashed over her, as though the mere act of facing another day in a life she might abandon drained her entire reserve of energy.
Stepping onto the pavement, Lucy forced herself to straighten her posture. Students filtered in from every angle, their voices filling the morning air with chatter and laughter. It felt distant to her—like white noise. She gave the occasional polite nod to passing teenagers but otherwise hurried through the double doors and down the hallway to her office.
Her steps slowed once she reached the sign reading "Nurse's Office." She took a breath, pushing back the swirl of guilt, apprehension, and sorrow churning inside. Just a few more weeks, she reminded herself, pressing her lips together as she unlocked the door.
Inside, the familiar hush greeted her. The blank walls and half-filled cabinets felt like an echo of her own unsettled state—barely moved in, barely able to pretend this was home. Setting her bag on the desk, Lucy paused, massaging the tension in her neck. In moments, the day would begin—students, ailments, medication calls. She'd slip into her role flawlessly, giving them the care and empathy they needed.
But beneath every gentle smile or comforting word lay the same gnawing thought: I'm living on borrowed time.
And it was day 29.
Lucy's morning blurred into a series of half-hearted checkups and repetitive paperwork, each task feeling less significant than the one before. If she'd had any initial passion for reorganizing cabinets, checking student records, and handing out ice packs, it had long since evaporated into a cloud of restless boredom. She couldn't stop her mind from drifting to the supernatural struggles swirling just beneath the surface of Beacon Hills—real problems that made her daily duties seem trivial in comparison.
The overhead fluorescent lights hummed, a dull accompaniment to the persistent tapping of her pen against the desk. Half an hour ago, she'd nearly dozed off reading about a district-wide vaccination record update. Now, she was wide awake, mind churning, a jittery energy coursing through her veins. She almost wished for something out of the ordinary to happen—a school-wide meltdown, a surprising fiasco, or even a small crisis in the hallway—anything to break up the monotony.
Her thoughts inevitably drifted to Derek. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she remembered the bizarre luck—or fate—that always seemed to bring him around when she least expected. It was almost comical: in a school that should be brimming with teachers, coaches, and students, somehow Derek Hale had strolled those halls often enough for her to take notice.
Maybe I'll just… walk around, Lucy mused, rising from her chair. She straightened her scrubs, grabbing a random folder so she could pretend to have a purpose. At worst, she'd look busy. At best, maybe she'd stumble upon Derek, lurking in some dark corner or scowling at a trophy case.
She slipped into the corridor, weaving through the tide of students changing classes. A few nodded greetings, though most were too absorbed in their own conversations to pay her much attention. Lucy tried to quell the odd excitement fluttering in her chest. It felt foolish, seeking out a man who rarely said more than a handful of words at a time—but in the midst of her mental chaos, Derek had become an unpredictable refuge, a distraction from the creeping dread of her countdown.
But luck wasn't on her side today. No leather jacket, no intense gaze waiting for her at the end of the hallway. Instead, the sight that greeted her was far less comforting: a cluster of police officers stationed near a side entrance. Their uniforms stood out starkly against the backdrop of teenage faces and brightly colored lockers.
Lucy's heart sank, her stomach turning in on itself. Again? The Beacon Hills police had practically set up camp here since the semester began. She wasn't sure if it was about the recent attacks, Lydia's disappearance, or something new—but an unmistakable chill raced down her spine. Somehow, she just knew this was about Scott or something in his orbit. She pressed the folder against her chest, holding it like a protective shield.
She paused near the hallway's edge, scanning the officers' faces, picking up the low murmur of their conversation. Though she couldn't catch distinct words, the hushed intensity told her everything she needed to know: trouble was brewing—supernatural trouble, most likely.
Dread climbed up her ribcage, tightening her breath. Her intuition screamed at her that this was bad news, that her brother was right in the middle of it. And with only twenty-nine days left, it felt like another crack in the fragile semblance of normalcy she was barely holding onto.
Lucy cast one last glance around, disappointed not to see Derek's brooding figure anywhere in sight. She forced herself to move forward, closer to the officers, torn between a sense of duty—shouldn't she find out what was happening?—and her nagging fear: If they're here for Scott, do I really want to know?
Yet her feet carried her onward. Something told her she couldn't ignore this, no matter how desperately she might want to. She exhaled, bracing for whatever trouble the day had in store.
Another burst of static from a police radio drew Lucy's attention, confirming that the officers she'd spotted had finished their conversation with a member of the school staff. She watched as they stepped away, heading purposefully toward the doors leading to the athletic fields. A spike of unease rippled through her—whatever they were investigating couldn't be trivial if it led them outside, where students had their afternoon practices.
Scott and Stiles… They were likely in the middle of free period, gearing up for lacrosse. Lucy's breath caught at the thought. Anxiety or not, she couldn't just dismiss her nagging worry. Her heart thudded as she decided to follow, each step deliberate, hoping she could slip behind them unnoticed.
She drew closer to the principal's office, a route she typically avoided unless absolutely necessary. Today, however, she couldn't ignore the unusual activity within. The door stood half-open, revealing not the familiar staff she had come to recognize, but strangers—a stern-looking older man and a sharp-eyed red-haired woman, both scanning documents and conferring in low tones.
Where's the old principal? Lucy wondered, her brow knitting together. She caught only snippets of hushed conversation—enough to sense an undercurrent of tension. The woman glanced up for an instant, and Lucy felt that gaze latch onto her from across the threshold, sending a cold prickle along her spine. It was as if the woman knew Lucy was listening.
Unnerved, Lucy averted her eyes, forcing her legs to keep moving, her steps long and quiet. Who are these people? she asked herself, pressing the folder in her arms tighter against her chest. She tried to recall any staff memo mentioning new hires or administrative changes, but nothing came to mind. It's like the entire faculty changed overnight.
She passed on without stopping, determined to maintain her cover of casual purpose. Yet the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, a lingering sensation that something about those two was particularly off. The old, kindly secretary she used to see tapping away at a keyboard was nowhere in sight. Instead, the red-haired woman lingered in the doorway, gaze sweeping the hallway in a way that felt almost predatory.
Lucy swallowed hard and pushed through the doors leading outside. The afternoon sun momentarily blinded her, but she kept her eyes locked on the police officers ahead. They were crossing the asphalt courtyard toward the lacrosse field. A few students milled around, but no one else seemed to be paying the officers much attention.
Slipping behind a group of seniors chatting by a parked car, Lucy inched closer, making sure to stay a good distance away. Her chest tightened with each step, the tension coiling within her like a spring. She hated this creeping feeling, the sense that any second she might be discovered and forced to explain herself—explain why she was so interested in what the police were doing, and whether it concerned her brother.
Just be invisible, she told herself, letting the cluster of chatty students veer off to the left as she angled to the right, hugging the fence line that led to the field. She peered around a corner, checking that the officers were indeed heading straight for the pitch.
A flutter of relief mingled with fresh apprehension. She could see a few silhouettes in the distance—lacrosse players straggling onto the field, probably including Scott and Stiles. Why are the cops out here? she thought, heart hammering. What did they find?
Memories of the supernatural chaos that tailed Scott like a shadow crashed through her. She pictured the horrifying nights from the past few weeks—Lydia's disappearance, Isaac's bruises, Derek's cryptic show-ups—and the endless secrets swirling around Beacon Hills. It felt like everything was converging yet again.
Steeling herself, Lucy clutched her folder as if it were a shield and moved closer. If the police were about to confront Scott or poke around in ways that threatened him, she had to be there—somehow—to intervene or at least bear witness. Her every footstep rang in her ears as she edged toward the field, determined to follow the trail of tense murmurs and radio chatter, bracing for the worst.
To her surprise and relief, the cops were not seemingly there for her brother or Stiles, but actually seemed to be apprehending #14—getting up off the floor from what seemed like an interaction with her brother.
As he stood, helmet tucked under his arm, Lucy recognized the familiar face: Isaac Lahey. Only now, there was no sign of the bruises she'd seen on him just days earlier in her office. Dread coiled in her stomach at the sight. She had no idea where this was headed, but the presence of police questioning him didn't bode well for a kid she'd just tried to help.
A break in the lacrosse practice allowed Lucy to inch closer, slipping behind the row of onlookers until she found Scott and Stiles standing off to the side. Both boys were listening intently to the conversation between Isaac and the cops. Lucy sidled up next to them, leaning in so her words wouldn't carry.
"What's going on?" she whispered, glancing between her brother and Stiles.
Scott shot her a worried glance before shifting his attention back to Isaac and the uniformed officers. "His father is dead," he said softly. "Looks like… murder."
Lucy's heartbeat spiked. The pit in her stomach worsened. Isaac was being pulled into a police investigation—and if he really was a recently turned werewolf, this could end in disaster.
Stiles let out a quiet, humorless snort. "And he's a werewolf," he muttered bluntly, earning a sharp elbow to the ribs from Scott.
"Shut up," Scott hissed, throwing Stiles a warning glare before turning to Lucy. "We, uh—" He hesitated, clearly unsure how to phrase it without drawing attention. "We found out he got the bite from Derek."
"So that's why he doesn't have a black eye anymore," Lucy murmured, recalling how quickly Isaac's injuries had vanished. Her thoughts jumped back to the day before, when Isaac's gaze had been so guarded and haunted. He's not just a victim of abuse—he's caught up in something far bigger.
She glanced over to where the officers were talking tersely, Isaac shaking his head, voice trembling. Every bit of Lucy's protective instinct rose to the surface. This poor kid's father is gone, and he's in the crosshairs of the police—and maybe even worse. Her mind skittered over the possibilities: someone might peg Isaac as the prime suspect, especially if they discovered an "impossible" healing factor. People would have questions he couldn't safely answer.
"That's not good," she breathed, stepping closer to Scott. "Are they… are they arresting him?"
Stiles shrugged, face tense. "They might be. Or at least hauling him in for questioning."
Lucy felt her mouth go dry. She locked eyes with Scott, who looked as though a dozen dire scenarios were crossing his mind. Isaac's father's murder, a new werewolf caught in the fray, and the possibility that any slip-up could blow Beacon Hills' supernatural secret wide open.
"Poor kid," Lucy whispered, heart twisting at the thought of Isaac's haunted expression in her office. He had been alone then—and he's alone now. She reached out, lightly gripping Scott's arm. "Do you know if Derek's here?"
Scott shook his head. "No sign of him yet."
Lucy frowned, her anxiety mounting. Even if Derek showed up, would that help or make things worse? She cast another worried glance toward Isaac, who was now talking to the head coach—caught between the police officers and a swirl of concerned teammates. The tension in the air was suffocating.
Instinctively, Lucy wanted to step forward, to offer some sort of support, but she resisted. If Isaac was about to be taken in, she wasn't sure how her presence would help—especially if the cops saw her getting too close. The last thing she needed was to draw attention, not when she had her own reasons for keeping a low profile
"This is really bad, by the way," Stiles remarked in a half-humorous, half-morose tone. "If they think he's a suspect, they can lock him in a holding cell for twenty-four hours."
"Like overnight?" Scott's eyebrows shot up, disbelief etched into his features.
"Like during the full moon," Lucy finished quietly, her mind whirling. A grim understanding settled among them—an unspoken acknowledgment that a typical jail cell wouldn't stand a chance against a newly turned werewolf.
Scott exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. "So… how good are these cells at holding people?"
Stiles pursed his lips. "People—good. Werewolves… probably not so good."
Out on the field, the police were escorting Isaac off the school grounds. He sent one last sorrowful glance toward the trio—Scott, Stiles, and Lucy—huddled near the bleachers. Lucy's chest tightened at the haunting look in his eyes. Freed from an abuser only to be accused of murder… The thought twisted in her gut; she could barely manage her own problems, yet here she was, watching another broken situation unravel.
She glanced at Scott, who was staring after Isaac with an expression of guilt and protectiveness. "Well," she prompted softly, "what are you going to do?"
"I don't know," Scott admitted. The stress shadowed his face, his posture stiffening as though he were steeling himself for yet another impossible rescue.
A sharp blast from the coach's whistle cut through the awkward hush on the field. It was the signal for the players to regroup, and Lucy instinctively glanced at Scott. He caught her eye, and she saw the flicker of concern he tried to mask beneath a steady front. She knew him too well; the wheels were already spinning in his head about how to fix the mess unfolding with Isaac.
Lucy managed a small, reassuring nod, though her heart ached. He's going to get involved, she thought. He always does. And why wouldn't he? Everything that threatened Isaac also threatened Scott's own secret. She couldn't blame him.
She swallowed the knot in her throat, forcing a smile in his direction. I guess I'll find out their plan later, she mused, stepping back from the makeshift gathering with Stiles and Scott. Her mind drifted to the bittersweet reality: she had only a month left here—thirty days, and she'd be gone.
This was the part of her life she would miss the most. Even amid the supernatural chaos, she loved being so woven into her brother's world. The bizarre emergencies, the quiet revelations—all of it drew them closer in ways they'd never managed before. And now, just as they were finally fighting side by side, she'd have to leave him. Leave them—Scott and Stiles. Guilt twisted in her stomach at the thought of bailing on them right when they might need her most.
But that was a crisis she'd face soon enough. Right now, she needed to return to her day job and wait—inevitably—for whatever frantic text or half-baked plan her brother and Stiles would come up with next. They always did, after all.
She exhaled a quiet sigh, stepping off the field as Scott jogged back onto it, blending into the returning cluster of lacrosse players. His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, as if silently thanking her for understanding. Lucy gave him a half-smile, then turned toward the school building.
Whenever you need me, little brother, she thought, hugging the folder tight against her chest. I'll be here—until I can't be. And with that, she headed back inside, back to the mundane routine of her nurse's office, ready for the next call to action.
No text came from Scott all afternoon, and after Lucy finished sending off a "stomach-ache" student who'd really just needed a midday nap, she decided to make a quick run to the staff room. A cup of coffee was calling her name—anything to break the monotony of the day.
Stepping into the hallway, Lucy nearly bumped into Scott just as he was hurrying out of the principal's office. She raised an amused brow, a small smirk teasing at her lips. "You're everywhere but class, aren't you?"
He didn't even crack a smile. Instead, he grabbed her arm, guiding her toward the front exit of the school with uncharacteristic urgency. "Did you know the principal is Allison's grandfather now—somehow?!" he blurted, still sounding baffled.
Lucy blinked. "What? No. I was just as surprised as you to find out I've got a new boss."
Scott sighed, wiping a hand down his face in frustration. "How is that even possible?"
"Maybe he's here because this place is basically a beacon for, well…" She paused, glancing around. "…all things werewolf."
"That's the problem," Scott muttered, exasperated. He suddenly froze, head snapping up as though he'd heard something outside. Without another word, he pushed through the main doors, Lucy hot on his heels.
They emerged just in time to see a disheveled Isaac Lahey being ushered into the back seat of a police car. The siblings shared a tense, knowing look—Scott looking especially stressed.
Before Lucy could ask what was happening, an all-black Camaro screeched to a halt at the base of the steps, tires squealing in protest. Every instinct in Lucy's body went on alert. Then she saw him, Derek Hale, leaning over the passenger window to peer up at them.
Her breath caught. Almost without thinking, she raked her fingers through her hair, a knot of nervous tension forming in her stomach. Even from a distance, Derek's unwavering gaze seemed to pull at her—intense, focused, and stirring something deep within. A rush of apprehension and a flicker of relief warred inside her, leaving her heart pounding as Derek's presence once again disrupted her carefully constructed world.
"Get in," Derek said, voice short and clipped, almost a command rather than a request.
Scott stared at him in disbelief, jabbing a thumb toward the police car that was now leaving the school grounds with Isaac inside. "Are you serious? You did that—that's your fault."
For a moment, Derek's unwavering confidence and stoic demeanor wavered. He lowered his gaze, the weight of his actions clear. "I know that," he admitted. Then he hardened his expression again, meeting Scott's eye. "Now get in the car—and help me."
Scott let out a harsh breath. "I have a better idea. How about I get a lawyer?" He gestured in frustration. "Because a lawyer might actually have a chance of getting Isaac out before the full moon!"
Derek shook his head. "Not when they do a real search of the house."
"What do you mean?"
"Whatever Jackson said to the cops—whatever's in the Lahey house—is worse. A lot worse."
Scott hesitated, glancing at Lucy with worry. He could sense time slipping away, each second pushing Isaac closer to a full moon meltdown in custody. Derek was probably the missing piece needed to save him. When Derek opened the passenger door in invitation, Scott felt cornered. Reluctantly, he took a couple of halting steps toward the Camaro.
But Lucy's hand clasped his arm, halting him. She didn't think it was unsafe to go with Derek—if anything, there was a flicker of envy in her heart at the idea of escaping the school and diving into the adrenaline of solving a life-or-death problem. She craved the distraction from her own turmoil, even if it meant tangling with Beacon Hills' supernatural underbelly.
"I'm coming," she announced.
Scott's eyes shot wide. "No. What? Why?"
Lucy set her jaw, meeting his stare head-on. "I can help. Let me follow you."
"Lucy…" he began, voice thick with exasperation and concern.
She held her ground. "Scott, we've been through this—I'm not going to let you handle these things alone. Just let me come, and I'll figure out where I fit."
From the driver's seat, Derek watched their exchange, forcing his features to remain impassive. He found it impossible not to be intrigued by Lucy's calm determination, especially given the chaos swirling around them. Finally, he jerked his head in a small nod, a silent acceptance.
Scott glanced between Derek's unreadable expression and Lucy's resolute stance. With a resigned huff, he stepped closer to the open passenger door, making room for her decision—and bracing for whatever came next.
An uneasy envy knotted Lucy's stomach as she tailed Derek's black Camaro in the Charger she loathed. The green-eyed wave of jealousy wasn't about Derek, exactly—it was about Scott sitting up front, right in the thick of the plan, free from the claustrophobic swirl of thoughts that kept Lucy's mind spinning. Here she was, alone behind the wheel of a car that felt more like a leash than a luxury.
She glanced at the dark dashboard. The thought that Tyler could remotely disable this vehicle at any moment hovered constantly in her mind, a silent threat she couldn't ignore. It's not really my car, she reminded herself, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. This might not even be my life, not for much longer. Another day was slipping away. The winter sun sank steadily, and all Lucy could think about was how she'd just lost another precious twenty-four hours in Beacon Hills—her ticking countdown nearing its end.
They waited until nightfall to approach Isaac's house, circling back to the neighborhood under the cover of darkness. Lucy parked the Charger a short distance away, cutting the headlights. She cast an anxious glance at the sky, the last traces of light draining into the horizon. Another day gone, she thought, a twinge of sadness and fear biting at her.
Derek's "lock-picking" was comically swift—an effortless flick of extended claws that made Lucy shiver. She followed Scott and Derek inside, her arms folded tightly over her chest. The second she stepped into the dimly lit living room, dread trickled down her spine. Furniture lay overturned, shards of broken glass glittered on the floor, and a half-finished dinner congealed on the table. It looked like a home ravaged by violence and pain, and her mind couldn't help replaying her own memories, the times she'd been surrounded by the aftermath of someone else's rage.
Lucy hugged her elbows, trying to keep her posture small and unaffected. She didn't want the guys to see how much this shook her. But the familiar tang of fear in the air was stifling. This could have been me, she thought, eyes skittering over the scattered cutlery and the shattered lamp. Another house, another abuser, another disaster.
Derek led them deeper into the house, scanning the shadows for any telltale signs—blood, footprints, something to prove Isaac's innocence or clarify his father's final moments. Scott hovered close, sharing nervous looks with Lucy whenever she caught his eye. She forced a tight smile, determined not to let her brother see the turmoil twisting inside her.
Her gaze drifted to the corridor leading to the bedrooms—dark, foreboding. She wondered if Isaac had walked that hallway every day, dreading footsteps behind him. The thought of it tightened her throat. No one should have to live with that kind of fear… just like no one should be forced into a corner by their own choices, living on borrowed time.
She exhaled slowly, staying close behind Scott's reassuring figure. This was why she had to come. She needed to do something that mattered—to feel useful, if only for a few fleeting hours. Despite the weight of her secret countdown, at least here, with Derek and Scott, she could help unravel Isaac's nightmare—and maybe in doing so, forget her own.
Amid the overturned furniture and scattered debris, an uneasy silence lingered until Scott finally broke it. "If Isaac didn't kill his father—who did?"
Derek surveyed the remnants of a shattered lamp, knelt to examine a dark stain on the floor. "I don't know."
Scott frowned, glancing between Derek and Lucy. "Then how do you even know who's telling the truth?"
Derek straightened, leveling Scott with a sardonic look. "Because I trust my senses. It's not just about, well… smell."
Scott froze, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face. "You—you saw the lacrosse thing today?"
"Yeah," Derek said flatly, as if mildly stunned by the memory.
Lucy, arms folded across her chest, couldn't hide her curiosity. "What happened at the field?"
Derek cast Scott a sideways glance. "Your brother tackled pretty much every player and gave them a… thorough sniff. Like a good dog," he added wryly.
Mortification washed over Scott's features. "Did it look that bad?"
Derek slid an arm around Scott's shoulders in a rare display of camaraderie, patting him once. "Yeah," he deadpanned.
Lucy stifled a laugh, her gaze flicking over the devastated room. Even here, amid broken glass and grim possibilities, it was impossible to ignore the absurdity of Scott's werewolf antics. The tension of the situation melted slightly with each teasing quip—though the gravity of Isaac's dilemma lingered, unspoken and pressing.
Derek led the siblings toward the basement door, pushing it open. A narrow, creaking stairway descended into darkness. He motioned for Scott to head down first. "You want to learn?" he said calmly, his tone deceptively easy. "Start now."
Scott hesitated at the top step, peering down into the gloom. "What's down there?" he asked warily, glancing back at Derek.
"Motive," Derek replied, voice low. He watched as Scott began descending the steps slowly, each footfall cautious against the groaning wood.
Lucy swallowed a hint of fear, stepping up beside Derek at the threshold. The two hovered over the dark, musty opening, like sentinels. She felt Derek stand a fraction taller as she moved closer, and though the basement's darkness was intimidating, she sensed a different sort of tension radiating from him. She caught the slight, unashamed way he glanced at her, as if acknowledging her presence with a quiet confidence. It was strangely comforting—and, she had to admit, unexpectedly attractive.
"What exactly am I looking for?" Scott called, voice echoing from the bottom of the stairs.
"Follow your senses," Derek instructed gently, arms crossed as he kept an ear on Scott's progress. He offered no further clues, his vague response only intensifying the eerie silence that clung to the basement.
Lucy noted the calm, almost instructive lilt in Derek's voice. Despite the unsettling setting—broken furniture, the weight of Isaac's predicament—Derek still found time to teach Scott. So this is how he guides him, she thought, curiosity igniting. Something about Derek's demeanor right now—the confident set of his shoulders, the quiet way he encouraged Scott—just made him that much more compelling.
She sent a quick, nervous glance into the darkness, hoping her brother would find whatever Derek was hinting at quickly. Still, Lucy couldn't deny that part of her focus remained on Derek—his aloofness, the air of mystery in his actions, and the undeniable spark of something more stirring just beneath his stoic exterior.
In fact, Lucy was so curious that she took a step down herself, wanting to follow Scott in his search for answers. She lifted her foot off the top stair, the gloom from below sending a mild chill through her. But Derek stopped her, reaching out with a strong arm—firm but gentle—as he caught her by the elbow.
He felt Lucy's body tense under his grip, and something in him immediately softened. If she's really been hurt before... The thought replayed in Derek's head, making him watch her reactions more carefully than usual. He made sure not to hold her too tightly—no sudden jerks, no intimidating moves. Inwardly, he noted how the brief contact sent a spike of heat through his own chest. Lucy's wide eyes flicked up to meet his, stirring a rush of conflicting emotions—protectiveness, curiosity, and a faint surge of something he refused to label.
An unexpected jolt of warm energy coursed through Lucy at Derek's touch, and her heart lurched as she glanced up at him. He gave her an unwavering stare, his expression so calm it almost felt reassuring. Without a word, he gently tugged her back from the threshold of the steps. "Stay here," he commanded quietly.
Lucy obeyed, strangely unoffended by the forcefulness of his words. There was a confidence in Derek that didn't feel overbearing—if anything, it coaxed out a rebellious spark in her. She remained at the top of the stairs, body still humming from the contact. Thoughts spun wildly. If she was honest, part of her hoped he might grab her again—though she immediately dismissed that silly notion.
She watched Derek descend the first few steps, moving with a silence that unnerved her. He's so sure of himself, she thought, arms folding around her middle as a futile shield against the tense, suffocating atmosphere. And the worst part was that, as much as she resented being told to stay put, she found herself wanting to trust him—craving the sense of security his presence promised.
Derek approached Scott, who stood hunched over a large, unplugged deep freezer in the dimly lit basement. It was exactly what Derek had wanted him to find. The thick odor of stale air clung to the room, and the chill of the concrete floor seeped into Scott's shoes.
"Open it," Derek commanded, startling him.
Scott took a deep breath and did as he was told. He lifted the lid and aimed his flashlight inside—then froze at the horrific sight. The interior walls were riddled with desperate claw marks, a macabre record of someone trapped and desperate to escape. A shudder tore through Scott as he pictured Isaac in this cramped, suffocating box.
"This is why he said yes to you," he finally said, turning an accusatory glare on Derek.
"Everyone wants power," Derek answered evenly, his face unreadable in the half-darkness.
Scott clenched his jaw, feeling an even greater need to save Isaac now. The kid had no idea what he was getting himself into. "If we help you," he began firmly, "you have to stop. You can't just go around turning people into werewolves."
"I can if they're willing," Derek shot back, his voice low and unrepentant.
"Did you tell Isaac about the Argents?" Scott demanded, his anger rising. "About being hunted?"
"Yes." Derek's reply was cool, unwavering. "And he still asked."
"Then he's an idiot!" Scott burst out.
Derek's eyes glinted. "And you're the idiot dating the Argent daughter." Scott's features went slack with shock. How does he know? Derek seemed to relish the reaction, nodding smugly. "Yeah. I know your little secret. And if I know, how long do you think it'll take them to find out?" He gestured toward the marks in the freezer. "You saw what they do to an Omega."
He stepped closer, his voice turning deadly serious. "With me, you learn how to use all of your senses. With me, you learn control." His gaze flicked down, noticing how Scott's claws were already forcing themselves out under the light of the full moon shining through a grimy window. "Even on a full moon."
A swell of anger surged in Scott's chest, but the image of Allison's face flashed through his mind, anchoring him just enough to snatch his hand away from Derek's grip. "If I'm with you, I lose her," he growled, breathing hard to keep himself in check.
"You're going to lose her anyway," Derek said, matter-of-fact, as though it were a foregone conclusion. He slammed the freezer lid shut with a hollow thunk and turned on his heel, heading back up the stairs. The finality of his words lingered in the cold, musty air, leaving Scott alone with his frustration—and the terrible truth of what lay ahead.
Scott planted himself at the base of the stairs, blocking Derek from leaving the basement. A firm resolve settled over his features. "If I help you, I'm not joining your pack," he stated, voice low but resolute. "But I want Isaac out. He's my responsibility too."
Derek scoffed at that, crossing his arms. "Why? Because he's one of us?"
"Because he's innocent," Scott replied, drawing on that sharpened sense of truth Derek had encouraged him to develop.
Lucy, who had been lingering near the steps, listened intently to the charged exchange. The intensity of both her brother and Derek drew her in, filling her with a surprising surge of admiration. She could understand Isaac's plight—she knew what it felt like to be trapped in circumstances beyond her control. Part of her wished she had half the strength these two carried.
When the three of them finally emerged from the basement, Lucy noticed Scott furiously texting Stiles, likely hashing out a plan on the fly. She approached him carefully, placing a hand on his elbow. "If I had the chance to do what Isaac did," she said quietly, "I might've taken it, too. You can't blame either of them."
Scott's head snapped up, disbelief flickering across his face. "Don't say that," he muttered. "This isn't some blessing—it's a curse."
Derek, hanging back a few steps, watched Lucy speak. Her words resonated in a way he hadn't expected. The idea that she might even consider taking the bite twisted something inside him—both alarming and strangely captivating. He felt the faintest urge to close the distance and offer it to her right then and there. Would she even say yes? he wondered, forcing the thought away before it rooted too deeply.
"Either way," Lucy added, shifting her gaze between the two of them, "you have to help Isaac."
Scott exhaled. "I'm going to." His jaw set with determination, and Lucy offered a small smile of approval. She was glad to see her brother bracing himself for the responsibility—especially when Isaac needed all the help he could get.
"Good," she murmured. "He's innocent."
Derek turned his attention to Lucy as the trio moved from the kitchen toward the front door. A half-smirk curved onto his lips at her parting words. Looking at this small, resolute girl, he couldn't help but feel drawn to the notion that, like Isaac, there was an essential innocence to her—a quiet perseverance he found both unexpected and intensely compelling.
Scott's phone buzzed, and he stepped aside to answer it, pressing the device tight against his ear. His voice dropped to a low murmur, leaving Lucy and Derek alone at the front door. The hush between them wasn't exactly uncomfortable—in fact, Lucy felt the space crackle with a curious energy she couldn't quite name.
"So," she began, breaking the silence with a measured calm. "What are you going to do?" Her gaze flicked toward Derek, reading the resolve in his eyes.
"I'm going to break him out of jail," Derek answered, almost too matter-of-fact. He gripped the doorknob, ready to move, as though the plan was already set.
Lucy's eyes widened. "That's crazy."
"Time's short," Derek replied with a shrug. "I have to get my beta out."
His words were succinct, but Lucy caught the tension brimming in his voice. Isaac needed help, no question—but busting someone out of jail was a big step. She inhaled, bracing herself.
"Well," she said, her tone softer, "I want to come."
"No," Derek shot back without hesitation.
A small laugh escaped Lucy. She shifted her stance, stepping an inch closer, enough to feel the heat emanating from Derek's frame. A spark of mischief tinged her voice. "Still protecting me, huh?" She asked, trying to sound casual. But a flicker of something more—something almost playful—danced in her eyes.
Derek's breath caught at her nearness. He tried to will himself to remain cool. Is she flirting? he wondered, torn between pushing her away and drawing her in. Ultimately, the notion that Lucy would be with him, that he could ensure her safety, felt… right.
"Fine," he relented, a hint of reluctant acceptance in his tone. "Let's go."
She offered a quick, satisfied smile. Then another thought flashed through her mind. "What about my car?" she asked, glancing back in the direction of the Charger. "I can drive."
Derek pulled out his keys, shaking his head. "I'll bring you back to it when we're done."
"Suppose it gets towed?"
"I'll get it out." His replies came out swift, self-assured, leaving her little room for argument.
Lucy smirked, a little taken aback by how effortlessly Derek batted away her concerns. There was something about his firmness—the cool, brusque manner in which he solved a problem—that made her stomach flutter. Why is that so appealing?
Reining in her thoughts, she tossed a quick glance at Scott, who was still on the phone near the hallway. The brother-sister part of her felt a pang—she knew she was diving headfirst into something dangerous. But the other part, the one that craved action and escape, couldn't resist the prospect of forging ahead with Derek.
"So we're really doing this?" she asked, back to Derek.
He let out the barest breath of a laugh, one corner of his mouth curling upward in a smirk. "Yeah," he said, pulling the door open. "We are."
The low rumble of the Camaro's engine filled the silence as Derek steered them onto the main road, the streetlights casting fleeting stripes of orange across Lucy's face. She settled into the passenger seat, arms crossed over her chest more out of nervous habit than actual defiance. Her gaze slipped from the passing scenery to Derek's profile—stern, focused, and frustratingly unreadable.
Despite the tension swirling in her chest—part guilt, part fear, part something else—Lucy felt a faint sense of relief at being here, away from her Charger and the constant reminders it carried. A fleeting thought reminded her she was still on borrowed time, day 29 flitting through her mind. She shoved it away, focusing on the moment: the plan to free Isaac, Derek's quiet presence, the hum of the engine.
They turned onto a quieter road. Outside, the wind rustled the trees, and Lucy caught sight of the moon cresting in the sky—nearly full, bright, and ominous. She exhaled, trying to keep the swirling knot in her stomach under control.
"Are you sure about this?" she asked softly, risking a glance at Derek. "Breaking Isaac out?"
Derek's hands gripped the wheel, the muscles in his forearms flexing beneath the leather jacket. "There isn't another option," he replied simply. "It's a matter of time before the full moon… and if he shifts in a cell—" He let the implication hang in the air.
Lucy swallowed. "Right," she whispered, imagining Isaac's dread if he were forced to transform behind bars. "Still, it's… not exactly legal."
For a second, she thought she spotted a faint smirk tug at Derek's lips. "Neither is leaving a newly bitten werewolf to destroy a police station."
Her own lips twitched at that unexpected wryness. The dryness of his humor was as subtle as everything else about him. She shifted in her seat, the seatbelt pulling taut. His half-smile melted into that familiar, stoic mask, but at least the mood felt a fraction lighter.
She stared out the window, thoughts whirling with the absurdity of what they were about to do: bust Isaac out of a holding cell. Instead of dwelling on that, though, her mind kept drifting back to the unsettling shift she'd seen at the school—new faces in the principal's office, the hush-hush staff changes that made her skin prickle.
Clearing her throat softly, Lucy asked, "Did you notice the… let's call it a 'faculty swap'? It's like half the staff was replaced overnight."
Derek glanced at her, eyes flicking from the road to her face. "I saw some unfamiliar people in the main office."
"Yeah, well… apparently they're not too keen on small talk. I tried to smile at one of them, and she looked at me like I was a target." Lucy allowed a half-laugh, more nerves than amusement. "The old principal was strict, but not that intimidating. Now there's this new guy—Allison's grandfather—and, I don't know… it just feels off."
"Gerard," Derek said flatly, the name landing in the air like a dark omen.
Lucy's pulse kicked up. She didn't know much about him aside from the glimpses she'd caught, but the way Derek's tone dropped told her all she needed to know. "Right," she breathed. "So you've heard of him?"
Derek kept his gaze on the road, jaw tightening. "He's not someone to underestimate."
Neither is this guy, Lucy thought wryly, sneaking a glance at Derek's profile. Even in near darkness, his posture radiated coiled strength. Trying to suppress a flutter in her stomach, she refocused on the conversation. "Scott mentioned something about the Argents having more hunters in town, but I didn't realize we'd see them in the principal's office, of all places."
A low hum of acknowledgment was Derek's only reply.
Lucy tugged on the edge of her sleeve, recalling the new red-haired secretary's piercing stare. "Well, it's definitely putting everyone on edge. The cops have been at the school nonstop, and now these suspicious new staff members… it's like we can't catch a break."
"We can't," Derek muttered, almost to himself. Silence followed, broken only by the Camaro's engine. After a moment, he added, "That's why we have to move fast tonight."
She nodded, swallowing against a nervous lump in her throat. They were about to do something potentially very illegal, yet the quiet determination in Derek's voice weirdly soothed her. Or maybe it was just that anything felt safer than waiting around for more secrets to unravel at Beacon Hills High.
She tilted her head, studying him for a second. "You've been through this sort of thing before, haven't you? The sneaking around, the planning, all for survival."
Derek's hands flexed on the wheel. He didn't confirm or deny it. "I've learned not to rely on others," he said at last, his tone clipped, "but sometimes it's… necessary."
Lucy let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. That might've been as close to an admission of vulnerability as Derek Hale could manage. A small prickle of warmth crept up her spine. "I guess that's one thing we have in common: doing what we have to do, even if it means stepping outside our comfort zones."
A flicker of a smirk curved Derek's mouth. "You think I have a comfort zone?" he asked, half-serious, half-teasing.
"Everyone does," Lucy shot back, a faint grin ghosting her lips. "No matter how tough they act."
For a moment, a ghost of a smile lit Derek's features before vanishing under his usual intensity. Lucy found herself unreasonably pleased by that brief spark of genuine amusement. She reminded herself to keep focus: they had a mission, and the stakes were high.
Still, the tension in the car shifted—less an awkward hush, more a shared understanding. The hum of the tires against the asphalt provided a steady undercurrent, reminding them they were rapidly approaching the police station.
Lucy cleared her throat. "So… do we have an actual plan, or are we winging it?"
Derek exhaled slowly. "I have the start of one."
"That's comforting," she said, only half-sarcastic.
"You'll see," Derek murmured, leaving no room for further questions. His clipped answer usually would have irked her, but now it just made her more curious.
She twisted toward the window as the station's floodlights came into view, illuminating the row of patrol cars and the chain-link fence behind them. Lucy's heart began to pound, adrenaline spiking. She couldn't believe they were really doing this.
Stiles' Jeep was parked alongside the curb, headlights cutting swaths through the dim parking lot. Derek and Lucy stepped out of the Camaro without a word, crossing to the passenger side of the Jeep. Derek opened the door for Lucy, and as she climbed inside, he couldn't help but trail his gaze over her back. She offered Stiles a friendly smile once she was settled.
Stiles raised a skeptical brow. "What are you two doing together?"
"We're here to help—what did you think?" Lucy replied, her voice unsettlingly bright given the situation.
Stiles narrowed his eyes at Derek, half-suspicious, before remembering the bigger issue at hand. He glanced through the Jeep's windshield at the police station windows. A lone officer sat at the front desk, flipping through paperwork. Derek followed Stiles' gaze as the younger boy spoke.
"Okay, the keys to every cell are locked away in a box," Stiles said, eyes never leaving the officer. "Problem is, that box is in my dad's desk."
Derek shrugged, glancing from the officer to the main door. "I'll distract her."
Before Derek could open the Jeep door and stride off, Stiles grabbed his arm. "Whoa, whoa—you? You're not going in there."
Derek's eyes flicked from Stiles' hand to Stiles' face, making it perfectly clear he didn't appreciate being held in place. There was a silent, tense moment until Stiles retracted his hand.
"I'm taking my hand off now," Stiles muttered, letting go. Lucy stifled a small laugh from her spot in the passenger seat.
"I was exonerated," Derek said simply.
"You're still a person of interest," Stiles pointed out with a scoff. "An innocent person?" he echoed sarcastically. "Sure."
Derek didn't dignify that with more than a steady, impassive look. Stiles sighed, evidently defeated. "All right, big guy—what's your plan?"
"To distract her," Derek repeated, deadpan. "Like I said."
"How?" Stiles pressed. "By punching her in the face?"
"By talking to her," Derek countered flatly.
Stiles threw up his hands. "And saying what, exactly?"
Lucy leaned forward in her seat, interjecting before the boys could keep bickering. "Relax, Stiles. He can rehearse right here." She turned her attention to Derek, fixing him with a level gaze. "If I was her—what would you say to me?"
For a moment, Derek and Lucy locked eyes in an unspoken challenge, tension crackling under the surface. The question hung in the air, ready to test Derek's so-called plan—and Lucy's ability to keep cool under his unwavering stare.
Stiles shifted in the driver's seat, arms folded, watching as Derek leaned in through the open passenger door. Lucy sat with one leg angled toward the Jeep's dashboard, her brow raised expectantly. She was prepared to play the role of the officer at the front desk—but couldn't shake a flicker of amusement at Derek's reluctant posture.
"Pretend I'm her," Lucy said, folding her hands primly in her lap as if she were perched at a tidy reception desk. She lifted her chin, trying to look stern. "You walk in—what do you do?"
Derek exhaled, shooting a half-annoyed glance at Stiles, who held up his hands in silent encouragement. Then Derek refocused on Lucy. "I'd… greet you," he said, tone clipped. "Politely. Something like: 'Good evening, Officer. I need to—'"
"Stop," Lucy interrupted, voice sharp enough to mimic authority. "Name and purpose?"
He paused, jaw working. "Derek Hale," he answered shortly. "I'm here to—"
"To do what, Mr. Hale?" Lucy's lips twitched as she fought a smile. Her imitation of the hypothetical desk officer was just a shade too serious, almost like a parody. She couldn't help letting a playful spark slip into her voice.
Derek arched a brow, leaning an arm on the Jeep's frame. "I'm here to ask about a case," he ventured, trying to keep the dryness out of his tone. "Something that involves my… family property."
Lucy, still in character, scoffed. "Family property? That's it? I think you'll have to be more convincing than that." She drummed her fingers on an invisible desk. "Why should I leave my post to help you look up a random file?"
Derek let out a low rumble that might have been a laugh if he weren't so self-conscious about performing in front of Stiles. "Maybe I could… mention that my property has been in my family for generations. That I suspect trespassers." He shot Lucy a pointed look. "I'd need her off the desk, checking something… outside?"
Lucy bit back a grin. "I have a feeling a bored front-desk cop might still say no." She cocked her head, eyes gleaming with mischievous curiosity. "You sure you don't have another trick up your sleeve, Mr. Hale?"
At the question, Derek's gaze flicked between her eyes and her slightly parted lips. A flash of something warmer passed over his expression. "Maybe I'd mention that the trespassers seemed dangerous. That I saw… footprints leading into the woods."
"Oh, that might get me off my seat," Lucy teased. She couldn't help but feel a tingle run along her spine at the intensity in Derek's stare. "But I'd still be suspicious. I'd ask more questions."
Derek held her gaze, expression unwavering. "I can be very persuasive," he said in a low murmur, letting the words linger.
A flutter of genuine heat crossed Lucy's cheeks, and she glanced away briefly, hoping to hide the flush. "Well, you're going to have to be," she countered lightly, trying to ease the tension. "Because if your plan is just a few lines about trespassers, you better make it believable."
"Believability is half the battle," Derek agreed, voice more confident now. He couldn't resist letting his lips curve into a faint smirk. "Think it'll work?"
Lucy shrugged, still very much aware of how close he was. "I guess that depends on how convincing you are in person."
Their eyes locked in silent challenge, the air thick with a sudden, unspoken tension.
"Ugh, are you two done yet?" Stiles grumbled from the driver's seat, breaking whatever spell had been weaving around them. He tapped the steering wheel impatiently. "Because Isaac's not gonna bust himself out of that cell."
Derek drew back, turning a dismissive glance on Stiles. "I'm done." He turned his attention to Lucy once more, voice softening. "Thank you for the… practice."
Lucy found herself smiling despite the circumstances. "Anytime," she teased, sliding a sidelong look at Stiles. "We can give your acting chops a test next time."
Stiles rolled his eyes, gunning the ignition. "Let's get on with it, drama club."
With that, Derek pulled away from the Jeep, standing tall as he signaled Lucy to follow. Their makeshift plan might not be the most brilliant strategy, but it was a start—and for Lucy, it was a start that came with more warmth than she'd expected.
The moment Derek pushed open the station's glass doors, Lucy and Stiles instinctively hung back in the hallway, crouching out of sight. She chanced a peek around the corner: Derek strolled toward the desk, flashing the on-duty officer a startlingly bright smile.
"Hi," he greeted, voice warm and casual. For a second, Lucy couldn't believe the transformation. It was like he'd stepped out of his usual brooding persona and into something downright charming.
The cop—a tall, no-nonsense woman—perked up, lips curving in a faint smile of her own. "How can I help you?"
Derek paused, as if noticing Lucy and Stiles for the first time. "Oh—sorry," he said lightly. "I wasn't expecting someone…" He trailed off, gaze trailing back to the officer.
"Like me?" she prompted with a hint of amusement.
Stiles nudged Lucy's shoulder. Now, his wide-eyed look seemed to say. Together, they carefully slipped inside the station behind the counter, staying low and close to the wall while the woman's attention was fixated on Derek.
Lucy's heart pounded, but curiosity got the better of her, and she caught the tail end of Derek's reply: "I was going to say someone so incredibly beautiful." His voice was smooth enough to make her stomach twist in annoyance—bordering on jealousy.
She glowered, turning away so she wouldn't have to watch Derek lay on the charm. Of course, she thought, biting back a huff of irritation as she and Stiles darted into the hallway leading to the holding cells. Her pulse throbbed in her temples, torn between relief that their plan was working and a pang of something that felt suspiciously like envy.
They had bigger problems right now, though. Isaac was waiting. Still, the final flicker of Derek's voice lingered in Lucy's mind, reminding her exactly how persuasive he could be—and exactly how it made her feel.