Jamie woke up to the pale gray light of morning filtering through her curtains, casting dull streaks across her bedroom walls. Her eyes blinked open sluggishly, her body feeling heavier than it should.

For a second, she forgot.

For a second, she wasn't thinking about Derek, or the way he had looked at her, or the way he had walked away.

But then it all came rushing back.

Jamie exhaled slowly, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes as if that would somehow push the memories away. But it didn't.

The weight in her chest hadn't left. If anything, it had settled deeper, like an ache she didn't know how to get rid of.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the empty space beside her. It was stupid—Derek had never stayed, never even tried—but for some reason, it still felt like something was missing.

Maybe it was just her. Maybe she was the one missing something, like a piece of herself had been ripped away the moment he walked out that door.

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to feel something. Anger, sadness, anything. But all she got was a strange, hollow numbness pressing at the edges of her thoughts.

She hated it.

Dragging herself upright, she rubbed at her arms, trying to shake off the lingering cold that had nothing to do with the temperature. Her room was silent, the kind of silence that felt too loud, too empty. She thought about turning on music, about drowning it out, but she couldn't bring herself to move.

Her fingers curled into the blankets.

I need you to stay away from me.

His voice echoed in her mind, and she clenched her jaw. She didn't understand.

Derek had looked at her like she was something he wanted—something he needed—and yet, he still pushed her away. Again and again.

Jamie let out a breath and shook her head.

It didn't matter.

It wasn't like she had a choice in the matter, right? Derek had made himself clear.

He was gone. And he wanted her to stay gone, too.

So why did it feel like she was still waiting for him to come back?

Jamie pushed open her window, the old wood creaking slightly in protest. A cool breeze slipped in, brushing against her skin, but it didn't do much to clear the heaviness pressing against her ribs.

She climbed onto the ledge, letting her legs dangle over the side, and pulled a cigarette from the pack in her pocket. Her fingers moved on autopilot—lighter flicking, ember catching, smoke curling into the cold morning air.

She barely felt the burn in her lungs as she inhaled.

It was stupid, probably. But right now, it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

The nicotine, the routine, the quiet.

For a moment, she could pretend she wasn't here. That she wasn't sitting in her room feeling like something inside her had been hollowed out.

Then came the knock at her door.

Jamie exhaled slowly, watching the smoke dissipate into the air before turning her head slightly.

"Yeah?" she called, expecting Scott, or maybe even silence in return.

Instead, the door pushed open, and her mom stepped inside.

Melissa had that look on her face—the one that usually came before a lecture. Her arms were crossed, her lips pressed into a tight line, but there was something else too. Something behind her eyes.

Jamie sighed. She expected a reprimand, a sharp "put that out" before her mom went back to pretending she wasn't spiralling. But instead, Melissa just walked over to her, stopping at the window.

She shot Jamie a look. "Give me that."

Jamie exhaled another lungful of smoke, watching her mom carefully, then handed the cigarette over without argument.

Melissa hesitated for just a second before bringing it to her lips and taking a slow drag.

Jamie's brows lifted slightly. "Seriously?"

Melissa barely got through one inhale before she was coughing, her face scrunching up in distaste as she turned and flicked the cigarette out the window.

Jamie huffed, shaking her head as she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, real smooth."

Melissa ignored her, rubbing at her forehead like she was trying to push back a migraine. She was silent for a long moment before finally muttering, "I have no idea what I'm doing."

Jamie scoffed softly, looking back out the window. "If it makes you feel better, he didn't tell me either."

Melissa sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Yeah. That doesn't make me feel better."

Jamie smirked slightly, but there was no real amusement in it. She let the silence hang between them for a moment before tilting her head. "Who'd have thought my overdose wouldn't be the most exciting thing to happen this year?"

Melissa's head snapped toward her, her expression instantly hardening.

"Jamie," she warned, voice tight with disapproval.

Jamie just exhaled, flicking invisible ash from her fingers. "What? It's true."

Melissa didn't argue, but she didn't look any less irritated. Her fingers drummed against the windowsill, and for a second, Jamie thought she was going to change the subject. Instead, her mom hesitated before asking, carefully,

"Is that… was that why?"

Jamie turned to her, brow furrowed. Melissa's voice was softer now, uncertain. "Was that why you did it? Because of this?"

Jamie froze for a second, caught off guard.

The truth was, she hadn't thought about it—not in a long time, not in any real way.

The answer sat on the tip of her tongue.

Was it because of Scott? Because of all the things she didn't know, all the secrets no one trusted her with?

Maybe part of it. But not all of it.

She let out a breath, turning back toward the open air.

"No."

Melissa was quiet for a long moment, like she was trying to decide whether or not she believed her.

Then, finally, she just nodded.

She didn't push, didn't press for more.

Jamie appreciated that.

The house loomed in front of her, dark and skeletal against the gray sky.

Jamie stood a good distance away, just outside the tree line, the Hale House rising like a ghost from the earth. The charred remains of its walls stretched upward, burned but still standing, like it refused to let go of what it had been.

She didn't know why she came here.

Her feet had carried her through town, past the edge of the preserve, deeper into the woods—until suddenly, she was here. Staring at a place that felt more like a grave than a home.

She lit a cigarette with steady hands, though she didn't feel steady. The first drag was sharp, grounding, but it didn't do much to settle the restless ache in her chest.

Derek was probably here. Somewhere in the ruins or the trees beyond them, lurking in the shadows like always.

Jamie almost wanted him to find her.

Almost.

Instead, she just stood there, letting the house tower over her, letting the weight of its silence settle in her bones.

The last time she'd been here, it had been different. Derek had been different. Or maybe she had been. Maybe she hadn't realized how fragile whatever this was had always been—how easily it could slip through her fingers.

She took another slow drag, then exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the air before dissolving into nothing.

Just like everything else.

Her fingers tightened around the cigarette before she let it drop to the ground, crushing the ember beneath her boot.

She lingered for a second longer, staring up at the house.

Then she turned and walked away.

Her house was quiet when Jamie finally stepped inside, save for the faint creak of the floorboards under her feet. The weight of the past few days clung to her shoulders, pressing down like a heavy fog. She knew something was going on—she could feel it.

And she was done being left in the dark.

She found Scott in the kitchen, standing by the counter, his phone in his hands. He looked up when he heard her enter, his expression already cautious.

Jamie crossed her arms. "Are you gonna tell me what's going on, or do I have to guess?"

Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Jamie—"

"Don't 'Jamie' me," she cut in, her tone sharper than she meant it to be. "I know something's happening. And I know you and Stiles aren't telling me everything."

"Jamie—"

"What the hell is going on with Gerard and the Kanima?" she cut him off, her voice sharp. She turned then, eyes burning with frustration. "And don't even think about lying to me."

Scott sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in days. "Jamie, you don't need to—"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't tell me I don't need to know. You think I haven't noticed how bad this is? How you're constantly looking over your shoulder like you're waiting for something to happen? You think I'm just gonna sit back while—"

"You have to stay out of this," Scott interrupted, his voice firm but pleading.

Jamie let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And what if I don't?"

Scott's jaw clenched. "Jamie—"

"I'm serious, Scott. You think I can just pretend nothing's happening? That I don't see you running yourself into the ground over this? Just tell me what's going on—"

"I need you to stay out of it," he said again, more desperate this time.

Jamie shook her head, stepping closer. "You don't get to decide that."

"Yes, I do!" Scott's voice rose, the frustration finally breaking through. Jamie blinked at the sudden intensity in his eyes. He exhaled sharply, his hands clenching at his sides. "I need you to be safe, Jamie."

She stilled.

Scott swallowed, his voice quieter now, raw with something heavier. "I can't—I can't do this if I'm constantly worrying about you getting hurt again."

Jamie's breath caught in her throat.

For a long moment, they just stood there.

Finally, Jamie exhaled, some of the fight bleeding out of her. She dropped her gaze, arms tightening around herself. "I can take care of myself, Scott."

"I know," he murmured. "But I need you to let me take care of you too."

Jamie didn't have an answer for that.

Scott hesitated, like he was trying to decide how much more to say. Then, his brows pulled together slightly. "Is this about Derek?"

Jamie's stomach tensed. "What?"

Scott gave her a look, studying her. "You asked what was going on… and I'm asking if this is about Derek."

Jamie shifted on her feet, suddenly feeling exposed. "I'm asking because I know things are going to shit, and you're keeping stuff from me. I don't care about whatever's happening with Derek." Her voice wavered, and she knew Scott could see right through her.

He frowned, but he didn't push it. Instead, he exhaled and leaned against the counter. "Erica and Boyd left," he said.

Jamie blinked. "Left?"

"They don't want to be part of Derek's pack anymore. It's too dangerous."

Jamie was silent for a long moment, processing that. She could hardly blame them. Derek's way of doing things—she was coming to realise that it wasn't safe. It wasn't stable. He made people strong, but he didn't always know how to protect them.

She swallowed hard. "What about Isaac?"

Scott let out a slow breath, looking down at his phone. "He was going to leave with them. He wanted to find another pack—one that actually knew what they were doing."

Jamie felt her chest tighten. "Was?"

Scott looked up at her, his expression softer now. "He told me he was leaving at the animal clinic, but I don't know if he's already gone."

Jamie exhaled, shoulders slumping slightly. "So, he's just gonna leave?"

"He's scared. They all are," Scott said. "But I don't think he knows what he really wants."

Jamie was quiet again. The thought of Isaac leaving had shaken her more than she expected. The thought of all of them splitting apart—it made her feel like the ground beneath her was crumbling.

Scott noticed.

He stepped closer, his voice gentle. "Hey… at least this way, Isaac will be out of danger."

Jamie nodded, but she didn't say anything.

Scott watched her for a moment, then lowered his voice. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she said too quickly.

Scott's gaze didn't waver. He could see right through her.

"You're not," he said softly.

Jamie pressed her lips together, looking away.

Scott hesitated, then spoke again, quieter this time. "I can see that you're in pain." He paused for a moment as he stared at her. "I can feel it."

Jamie scoffed, forcing a small smirk. "My arm's fine now, Scott. It was a graze."

Scott shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

She swallowed, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

"I'm fine."

The silence between them stretched.

Jamie felt the weight of his gaze, warm and understanding. She wanted to say something, wanted to let him in—but she didn't know how.

So instead, she gave him a small, tired smile. "We should get going," she murmured.

Scott didn't argue.

But as they left the house, Jamie knew he hadn't believed her for a second.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but Jamie barely heard it.

She sat rigid in the bleachers beside her mother, her fingers curled into fists in her lap. Her knee bounced anxiously, her eyes locked onto the field below, scanning for any sign that something was off.

Because something had to be off.

Scott and Stiles had been keeping things from her—she knew it. It was written all over their faces. And after everything that had happened in the last few days—Allison's mother's death, her grandfather taking control of the Kanima—Jamie wasn't stupid enough to believe that things were just going to settle down now.

Her mom shifted beside her, tense, her hands gripping each other tightly in her lap.

Jamie glanced at her, her chest aching.

Her mom still wasn't okay. She barely even looked at Scott these days. Jamie saw it in her eyes—the fear. The doubt. And it made her stomach twist with anger, because Scott was still Scott. He hadn't changed. He wasn't some monster just because she knew the truth now.

But Jamie knew how hard it was to unlearn fear.

Her mom had spent her whole life knowing one truth about the world. Now, that truth was shattered.

And Jamie didn't know how to fix it.

A whistle blew, pulling her back to the game.

Her eyes landed on Scott instantly, standing at the centre of the field, helmet tucked under his arm as he stared across at the opposing team. His stance was tense, his shoulders squared.

Jamie's gaze drifted past him—toward Gerard Argent.

He stood on the side lines, watching the game with a sharp, almost expectant look in his cold, gray eyes.

Jamie's stomach churned.

Everything was falling apart.

Scott had told her to stay out of it—that she didn't need to be involved. But Jamie knew better.

Whatever was about to happen, it was already too late for her to walk away.

Jamie's fingers curled tighter in her lap, nails pressing into her palms as she forced herself to stay still. Every fibre of her being was screaming that something was wrong.

Her eyes flicked to the field, to Scott. He wasn't just playing lacrosse—he was waiting. Watching. His body was too tense, his shoulders rigid beneath his jersey.

Jamie knew that stance.

He was preparing for something.

Beside her, her mom shifted uncomfortably. "Jamie," she murmured, voice low. "You're nervous."

Jamie forced herself to unclench her fists, inhaling slowly through her nose. "Just... a lot on my mind."

Jamie exhaled slowly, forcing her fingers to relax in her lap. The tension in her body was impossible to shake, but she could at least pretend to be calm.

Then, from the corner of her eye, she caught movement.

Isaac Lahey.

He pulled his helmet over his curls, stepping onto the field, his posture easy and confident as if he had no worries in the world. But Jamie knew better. He was still here—he hadn't left with Erica and Boyd. And even though she didn't want to admit it, some part of her was glad.

She swallowed, tearing her gaze away.

The whistle blew, and the game began.

Lacrosse was fast, aggressive, ruthless. Bodies clashed, feet thundered across the field, and the crowd roared with every goal and near miss. Jamie's heart pounded, but not from the game itself—she was watching for something else.

Gerard was still in the same spot, unmoving, watching like a man waiting for something inevitable to happen.

Jamie's grip tightened on the edge of her seat.

Then, movement caught her attention.

Isaac.

He stumbled to the side, his whole body tensing as he grabbed his arm. His face twisted in confusion, then alarm.

Jamie was already on her feet. "Mom, I'll be right back."

Melissa barely noticed as Jamie took off down the bleachers.

By the time she reached the sideline, Isaac was with Scott, his hand clutching his arm, his body wavering slightly.

"I think Jackson nicked me," Isaac muttered, his voice tight with something wrong. "I—I can't feel my arm anymore."

Jamie's stomach twisted.

Scott's expression darkened. "You need to go inside, stay safe." He shot Jamie a pointed look before turning back to the game.

Jamie barely had time to react before Isaac took a shaky step and nearly collapsed.

"Okay, not happening," she muttered, quickly stepping under his arm and bracing herself against his weight.

Isaac stiffened in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Shut up and walk," Jamie grumbled, dragging him toward the locker room.

Isaac let out a weak chuckle that almost sounded pained. "Didn't realise we were on speaking terms again."

"We're not."

They made it inside just as the numbness spread further. Isaac sank down onto the bench, grimacing as he flexed his fingers uselessly.

Jamie crossed her arms, eyeing him warily. "You okay?"

Isaac scoffed. "Oh, yeah. Just fantastic." He looked up at her, eyes sharp with something unreadable. "Why are you helping me? I thought you hated me now."

Jamie huffed. "I still hate you."

Isaac smirked weakly. "Good to know." But there was no real humour in it.

Silence settled between them, thick and uncomfortable.

Isaac leaned back against the lockers, his good hand rubbing his jaw. "Look, Jamie, I… I know I hurt you." His voice was quieter now, lacking its usual sarcasm. "I'm sorry."

Jamie's arms tightened around herself. She didn't want to have this conversation.

Isaac exhaled, his expression shifting. "I just… I don't get it. You still trust Derek after everything." His gaze flicked up to hers, searching. "Why?"

Jamie's breath hitched.

"I mean, I know I hurt you, and I shouldn't have," Isaac continued, watching her carefully. "But I was only following orders."

She knew exactly what he meant. Derek's orders.

Jamie's throat tightened.

She didn't respond. She couldn't.

Isaac sighed, leaning his head back against the lockers. "You know, you never used to be this quiet."

Jamie rolled her eyes. "Maybe you should get poisoned more often."

Isaac grinned, the tension breaking for just a moment. "Harsh."

But then the humour faded, and the weight of everything settled between them again. Jamie swallowed hard, looking away. She didn't have the answers. Not for Isaac. Not for herself. And outside, the game was still going.

And something was coming.

The sound came first—metal scraping against the floor, slow and deliberate.

Jamie's stomach dropped.

She turned just as Gerard stepped into the locker room, two hunters flanking him. The overhead lights cast long shadows, stretching his imposing figure across the walls. He was carrying a sword, the tip dragging along the tile, the shrill screech of metal against floor making her teeth grind.

Isaac stiffened beside her, his breathing shallow.

"Well, well," Gerard drawled, lifting the sword and resting it against his shoulder. His cold, piercing eyes flicked between them, a pleased smirk tugging at his lips. "If it isn't the strays."

Jamie instinctively tightened her grip on Isaac's shoulders, dragging him back a step. His legs were barely moving, sluggish from whatever Jackson's venom had done to him.

Gerard tsked, stepping forward. "You know, I've been wondering what to do with you, Isaac. You're such a pitiful excuse for a werewolf." His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. "But I think I've finally figured it out."

The way he said it sent a chill down Jamie's spine.

She shifted her stance, stepping in front of Isaac as much as she could. "You should probably leave before Scott gets here," she said, her voice tight. "He's not gonna let you get away with this."

Gerard chuckled. "Scott?" He tilted his head, amused. "That boy doesn't even know what game he's playing yet."

Jamie swallowed down her fear. "He's stronger than you think."

"Oh, I don't doubt his potential," Gerard said, taking another slow step forward, dragging the tip of the sword against the lockers. The sound was grating, setting her nerves on edge. "But potential without conviction? That makes him weak. Hesitant."

His eyes gleamed.

"You, on the other hand… I wonder what you could be, Jamie."

Her entire body went rigid.

"What?"

Gerard smiled, slow and predatory. "You have something in you, don't you? A fire. That same need to belong, to find something that makes you whole." His expression darkened. "That's why you keep running back to Derek, isn't it."

Jamie's breath caught.

She could feel Isaac watching her, but she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Gerard's smirk widened. "Oh, don't look so surprised, dear. You think no one notices the way you gravitate toward him? That desperate need for something more?" He tapped the flat of the blade against his palm. "It makes you predictable. Vulnerable."

Jamie clenched her fists. "If you think I'm scared of you, you're wrong."

Gerard let out a low, amused hum. "Oh, I know you're not scared of me." He tilted his head. "You should be scared of yourself."

Jamie's heart slammed against her ribs.

Isaac stirred beside her, his body sluggish but tense. "Jamie," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

But Jamie didn't back down.

She lifted her chin. "You came here to kill Isaac, didn't you?"

Gerard exhaled, exasperated. "Yes, well, you know how these things go. Got to send a message." He rolled his shoulders. "I'd prefer to cut him in half, to be honest." He levelled the sword, pointing it at Isaac's chest. "Wouldn't take much."

Jamie moved.

She grabbed Isaac's arm, yanking him backward with her, desperately trying to drag him toward the exit. But his legs were heavy, barely working, and she wasn't fast enough.

The hunters blocked the doorway.

Jamie's pulse pounded in her ears as he grip tightened on Isaac. She wasn't going to let Gerard hurt him.

Gerard smiled, taking another step closer, the sword glinting under the fluorescent lights.

"Now then," he mused, tapping the blade against the floor, "shall we begin?"

The door burst open.

Scott was a blur, his golden eyes burning with fury as he crashed into the room. He moved like a force of nature, taking out the two hunters in seconds—one thrown into the lockers with a sickening clang, the other hitting the tile hard with a grunt.

Jamie barely had time to react before Gerard stepped back into the shadows, his smirk barely faltering.

"Ah, and here he is," Gerard mused, voice as calm as ever. "The would-be Alpha."

Scott growled low in his throat, his claws flexing at his sides. "Get away from them."

Gerard only smiled. "Oh, Scott..." He took another slow step backward, his gray eyes cold and knowing. "You're playing checkers when you should be playing chess."

And then, before Scott could lunge, he was gone.

Vanished into the darkness like a ghost.

Jamie let out a shaky breath, adrenaline still surging through her veins.

Scott turned to her, to Isaac, his features softening slightly. "Are you okay?"

Jamie nodded, though her body was still trembling. "Yeah," she managed, voice hoarse. "Yeah, we're okay."

Isaac shifted beside her, still struggling to stand. Jamie quickly moved under his arm, helping him up.

Scott exhaled sharply. "Come on, we need to get back to the field."

They stepped out of the building, and instantly, the world turned to chaos.

The roar of the crowd had changed—it was no longer excitement, no longer the usual cheers of a lacrosse game. It was frantic. Screaming.

Jamie barely had a second to register what was happening before her eyes landed on Jackson.

He was on the ground.

His jersey was covered in blood. His hands—shaking—were soaked in red.

Someone was kneeling over him, performing CPR.

Jamie's breath hitched. No. No, no, no—

"Jackson!" she screamed.

She lurched forward, panic overtaking her, but before she could get more than a step, Scott grabbed her, pulling her back.

"No—Scott—let me go—" she struggled, her body thrashing against him, but his grip was firm.

"Jamie, stop—" Scott's voice was urgent, but she wasn't listening.

Jackson was lying so still.

He was never still. He was always moving, always pacing, always rolling his eyes at something or making some snarky comment.

This wasn't right.

Jamie felt the sting of tears in her eyes, her chest tightening to the point of suffocation. The noise of the crowd blurred into a single, deafening buzz, and all she could focus on was the desperate hands pressing against Jackson's unmoving chest.

Scott released her, turning to Isaac, and they both sprinted toward Jackson's side.

Jamie, however, couldn't move.

She felt frozen, like if she stepped forward, if she got closer, it would make this real.

Then, suddenly, hands grabbed her arms.

"Jamie!"

The voice cut through the fog.

She turned sharply, eyes wide, barely able to process as she found herself face-to-face with Sheriff Stilinski.

His grip was firm, urgent. His face was taut with stress, eyes searching hers frantically.

"Jamie—have you seen Stiles?"

She blinked at him, her mind still racing, still stuck on Jackson. On the blood.

"What?" Her voice came out hoarse, like she'd forgotten how to speak.

The Sheriff shook her slightly. "Jamie—where's Stiles?" His voice was sharp, desperate.

Jamie's heart stopped.

Stiles.

She hadn't seen him.

Not since before the game started.

"I—I don't know," she stammered, her voice breaking. "I haven't seen him—I—"

She was barely holding herself together, her brain trying to keep up with the whirlwind of everything crashing down around her—Jackson bleeding, Isaac struggling to stand, Scott kneeling beside their dying friend, and now Stiles was missing.

Sheriff Stilinski's grip tightened. "Jamie, think—did he say anything to you? Did he—"

"I don't know!" she snapped, her panic morphing into frustration, because how was she supposed to think right now?

The Sheriff inhaled sharply, releasing her arms, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

Jamie's breathing was ragged, her hands still shaking.

The crowd was still yelling.

The lights of the field felt too bright.

Everything was too much.

And then, all at once—

The whistle blew.

A final, piercing sound that cut through the chaos like a blade.

Jamie turned back toward the field—toward Jackson—her heart still pounding, her mind still spinning, dread still curling deep in her stomach.

And somewhere in all of it, she knew—

This wasn't over.