The subway tunnel smelled of damp earth and rusted metal, the air thick with a musty chill. Jamie's heart pounded as she descended the cracked concrete steps, her flashlight flickering over the graffiti-covered walls. The faint hum of voices reached her ears as she approached the abandoned platform. She couldn't make out the words, but the low tones sent a chill down her spine.
She hesitated, considering the wisdom of her actions. But anger overrode caution. Derek had hurt her brother, and she wasn't leaving without saying her piece.
Just as she rounded the corner, a blur of movement knocked her off balance. Her back slammed into the cold brick wall, and a hand wrapped around her throat, cutting off her air. Jamie gasped, clawing at the hand as panic set in.
"Jamie," a voice hissed, laced with shock.
Isaac.
The grip loosened instantly, and Jamie stumbled forward, coughing and clutching her neck. Isaac stayed close, his body blocking her escape, his amber-tinged eyes wide but guarded.
"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, his voice low but edged with disbelief.
Jamie's fear melted into anger, and she glared at him, her voice rough from his grip. "I could ask you the same thing."
Isaac let out a short, bitter laugh and stepped back, running a hand through his messy curls. "Seriously? You're sneaking into the lair of four werewolves, and you're giving me attitude? Dumb move, Jamie."
Jamie straightened, brushing herself off and trying to steady her breathing. "As dumb as getting turned into one?"
Isaac's smirk faltered for a second before it returned, this time sharper, cockier. "You say that like it was a mistake."
"It was a mistake," Jamie snapped.
Isaac crossed his arms, leaning casually against the wall as if her words didn't sting. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Jamie took a step closer, her anger boiling over. "Don't I? Look at you, lurking in a subway station like some kind of guard dog."
Isaac chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "You think I'm worse off now? You have no idea what it's like. Before, I had nothing, Jamie. Nothing. No one cared, no one listened, and every day was just… surviving. But now?" He pushed off the wall, stepping toward her, his presence overwhelming. "I'm stronger. Faster. Better. And for the first time, I have people who actually have my back."
Jamie met his gaze, refusing to back down. "You think Derek has your back?" He ignored her question.
"What about you?" Isaac countered, his tone dripping with bitterness. "You're here alone, walking into his territory, thinking what? That you'll get some big win for Scott? You're the one who's out of your depth."
Jamie clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. "I wasn't the one who got turned into a werewolf because I was too scared to deal with my own problems."
Isaac's jaw tightened, his confidence flickering for a brief moment. "No, you just let the pills do that."
Jamie felt winded, like he'd physically forced his hand down her throat and removed the air from her lungs. She stared at him, his comment cutting her deeper than she thought words could. Seeing the look on her face, Isaac felt instant regret.
"Shit, Jamie," he started, tearing his eyes away from hers. "I shouldn't have said that."
Before she could reply, a blur of blonde hair and sharp edges barrelled into her, knocking her to the ground. The breath whooshed from Jamie's lungs as Erica pinned her to the filthy floor.
"Isaac," Erica hissed, her tone dripping with mockery. "Is this how you're keeping watch these days?"
"Erica—" Isaac started, but she ignored him, her sharp claws pressing into Jamie's neck as she hauled her up and slammed her against the wall.
Jamie's breath hitched, panic flooding her senses as Erica leaned in close, her wolfish features accentuated by a cruel smile. "You're a long way from home, little girl," Erica taunted, her voice almost a purr.
Jamie clawed at Erica's arm, her nails scraping uselessly against her skin as the pressure on her throat increased.
"That's enough," a low, commanding voice cut through the tension like a blade.
Erica froze, her smile fading instantly. With a sneer, she released Jamie, letting her crumple to the ground. Jamie gasped, coughing as she clutched her neck, her body trembling.
Derek stepped out of the shadows, his movements deliberate, his gaze fixed on Jamie. His presence was suffocating, a cold, predatory energy filling the space.
"Back to training," Derek ordered, his voice devoid of warmth.
Erica hesitated, giving Jamie a final, lingering look before stalking off. Isaac lingered a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before following.
Jamie pushed herself off the ground, her legs unsteady but fuelled by anger. Derek moved closer, stopping just in front of her. His gaze was sharp, his expression calm but unnervingly intense. He extended a hand to help her up.
Jamie ignored it, standing on her own and brushing herself off.
Derek's lips curled into a faint smirk, the kind that made her skin crawl. "Still stubborn, I see."
Jamie glared at him, her voice shaking with anger. "You don't get to laugh this off. You hurt Scott."
Derek's smirk disappeared, replaced by something colder. He took a step closer, and Jamie instinctively backed up until her shoulders hit the wall. "Scott came after me. My pack." he said, his voice calm but laced with menace. "What was I supposed to do? Roll over? Let him undermine everything I've built?"
Jamie swallowed hard, her pulse racing as she forced herself to hold his gaze. "You didn't have to hurt him like that. He's not your enemy."
"Isn't he?" Derek's tone dropped, and he leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. "Scott doesn't understand what it means to protect your own. He came into my world, into my territory, and tries to take what's mine. You tell me who the enemy is."
Jamie clenched her fists, her voice trembling. "They're not yours. They're people, Derek, not soldiers."
Derek tilted his head, his smirk returning, but now it was darker, more predatory. "People who chose to be stronger. People who didn't want to be victims anymore. Can Scott say the same for himself? Or for you?"
Jamie faltered, her breath catching at the insinuation. "Don't try to twist this. Scott is—"
"Scott is what?" Derek interrupted, his voice soft but biting. "Perfect? Honest? Tell me, Jamie—does he tell you everything? Or does he decide what you need to know?"
Jamie froze, his words digging under her skin, planting seeds of doubt she didn't want to acknowledge.
Derek stepped back slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "You think I'm the villain here. But you're smart, Jamie. You'll figure it out eventually."
With one last glance, he turned on his heel and began to walk away, leaving her standing there, still reeling from his words. She stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest, the doubt Derek had sown twisting in her mind like a sickening knot.
As Derek's footsteps receded into the dark, Jamie forced herself to breathe, her body trembling with a mix of fear and rage. She wasn't sure if she was madder at him, or at herself for even considering his words.
The sun hung high in the sky, a few clouds drifting lazily by as Jamie walked alongside Stiles toward the garage. The air felt warmer than it had the day before, but the tension between them was thick and uncomfortable. She could feel the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. She didn't want to be here—she didn't want to be near him after everything that had happened. But, guilt gnawed at her. She'd lashed out at him, and while she didn't think he deserved the full brunt of her anger, she hadn't really apologised for it either.
"Thanks for coming with me," Stiles said, breaking the silence as they neared the garage. "I know you didn't really want to. But, you know... there's a good chance this guy's going to rob me."
Jamie rolled her eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "I didn't come here to babysit you, Stiles."
"Of course not," he grinned.
They arrived at the garage a few minutes later, the building sprawling before them like a haven for mechanics and rusted cars. The faint smell of oil and gasoline hung in the air. As they walked in, the overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows over the cluttered space filled with tools, engine parts, and the occasional questionable item that seemed out of place in a professional garage.
Jamie winced as her sneakers stuck to the grimy floor. "This place is disgusting," she muttered, wrinkling her nose.
"You're not wrong," Stiles said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've got a lot of questions, like why does it smell like grease and bad decisions?"
Jamie didn't answer, instead focusing on the mechanic, who was standing by a workbench. He looked up at them, locking eyes with her instantly.
"Tucker?" she said, her voice a mix of shock and irritation.
Tucker smirked, tossing a rag onto the counter. "Jamie. Didn't think I'd see you here."
Stiles froze, his gaze darting between them, recognition filtering across his face. Jamie shot him a glare, trying to silence whatever words were brewing in his throat. It didn't work.
"You're the guy who—"
"Stiles, don't," Jamie interjected quickly, shooting him another warning glare.
"Yeah, well, he's a—"
"I said, don't," Jamie snapped, voice low but firm.
Stiles looked at her, confused and frustrated, but he kept his mouth shut for once, though he was visibly fuming.
Tucker's eyes glinted with amusement as he leaned on the workbench, his arms crossed. "I was just about to get to work on your friend's jeep here. Didn't realize I was doing you a favour by getting him to come down here."
Jamie shot him a cold look. "You're not doing me any favours." Memories of their recent encounter flooded her mind, but she pushed them down, turning to Stiles. "I'll be in the waiting room."
She strode off, feeling Tucker's eyes on her the whole time as she left the pair to negotiate prices for the jeep.
Stiles joined her a few minutes later, glancing back at Tucker with a scowl before joining Jamie.
In the waiting room, Jamie slumped into a chair, staring at the stained linoleum floor. Stiles leaned against the doorframe, still fuming. "That guy's a dick."
"Shut up, Stiles," Jamie snapped, not in the mood for his commentary.
Stiles raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "You're not seriously defending him, are you? He got you hooked on pills and - ."
Jamie shot him a glare. "I said shut up."
Unfazed, Stiles sighed dramatically and went to sit down in the chair next to her. He paused, wiping his hand on the armrest, then grimaced. "Ugh. This place is disgusting. He can't even keep it clean."
He lifted his hand to show Jamie something slimy streaked across his palm. Before she could react, he wiped it on the side of her face with a teasing grin. "Here, share the joy."
"Stiles!" Jamie hissed, jerking back.
But as she spoke, she felt it. A weird sensation. A slight tingling on her skin, almost like an electric buzz. It spread across her face and down her neck, but she dismissed it as nothing at first. Then it started to intensify, the tingling becoming more pronounced, like a creeping numbness.
"Stiles…" she began, her voice faltering. "Something's... off."
Stiles' face twisted with confusion, his hands shaking suddenly as he tried to stand up, but his legs gave way beneath him. His eyes widened in panic as he collapsed to the floor.
"Stiles!" Jamie cried out, but her own voice felt distant, as though she was underwater. She tried to move, but her limbs wouldn't obey. Her body felt like it was turning to stone, her muscles locking up as the tingling sensation crept up her arms, down her spine.
Her vision blurred as she sank down to the floor, her back sliding against the cold wall, unable to move.
"W-What…?" she whispered, the paralysis slowly overtaking her.
Stiles' wide eyes flicked to her, panicked and confused, but his mouth barely moved. It was as if his body had betrayed him, the same way hers was betraying her now.
"Jamie…" he managed to breath out.
Tucker was still working on the jeep, oblivious to what was happening. Jamie's heart raced as she tried to scream, but no sound came out. Her eyes darted to the shadows in the garage, where something moved. Something not human.
A creature emerged, its sleek, lizard-like body glinting under the garage lights. Its tail flicked menacingly as it crawled across the floor toward Tucker.
Jamie's breath caught as she saw it rear back, its claws flexing. Tucker finally turned, his face twisting in confusion, but before he could react, the creature's claws slashed at him, and he crumpled to the ground, paralyzed like the rest of them.
The creature slithered to the hydraulic lift holding the jeep. With deliberate precision, it reached out and twisted a valve. The lift groaned, the jeep descending slowly, inch by inch, toward Tucker's immobilised body.
Jamie's mind screamed, every fibre of her being begging her to look away, but she couldn't move. She couldn't close her eyes. All she could do was watch in helpless horror.
"No," Stiles rasped from the floor, his voice faint. He strained to turn his head toward Jamie. "J-Jamie. Don't—don't watch."
But she couldn't turn away. The jeep lowered further, the grinding of metal against metal echoing in the garage. Tucker's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, frozen in terror.
The jeep finally met his body with a sickening crunch.
Jamie's stomach churned, tears streaming down her face as the creature skittered away, disappearing into the shadows. Stiles lay motionless beside her, his face pale and drawn.
All Jamie could do was stare at the grim scene before her, Tucker's body motionless and bloodied.
The car hummed steadily as Scott drove, his hands firm on the wheel. The air in the vehicle felt thick, heavy with unsaid words. Jamie sat motionless in the back seat, her gaze fixed out the window, but her mind was elsewhere—drowning in the chaos she had just witnessed.
Tucker. His body crushed beneath the weight of Stiles' jeep. The creature, that twisted, monstrous thing, had appeared, and in an instant, everything had shifted. Jamie's stomach churned as she replayed the scene in her mind, the sickening sound of metal crumpling, the screams, the crushing force that ended Tucker's life. He had been the one to pull her into one of the darkest places of her life, the one who had enabled her life to unravel. But now, as the image of his mangled body flashed in her mind, she couldn't feel the sense of relief she'd thought she might. There was no satisfaction. No victory.
Her feelings toward him had always been complicated. He had been the one to give her a sense of control, an escape when life had felt overwhelming, but he had also been the one who dragged her into that mess. She didn't know how to feel.
Stiles and Scott were talking, but Jamie couldn't focus on their conversation. The words about the reptilian creature, drifted over her like static noise. Nothing seemed to matter except the memory of what had just happened. She felt numb, almost hollow, but underneath that numbness, there was something else. Something darker. Guilt.
It wasn't supposed to end like that. No one should've died like that. No matter what Tucker had done to her, no matter how much she hated the grip he had once had on her life, she never wanted him dead. Not like that.
"Jamie?"
Scott's voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she blinked, realising that both he and Stiles were looking at her with concern. Her chest tightened as she met their gazes, but she didn't know what to say. What could she say?
"You okay?" Scott asked again, his voice softer now, as though he was treading carefully around her.
Jamie opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. She swallowed, fighting the lump that had formed. "I'm fine."
Her words hung in the air like a weight, and for a moment, no one spoke. Scott's grip on the steering wheel tightened, and Stile's jaw clenched, but neither of them said anything right away.
Jamie continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm fine," she repeated, as if trying to convince herself.
Stiles glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his face conflicted. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jamie's eyes darted to him, a silent plea for him to stay quiet. She didn't want to hear it from him, not now. Not when the guilt was already eating at her, gnawing at her insides, making her question if it was all her fault.
If she and Stiles hadn't been there, would it have happened? Would Tucker have still died?
She realised that they had pulled up outside her house, and she quickly went to exit the car.
Scott caught her arm, his voice gentle but firm. He could sense what was going through her mind, how she was feeling. "Jamie, listen to me. You didn't cause this. You couldn't have known what was going to happen. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I didn't make it happen, but I was there," Jamie murmured, almost to herself, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. "And we just lay there and watched him die."
Scott's eyes met Stiles' and shared a look, the weight of Jamie's words sinking in. Stiles swallowed hard but didn't speak. He wasn't sure what to say either.
"Listen," Scott said, keeping his tone steady. "It's no one's fault."
Jamie nodded, but the words didn't seem to reach her. They felt empty, like they didn't match the weight of the guilt in her chest. She felt trapped in this spiral of confusion and trauma, unable to move past what she had just witnessed.
The silence between them was thick with unspoken emotions. None of them had the right words to fix it, but for Jamie, it felt like there was no way to make this better. She could feel herself shutting down, retreating into the numbness she had grown so familiar with.
She exited the car and made her way to the house, somewhat relived when Scott and Stiles didn't follow her in. Her mind was spinning out of control, and she needed some kind of relief. The kind of relief that Scott and Stiles couldn't help her with.
Inside, the paced the hallway, the stress enveloping her and choaking her from the inside. She searched the kitchen, looking for something that could take the edge off. Vodka, gin, cheap cooking wine. It didn't matter. She needed something now. She screamed in frustration when her search came up short.
Jamie raced upstairs, her thoughts escalating faster than she could keep up with them, her body seemingly moving beyond her control.
She slammed the door to her room, her chest heaving as she tried to calm the storm raging inside her. Her hands trembled as she paced the floor, the events of the day swirling in her head like a relentless tide. She couldn't stop the tears from spilling over, and with a frustrated growl, she grabbed the bottle of oxycodone from her nightstand.
Her fingers shook as she poured a handful of pills into her palm. The sight of them—so small, so deceptively harmless—felt like a cruel joke. She stared at them, her breath hitching, her mind teetering on the edge of a dangerous decision.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as she clenched her fist around the pills, the weight of her anguish almost too much to bear. But then, with a sharp cry of frustration, she flung the handful to the floor, scattering the pills across the carpet.
"Should I be concerned?"
Jamie froze, her heart leaping into her throat. The voice was calm, laced with dry amusement. Slowly, she turned around, her wide eyes landing on Derek, who stood casually in the corner of her room. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his smirk infuriatingly smug as he took in the scene before him.
"How—how did you get in here?" she stammered, her voice shaky as she tried to compose herself, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks.
Derek raised an eyebrow, his expression like that of a parent catching a child mid-meltdown. "That's not the important question here," he said smoothly, his tone low but carrying an edge of condescension. "The important question is what you're doing throwing pills all over the floor?"
Jamie glared at him, willing her pulse to steady. "What are you doing here, Derek?" she snapped, forcing her voice to sound stronger than she felt.
The smirk faded from his lips, replaced by a sharper, more serious expression. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing as they bore into hers. "I came to ask you about what you saw at the mechanic's garage."
Her stomach dropped, but she kept her expression carefully neutral. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, crossing her arms and leaning back against her desk.
Derek tilted his head slightly, studying her like a predator sizing up prey. "You were there," he said matter-of-factly, his voice low and almost hypnotic. "Don't bother denying it—I know you were. So, tell me, Jamie, what did you see?"
"I didn't see anything," she lied, her voice steady but her heart pounding. She avoided his gaze, focusing instead on the pills scattered across the floor.
Derek took another step forward, closing the distance between them. His presence was suffocating, his dark energy filling the room. "You're not a very good liar," he said, his tone almost conversational, though the edge of menace in his words was unmistakable.
"I'm not lying," Jamie shot back, her chin lifting defiantly. "And even if I did see something, what makes you think I'd tell you?"
A shadow of a smile crossed Derek's face, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because you're smart enough to know what happens if you don't."
Jamie's throat tightened, but she refused to back down. "I told you, I didn't see anything," she insisted, her voice wavering slightly despite her best efforts.
Derek's gaze lingered on her, sharp and calculating. He could see through her, she knew it, but he didn't press further.
The silence in the room was suffocating, the only sound being the sharp inhale Jamie took before she snapped her gaze back to Derek. Her heart pounded in her chest, and despite the anger boiling in her veins, a part of her feared him. She had never felt this exposed before, and now, here he was—standing so close, pressing into her space with that relentless, predatory gaze.
"I don't care what you think you know," Jamie spat, her voice rough with the emotional strain. "Just get out."
Derek didn't flinch. His eyes darkened slightly, but he remained standing, towering over her. He didn't move, didn't even look uncomfortable at the venom in her tone. In fact, his calmness only made her feel more trapped, more helpless.
"Is that what you really want?" he asked, his voice low and unyielding.
Her breath hitched at his words. The tears were welling up again, the flood of emotion threatening to overwhelm her. She didn't want to show weakness, not to him, not to anyone. But the pressure was unbearable, and it all came rushing out in a single, strangled sob.
"Get out!" Jamie cried, her voice breaking. She stepped backward, but her legs felt like jelly. She collapsed against the edge of her bed, her hands clutching the sheets in a desperate attempt to anchor herself. The tears spilled freely, hot and bitter, and she didn't care anymore that Derek could see them. She didn't care if he saw her at her worst. She was drowning in the aftermath of everything, the guilt, the horror, the helplessness.
Derek stepped forward, his eyes softening just a fraction as he watched her struggle. Despite her anger, her pain was impossible for him to ignore.
He closed the distance between them, and before she could react, he grabbed her wrists, pulling her up from the bed so she was standing in front of him. His grip wasn't rough, but it was firm enough to make her freeze. His fingers curled around her skin, and she could feel the pressure of his touch, as if he were forcing her to acknowledge his presence, to stop hiding from him.
"Stop," she whispered, but the word felt useless, slipping from her lips like water. Her chest was rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. She tried to pull away, her fists pushing on his chest as she struggled, but his grip only tightened, his presence closing in on her.
"You're in pain," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "I can help you."
She shook her head, the tears still flowing, her emotions twisted into knots she couldn't untangle. She wanted to scream, wanted to push him away and tell him to leave her alone, but all she could do was stand there, caught in the grip of his touch and his words.
"I'm fine," she tried to say, but it came out hoarse, ragged. She wasn't fine, not at all. The weight of what had happened, the guilt, the confusion—it was too much. She couldn't hold it together anymore, not when she felt like she was losing herself with every passing second.
Derek's eyes darkened slightly. His thumb brushed over the soft skin of her wrist, slow and deliberate, as if he were savouring the moment.
"You're not fine," he murmured. His voice wasn't comforting, but there was a strange calmness in it, like a predator lulling its prey into submission. "Let me help you."
The words, the way he said them, seemed to sink into her skin like an insistent pressure, gnawing at her resolve. Her heart was still racing, her thoughts scattered and lost, but something about his voice, his proximity—it was like he was pulling her into a different state, a place where her emotions didn't matter, where all that existed was the heavy pull of his presence.
"Please…" She barely whispered the word, barely even realising she had said it. The last shred of her resistance crumbled as his grip shifted slightly, his fingers tightening just enough to remind her that she wasn't free. She couldn't pull away. Not now.
At first, it was subtle. Like a pressure lifting from her chest, easing the tightness that had made it feel impossible to breathe. But then, it deepened, like waves of heat moving through her veins, chasing away the jagged edges of pain and confusion. The ache, the guilt, the constant storm of thoughts—it all began to fade, replaced by a strange, numb calm. She could feel the overwhelming weight of it melting away, as if the very touch of his hand was siphoning it off, draining the chaos from her mind.
She didn't know how to react. She didn't know if she should pull away, if she should say something, anything. But all she could do was stand there, frozen, her breath slowing.
Derek's grip on her wrists didn't falter as he continued to pull the pain from her, his touch impossibly steady, like he had done this a thousand times before. The numbness began to sink deeper into her, not a relief she welcomed, but one that swept over her without asking permission. The storm inside her quieted, and with every passing moment, her body seemed to relax under his hold. The confusion, the guilt, the anguish—they all seemed to dissolve, like sand slipping through her fingers.
It wasn't the kind of peace she wanted, but it was peace nonetheless. A kind of emptiness.
"Feel better?" Derek's voice was quieter now as he met her eyes with a piercing stare, and Jamie barely nodded in response, too stunned to form words.
She swallowed, trying to speak, but her voice was small, fragile. "What... what did you do?"
Derek let go of her wrists, his hands falling to his sides. He wasn't looking at her now, his expression unreadable, but there was something beneath the surface that made her uneasy. "I took some of your pain away," he said simply. "It's not permanent."
Her heart fluttered at his words, a mixture of relief and fear trickling through her veins. It was strange to feel this light, this untethered from the weight of everything. She had been drowning, and now she was simply floating.
But the question lingered in her mind: why had he done this for her? She knew Derek wasn't exactly known for acts of charity, and something in the way he watched her, as if weighing her very soul, made her uneasy.
"Why?" she asked, the word shaky and small.
Derek's gaze finally met hers, and there was no trace of the smug, condescending look that had been there before. Instead, there was something else. Something darker, yet almost understanding.
"Because I can," he replied, his voice soft. "And because you needed it." He stepped back, giving her some space, but his eyes never left her.
Jamie clenched her fists at her sides, resisting the urge to break down in front of him again. "I don't want your help."
His lips curled up slightly, but it wasn't a smile. "I know."
She could feel the remnants of what he had done to her, the lingering calm, the slow return of her ability to think clearly, but she wasn't sure if she should thank him, if she could.
She couldn't make herself speak. She just stared at him, taking in his presence. Part of her hated that he had seen her so vulnerable, so desperate. But another part of her recognised the strange, unsettling comfort that came from his understanding.
Derek took another step back, breaking the intensity of the moment as he turned towards the door.
"Where are you going?" she whispered, her voice shaky and almost panicked. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips.
"I have to go," he replied, turning briefly once more to meet her gaze. "You know where to find me."
And with that, he was gone, leaving Jamie standing in the middle of her room, the scattered pills still lying on the floor.
She could hear her own breath, slow and shaky. The silence was deafening now, the calmness he had given her slipping away with each passing moment.
AN: Sooo yeah, Tucker died, which I think is definitely going to cause some conflicting emotions for Jamie.
And Derek seems to be weaving his way a bit more into Jamie's life - what do you think his intentions are? Good or bad...?
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, thanks for reading :)