The Weight of a Name
The next morning, Harry woke up to the undeniable fact that the pack had doubled down.
Not that they were obvious about it.
No, they were subtle—which somehow made it worse.
Malia was suddenly taking her morning runs on his street.
Derek "just happened" to be outside the grocery store at the same time as him.
Stiles had, for some reason, convinced the local coffee shop that Harry's order should be ready the moment he walked in.
Lydia was now texting him, sending cryptic messages about books he needed to read and how he should "drink more water" like some mother hen with terrifying levels of intelligence.
And Peter?
Peter hadn't shown up again.
Which was infuriating.
Harry didn't want to think about it.
Except, that was a lie, because it was all he could think about.
Because Peter had said something.
Something dangerous.
And the weight of it hadn't left Harry since.
Because home wasn't a place.
It wasn't a building.
It wasn't safety.
It was people.
And that?
That was the scariest damn thing of all.