Jamie wasn't sure what had brought her here.

The Hale House stood before her, its charred bones silhouetted against the dimming sky. She hadn't expected Derek to be here. Even if he was, he wouldn't show his face. She told herself she didn't care. She wasn't even sure why she was here in the first place. Maybe, in some twisted way, she thought it might give her closure. Maybe she was just fooling herself.

She sat down on the front steps, the air thick with the scent of damp wood and ash. Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out a small bottle of whiskey. Nearly empty. She hesitated before unscrewing the cap, Lydia's words creeping into her mind: Don't let them win.

She had been trying. She really had.

Lydia had been checking in everyday with a series of texts, or even worse, a phone call.

But Jamie had been doing better. Sometimes she even answered the phone when Lydia called. It was like she was balancing on a narrow edge, somewhere between sobriety and the deep dark hole Lydia had plucked her out of a few weeks prior. She hadn't been to a party since that night. Hadn't let a stranger touch her.

Yes. She was doing better. Or maybe she was just getting better at hiding things.

And no matter how many inspirational quotes she received from Lydia each day, some days were still too heavy to deal with sober. And today? Today felt unbearable.

Lifting the bottle to her lips, she took a slow sip, just enough to burn away the knot in her chest. She closed her eyes for a second, letting the warmth settle in her stomach, before lowering the bottle, exhaling shakily.

Then, movement beside her.

She tensed, her fingers tightening around the glass. When she turned her head, she half expected Derek, but it wasn't him.

Isaac stood a few feet away, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jacket. His expression was tight, unreadable, but his eyes—Jamie didn't like what she saw there. Guilt. Regret. Like he had something to answer for.

He walked over and sat down beside her on the steps without a word, stretching his legs out in front of him. After a moment, he held out his hand.

Jamie stared at it, then at him, before silently passing him the bottle. He took a sip, barely reacting to the taste, and handed it back.

"I thought werewolves couldn't get drunk," she said, her voice flat.

Isaac kept his gaze forward. "Yeah. That's true."

Jamie huffed out something like a laugh, shaking her head. She brought the bottle to her lips and finished it in one last swallow before tossing it to the ground with a dull thud.

They talked a little after that, meaningless small talk. Pointless words just to fill the silence. But the silence crept back in anyway, heavier this time. Jamie stared ahead, fingers absently tracing the seam of her jeans before she finally spoke again.

"You knew what was going to happen, didn't you?"

Her voice was calm, not accusing. Just… tired.

Isaac stiffened. He didn't ask what she meant. He already knew. He had known that night, when he'd tried to stop her from going to the loft. He had known, and he had let her go anyway.

"Jamie…" he started, but he had no idea how to finish.

"It's fine, Isaac," she cut him off before he could come up with something to say. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it anyway.

Isaac exhaled, his fingers raking through his curls. He swallowed hard before speaking again. "I'm glad you're okay."

Jamie let out a breath of laughter, humourless and dry. Okay. Yeah. Right.

She knew what he meant. He was glad she wasn't a werewolf. Because that was what mattered, right? Not what had actually happened that night. Not what had been taken from her.

"Yeah," she murmured anyway, voice barely above a whisper.

A beat passed before she added, "I heard you got mad at Derek about it."

Isaac sighed, rubbing his palms together. Jamie's shoulders went rigid as she waited for his response.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I got mad."

Jamie turned her head slightly, studying his profile. "You still mad about it?"

Isaac didn't answer right away. His jaw worked, like he was trying to decide how honest to be. That was the part she was testing. And they both knew it. Finally, he spoke.

"We're looking for Erica and Boyd."

Jamie's fingers curled into her palms. "That's not an answer."

"Jamie…" He trailed off, voice low. "He's still my Alpha."

Jamie nodded like she understood. But she didn't. Not really.

Isaac turned then, looking at her properly for the first time. "Is he still yours?"

She met his gaze, brow furrowing slightly, like she wanted to ask what he meant. But Isaac just held her stare, something knowing in his expression.

Jamie looked away first. "No."

Isaac studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether to believe her. Then, he nodded and turned away, letting it drop.

They fell back into silence, but it wasn't comfortable. Isaac shifted beside her, restless in his own skin. Jamie could feel it, the weight of something unsaid pressing between them. Finally, he spoke.

"Before all this," he started, voice quieter now, "I used to drink sometimes. Alone. After my dad—" He broke off, inhaling sharply before continuing. "Just to feel something different."

Jamie didn't move. Didn't say anything. She just listened.

Isaac kept his gaze forward, his jaw tight. "For a while, I thought it helped. Numbed things, made it easier." He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "But it didn't. Not really. Just made everything worse in the end."

Jamie sat with that for a long moment. It wasn't a lecture. It wasn't advice. It was just Isaac, telling his truth. Jamie swallowed, staring at the empty whiskey bottle on the ground. Yeah, she thought. I know.

Isaac hesitated for a moment, then added, almost as an afterthought, "I used to have a crush on you, you know."

Jamie blinked, caught off guard. She turned to look at him, but he kept his eyes forward, a humourless smirk tugging at his lips. "Thought you were cool. Kinda intimidating, though."

Jamie let out a soft breath, shaking her head. "You had terrible taste."

Isaac shrugged. "Still do."

For a moment, something almost like warmth flickered between them, but it passed just as quickly as it came. Isaac pushed himself to his feet, brushing dust off his jeans. He lingered for a moment, glancing down at her like he was debating whether to say something else. But then he just nodded.

"I should go."

Jamie didn't try to stop him. Didn't say anything as he walked away, leaving her alone on the steps of a house filled with ghosts. She just stared out into the woods, the empty whiskey bottle at her feet, and tried not to think about how much worse everything already felt.

Jamie sat on the edge of her bed, the room lit by the sun streaming through her windows. Her hands rested limply in her lap, fingers curled slightly like she was holding something invisible.

It was the middle of the day. The middle of summer break. She should be out with her friends. She should probably be at work.

But her mind wasn't here. It was drifting. Unravelling.

Lydia's words echoed in her skull.

Don't let them win.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her palms against her temples as if she could force the thought away. But it clung to her, curling in the crevices of her mind, whispering to her over and over.

Don't let them win.

Her breath came sharp through her nose as her other hand slipped into her pocket. She pulled out the small plastic bottle, rolling it between her fingers. The label had long since been peeled off, but she knew exactly what was inside. A handful of pills, bought off some random guy at a party weeks ago. She hadn't even asked what they were. It hadn't mattered.

She popped the cap off with her thumb, the sound barely registering over the rush in her ears. She tilted the bottle, watching as a single pill tumbled into her palm.

Maybe just one.

Just enough to quiet the static in her head.

She placed it on her tongue, swallowing dry. Her throat constricted around it, but it went down easy. Too easy.

Jamie sat there for a moment, waiting, her fingers flexing against the fabric of her jeans. Her gaze drifted, settling on her bedside drawer. She knew what was inside.

Slowly, she reached forward, sliding it open. The familiar clink of glass against wood made her stomach twist, but her hand was steady as she pulled out the bottle of vodka she had stashed there weeks ago.

Lydia's voice came again, harsher this time, almost like she was standing right beside her.

Don't let them win.

Jamie let out a short, bitter laugh, fingers tightening around the neck of the bottle. "And who the hell are they, Lydia?" she murmured.

Derek's face flickered in her mind. The look in his eyes that night, the way he had stared down at her like she was something beneath him. Like he could make the choice for her. Like she hadn't already been drowning before he even touched her.

He thought he could control her.

And maybe, in some ways, he still did.

Because fear—fear was just another form of control, wasn't it?

Her pulse pounded as she twisted the cap off the bottle, bringing it to her lips. She took a deep, burning swallow, relishing the way it seared down her throat. The warmth spread through her stomach, but it did nothing to thaw the cold knot coiled inside her.

She took another sip.

And then another.

Her gaze flickered to the corner of the room where her dad's denim jacket usually hung on the chair. Except it wasn't there. It was still at the loft.

Derek still had it.

Her grip tightened around the bottle, breath hitching in her chest. She had left it there that night, hadn't thought about it much since. But now, the realisation burrowed deep under her skin, an itch she couldn't scratch.

Why the hell should she be afraid of him?

Why should he get to keep something of hers?

Her jaw clenched as she took another swig, the vodka stinging her lips, her throat.

He thought he could take things from her?

Fuck that.

Jamie set the bottle down with a sharp thud, fingers trembling slightly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Maybe it was time she took something back.

Jamie's head spun, the alcohol dulling the sharp edges of her thoughts but not enough to silence them completely. The room felt too small, suffocating, and before she even realised what she was doing, she grabbed the bottle of vodka and stumbled out the door, taking her mom's car keys with her.

She didn't know what she was looking for—maybe her jacket, maybe a fight, maybe just something that made her feel real again. But her feet moved with purpose, carrying her to a place she knew she shouldn't be.

Derek's loft.

The building loomed above her, dark and silent. Her fingers shook as she pounded on the metal door. She didn't expect an answer. Part of her didn't even want one. But after a moment, the door slid opem, and then Derek was standing there, his face unreadable in the dim light.

Jamie's heart slammed against her ribs.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Derek asked, his voice low, cautious.

She shoved past him, stumbling slightly as she moved inside. Derek caught her arm instinctively, steadying her, but she jerked away like his touch burned.

"Where's my jacket?" she demanded. Her words were slurred, her head heavy, but she kept her chin high, defiant.

Derek sighed. "Jamie—"

"No. Don't Jamie me," she snapped. "I just—I just want my damn jacket. That's it."

Derek studied her, his expression darkening. "Are you drunk?"

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, now you care?"

A muscle in Derek's jaw twitched. "I never said I didn't care."

Jamie laughed, but there was no humour in it. "That's funny. Because it really didn't seem like you cared when you were holding me down." The words were out before she could stop them, cutting through the space between them like a blade.

Derek flinched. His whole body stiffened, like he'd been struck, but Jamie didn't stop.

"I keep trying to figure it out," she said, her voice breaking despite herself. "Why? Why did you do it? You kissed me, took away my pain. You made me feel like you wanted me. And then you—" She cut herself off, shaking her head. "It doesn't make any sense."

Derek looked away, jaw tight. "I told you. Peter got in my head."

"Right," Jamie scoffed. "So that's it? You were manipulated, and now we just forget about it? You get to move on, and I just—" She swallowed hard, her vision blurring. "I don't get to move on, Derek."

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. "I never wanted to hurt you."

Jamie barked out a laugh. "But you did."

Silence.

Derek didn't deny it. Didn't try to defend himself.

Instead, he turned away, moving toward the shelves lining the far wall. When he returned, her denim jacket was in his hands.

Jamie stared at it, at the worn fabric, the frayed edges. It felt like a lifeline, something grounding, something hers. But when Derek held it out to her, she didn't move.

After a beat, Derek stepped closer, draping it carefully over her shoulders. His hands lingered, just for a second.

Jamie should have pulled away. She wanted to pull away. But she didn't.

Instead, she let out a shuddering breath, gripping the edges of the jacket like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

She didn't say thank you. Didn't say anything at all.

Jamie took another deep swig from the bottle in her hand, barely tasting the sharp burn of vodka as it slid down her throat. The world around her felt unsteady, the room tilting slightly as she paced back and forth across Derek's loft.

"You know," she slurred, pointing an accusing finger at him, "I think I finally figured it out."

Derek leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching her with that infuriatingly blank expression. He hadn't said a word since she started talking. Hadn't tried to stop her, hadn't tried to defend himself. Just stood there. Listening.

Jamie scoffed, stumbling slightly but catching herself. "You don't—You don't feel things the way normal people do, do you?" She let out a bitter laugh. "That's it. That's why you could just—just do that to me and then look me in the eye like nothing happened."

Derek's jaw tightened. His fingers flexed where they rested against his arm, but still, he didn't speak.

Jamie glared at him. "You said you needed me. And I thought—" Her voice cracked, but she pushed through. "I thought maybe you actually felt something. Maybe for once in your miserable, brooding existence, you wanted someone. Wanted me."

Derek exhaled sharply, his gaze darkening. "Jamie—"

"But no," she cut him off. "That wasn't it, was it? You didn't do any of that because you wanted to. You did it because it was part of the plan, right? Make me feel safe, make me trust you, make me let my guard down." She laughed humourlessly. "And the worst part? It worked."

Her vision blurred, but she wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or the tears she refused to shed.

"I let you in," she whispered. "And you—" She swallowed hard, gripping the bottle tighter. "You—." She couldn't even bring herself to say it. She sucked in a breath, shaking her head, trying to shove the emotion back down.

Derek's expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—something deep, something Jamie couldn't bring herself to decipher.

He swallowed. "I was wrong."

She let out a humourless laugh. "You were wrong?" She clenched her teeth, something burning behind her eyes. "That's it? That's all you have?"

His silence was answer enough.

Jamie let out a hollow laugh. "It's always someone else's fault, isn't it? It's never you."

Derek's gaze darkened, but he didn't argue.

Jamie shook her head. "You know what's funny? For a second—for just a second—I thought maybe you actually cared. Maybe you weren't just some—some cold, ruthless, emotionless—" She stumbled again, catching herself against the back of the couch, gripping it tightly. Her legs felt unsteady, like they might give out at any second.

Derek pushed off the wall. "Are you done?"

Jamie blinked at him, swaying slightly. "What?"

Derek took a step toward her, his voice calm but firm. "Are you done?"

Jamie clenched her jaw, gripping the bottle so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Screw you."

Derek sighed, shaking his head. "You're drunk."

"No shit," Jamie snapped, raising the bottle in a mock toast before taking another sip.

Derek snatched it out of her hand.

Jamie gasped, reaching for it, but he held it out of her reach effortlessly.

"What the hell?" she hissed, glaring up at him.

"You're done," Derek said simply.

Jamie scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You don't get to decide that."

Derek exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple like he was running out of patience. "I'm taking you home."

Jamie let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Like hell you are."

"You don't have a choice."

Jamie stepped back, shaking her head. "No. No, you don't get to do this. You don't get to decide anything for me. Not anymore."

Derek's expression hardened. "Then tell me how you're getting home."

Jamie opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Because the truth was, she hadn't thought that far ahead.

Derek watched her carefully, waiting. When she didn't answer, he sighed and stepped toward her again, reaching for her wrist.

Jamie flinched.

Derek froze.

His hand hovered in midair for a second before he slowly dropped it back to his side.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, quieter this time.

Jamie swallowed hard, her breathing unsteady.

"I don't need your help."

"You can barely stand."

She glared at him, but the fire was starting to burn out. Her limbs were too heavy, her head too light. And she hated that he was right.

She wanted to fight him. Wanted to push him away, scream at him, hurt him the way he hurt her.

But she was tired.

And drunk.

And suddenly, the weight of it all—everything—felt unbearable.

Derek watched her, waiting.

Jamie exhaled shakily, then finally, reluctantly, nodded.

Derek didn't say anything. He just stepped aside, giving Jamie space, waiting to see if she would actually go with him.

Jamie swayed slightly, her head spinning. She wanted to fight him. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, that she didn't need his help, that she would rather sleep on the damn street than accept anything from him. But the alcohol was hitting her harder now, dulling her rage, making her limbs feel heavy and useless.

She wavered where she stood, and Derek let out a quiet sigh before stepping forward again, this time slower, more deliberate. "Come on," he said, his voice steady but firm.

Jamie clenched her jaw but didn't protest as he gently took her arm, careful not to grab too tight. His touch was light, tentative, like he knew exactly what she was thinking.

Like he knew she was just waiting for a reason to push him away again.

She didn't pull back, but she didn't move either. The loft suddenly felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in, and Derek was right there, his presence too much, too solid. Her hands trembled as she pulled her jacket tighter around herself. Even in the jacket she felt stripped down, exposed.

Jamie exhaled shakily, barely above a whisper. "I hate you."

Derek's face didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes.

"I know."

He didn't say anything else. Just guided her toward the door, keeping his hold on her light, like he was giving her every chance to change her mind.

Jamie didn't fight him.

She didn't have the energy anymore.

AN: Hope you liked this chapter!

Let me know what you thought x