24

The house was too quiet when I woke up.

For a second, I thought maybe Max had finally come back, maybe he was somewhere in the house, probably watching me sleep with that annoying smirk of his, ready to make some sarcastic comment about how human I looked drooling on his pillow.

But the bed was cold beside me. Still empty.

I sat up slowly, rubbing my face, the weight of the night still pressing on my chest. The sun wasn't even up yet; the sky outside the window was a pale, ghostly gray. I glanced at my phone.

No new messages.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood, pulling on the hoodie I had left draped over a chair. My steps echoed in the house as I walked to the living room, half-expecting to see Max sprawled on the couch, pretending like he wasn't ridiculously late. But the couch was empty. The door was still locked. No shoes at the door. No jacket thrown over the chair.

Nothing.

I checked the kitchen, then the bathroom, even opened the door to the basement though I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he kept down there. Still no sign of him.

Pulling out my phone, I sent him another text.

Max. This isn't funny anymore.

I sat down at the table and opened the fridge, grabbed something that looked vaguely edible. I wasn't hungry, but eating gave me something to do. I took a bite of the sandwich, stared at my phone, waited for it to light up.

It didn't.

I called him.

Straight to voicemail.

"Hey, it's Stiles," I said into the phone, trying to keep my voice steady. "You said you'd be back before midnight. It's morning now. I'm not, worried. But if you could maybe call me back before I have to come looking for you, that'd be great."

I hung up, set the phone on the table, and just stared at it for a long moment.

What if he left?

No. That wasn't him. He wouldn't leave without saying something. He wasn't that kind of person, no matter how much of a cocky asshole he pretended to be.

But what if something happened?

Max was strong. He was dangerous. But Beacon Hills had a way of chewing people up, no matter how untouchable they thought they were.

I hated the creeping feeling starting to settle in my gut, the cold, twisting knot of not-knowing. I didn't like caring this much. I wasn't supposed to care this much.

"Where are you, Max?" I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair.

The shadows in the corner of the room stirred slightly, like they were listening.

If he didn't come back soon, I was going to have to do something. I wasn't sure what, but sitting here wasn't going to cut it for much longer.

I sat back down on the couch, staring at the dim light creeping through the curtains. Every logical part of me was trying to stay calm. Max was fine. He could handle himself. He wasn't the type to get taken out easily.

But the shadows didn't lie.

And right now, they were restless.

I sat forward, elbows on my knees, staring into the darker corners of the room where the shadows curled like lazy cats. They responded when I focused, shifting, coiling, waiting.

"Alright," I muttered, exhaling slowly. "Let's see if we can find him."

I stood up, took a step toward the darkest part of the room, where the light didn't quite reach. My fingers twitched as I tried to pull the shadows to me, to stretch them into something useful.

"Okay, you guys are alive in some weird sentient way, so... help me out here," I whispered. "Find him. Find Max."

The shadows flickered, like they were listening.

I closed my eyes and tried to push, reach, stretch myself outward like I did that night in the woods, but gentler. I pictured Max. His voice, his stupid smirk, the way his eyes darkened when he was up to no good. I pushed harder, willing the darkness to respond, to guide me to him.

Nothing.

A pulse of cold ran through me, but it wasn't a direction. It wasn't a hint.

It was a dead end.

"Come on," I hissed. "You can do more than this. You've attacked people for me, you've dragged me through shadows, I know you can do more."

I tried again. Focused harder. Reached farther.

Still nothing.

Frustration clawed at my throat. The shadows swirled around my feet, agitated, but they weren't giving me what I wanted. I wasn't sure if they couldn't... or wouldn't.

I dropped onto the couch, burying my face in my hands.

"Useless," I muttered.

The shadows curled protectively around the couch, like they were trying to comfort me, but it wasn't enough. I needed answers. Not sympathy.

I sat up, phone in hand, hovering over Scott's name. I could call him. I should call him. Maybe he could help? But the idea of him telling me I told you so made me want to throw the phone against the wall.

I didn't want help.

I wanted him back.

My leg bounced anxiously as I stared at the walls, the clock, the phone. The longer I sat, the more it felt like the shadows themselves were getting impatient with me.

"I don't know what to do," I whispered.

—————————————————————————

By the time afternoon rolled around, I couldn't sit still anymore.

If Max wasn't going to come home, then I was going to look for him. I went to my house first, because somehow, deep down, there was this stupid, naive thought that maybe he'd be there, raiding my fridge or making himself at home like he owned the place.

But the house was empty. Too clean. Too quiet.

No Max.

The sun was already dipping low when I gave up on waiting for a text, a call, anything. The shadows in the corners of my room seemed to pulse, restless, mirroring my mood.

It was almost like they were telling me where to go.

So that's how I found myself back in the woods. Again.

The sky was black velvet, the trees stretching like skeletal arms overhead. I stood in the middle of a clearing, trying not to feel like an idiot. The cold wind bit through my hoodie, but I didn't care. I raised my hands, breathing in deep, trying to feel for the shadows, not just see them.

"Okay. Let's try this again. You know who I'm looking for. You know what I want. Help me."

The shadows slithered toward me, curling around my ankles like snakes. I pushed, focused, tried to stretch my senses outward into the dark. But nothing came. Just more cold, more silence, more frustration.

I clenched my fists.

"No. No, we're not doing this. You're not going to shut me out now. He's out there somewhere and I..."

The cold hit me like a wall.

Then I heard it.

A voice.

Max's voice.

"Come on... do you think this is my first time being tortured?"

His voice echoed inside my head, rough but defiant, cocky even. But there was strain beneath it. Pain.

"I won't say a thing," he growled. "You think this is gonna break me? Try harder."

I froze, heart hammering. The shadows were showing me something, but it wasn't a vision, it was sound. Distant, muffled, but real.

"I won't tell you anything about Stiles."

That made me stumble back, breath caught in my throat.

Stiles.

My name on his lips. Like I was a secret worth protecting. Like I was something important.

"You call yourself his best friend?" Max spat, followed by a sharp, wet sound. Then a laugh, dry, mocking, sharp enough to cut through bone. "You're pathetic."

That's when it hit me.

Scott.

Max was talking to Scott.

I couldn't hear Scott's voice, but I didn't need to. Max's words, his tone, said enough.

And then came the sound that made my blood run cold.

A low, strained groan of pain, followed by a stifled gasp. Max.

He was hurting. And he was still laughing.

But I wasn't.

I stumbled forward, like I could reach him, like I could follow his voice through the trees, but the connection flickered and snapped, leaving me breathless in the empty woods.

"Max," I whispered, clutching at the shadows around me, as if they could pull him back.

But they didn't.

I was alone again. But now, I knew.

Scott had him.

And he was going to regret it.