Rebuilding

The preserve was hot in that sticky, summer-evening kind of way — sunlight cutting through the trees in golden beams, dust motes swirling with every shift of the wind.

Malia paced like a stormcloud just waiting to snap open.

"Okay, you're doing that thing with your claws again," I said gently, stepping into her path. Her hands were curled, half-shifted, nails already dark and sharp.

"I can't help it," she huffed, eyes flashing bright blue for a second. "It's like my brain just-" she made a noise halfway between a growl and a groan. "I don't know. Freaks out."

"That's okay. Freaking out's part of it," I told her, holding my palms up. "But we're gonna learn to breathe through it, remember?"

She looked unconvinced, but stopped pacing. Scott stood nearby, arms crossed, giving us space but watching closely. He'd been doing his best to guide her, but sometimes Malia just needed someone who wasn't the Alpha.

Someone who understood spiraling. Who knew what it felt like to be a mess in the middle of the woods and not want to be anymore.

"Sit with me," I said, patting the ground.

She hesitated, then plopped down beside me like a grumpy cat.

"Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not above doing the whole meditative wolf nonsense if it helps you not claw holes in my favorite hoodie again."

She snorted but shut her eyes.

"Now breathe," I said softly. "In... out. Listen to the sounds around you. The birds. The wind. My voice."

Her shoulders started to relax.

"You're safe," I whispered. "No one's judging you here. We've all messed up. You're not scary. You're just learning."

She opened one eye. "Do you really think I'm not scary?"

I smiled. "Not to me. You're like... a tiny, feral kitten."

She grinned, eyes fading back to normal hazel. "I hate you."

"You don't."

"No. I really don't."

I reached over and brushed a leaf out of her hair.

"You're doing great, Malia."

-----☾-----

The movie sucked.

Which, honestly, made it even better.

Stiles had picked it out from some ancient box of DVDs under his bed, a cheesy alien invasion flick with cardboard special effects and the worst acting imaginable.

We were sprawled on his bed, limbs tangled up, the fan in the corner doing its best to keep us cool. My legs were across his lap, his fingers absently tracing shapes into my ankle.

"This is a cinematic masterpiece and I will not hear otherwise," he said, mouth full of popcorn.

I flicked a piece at him. "You've got popcorn in your hair, Spielberg."

"Good. It's my look now."

I laughed and leaned back against the headboard, letting the sounds of cheesy dialogue and laser guns fill the room.

It was quiet in the kind of way that felt precious. Like time wasn't real and nothing bad could get to us here.

"Hey," he said suddenly, shifting so he could look at me better. "Are you okay?"

I looked down at my hands.

"I think so. Some days are harder. But... today's good."

He nodded like he got it, probably because he did. We were both still carrying it, in our own ways. But he made it easier. Lighter.

He reached out and brushed his thumb against my cheek.

"I like you best like this," he murmured.

"Messy and emotional?"

"Human. Real."

I kissed him instead of answering, a grin on my lips.

When we pulled apart, I rested my forehead against his. "I like you best like this too. Calm. Here. Mine."

His grin went all lopsided and stupid. "So, uh... wanna make out and ignore the aliens?"

"Obviously."

-----☾-----

"You're staring again."

I blinked at my reflection in Lydia's vanity mirror, catching the way my fingertips hovered just beneath my eyes.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I just... hate them. I know that's stupid, but"

"It's not stupid," Lydia said, cutting me off with a hand on my cheek. "It's grief."

I looked down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap.

"They don't look like mine anymore," I whispered. "They look like something else's. Like I'm still carrying a piece of it. A reminder that I didn't get there fast enough. That people died anyway."

"Allison," Lydia said softly.

I nodded. "I keep thinking... if I had just moved faster. If I hadn't hesitated. If I'd been stronger, smarter, anything, maybe she'd still be here. And these eyes wouldn't look like this."

Lydia set the brush down. Then she knelt in front of me, resting her hands on my knees.

"I think they look like power," she said. "Like you've lived through something that would've broken most people, and you're still here. That's not something to hide."

I met her eyes, green and unflinching. She was right. Of course she was. Lydia always knew how to find the crack in the glass and fill it with light.

"Come on," she said, standing up. "If you're going to have supernatural eyes, you're going to wear them like a damn crown."

She picked up a palette and went to work; lining my lashes in silver, brushing smoky cool tones over my lids, catching the faint glint in my irises and making it shine.

Suddenly we were 12 again, stealing her mom's makeup and playing pretend. By the time she was done, I almost didn't recognize myself.

But in a good way.

"You look like a myth," she said with a proud smile. "And I'm not being dramatic."

When I got home, I barely had the door closed before Stiles was in front of me, wide-eyed.

He stared for a long second, mouth slightly open.

"Whoa."

I tilted my head. "What?"

He blinked like he was trying to reboot. "You look... amazing. Like, ethereal. Badass fairy queen level."

I tried to hide my blush but probably failed. "Lydia got creative."

"Lydia can do your makeup all the time," he said, still staring. "Seriously, Cass, you look-"

I cut him off with a laugh, shaking my head. "Okay, you're being weird."

"I'm being honest. You're beautiful."

I kissed him before I melted into the floor.

-----☾-----

The sound of steel meeting steel rang through the trees.

"Your grip's getting better," I said, stepping back after deflecting a low swing from Kira's katana with one of my knives. "Not that it was ever bad."

Kira let out a breathy laugh, pushing a piece of hair out of her face. "I think you're just going easy on me."

I arched a brow. "I'm literally sweating, Kira."

We circled again, blades dancing in the dappled summer light. I loved training with her. There was something balanced about it, her fluidity, my precision.

Her blade would sweep wide and clean, mine would dart in fast and close. We moved like lions circling each other.

When we finally paused, I dropped into the grass, stretching my legs out and resting my knives beside me. Kira sat down too, resting her katana across her lap, gaze distant.

"I've been meaning to say something," she said quietly.

I looked over. "What's up?"

She didn't answer right away. Her fingers ran over the hilt of her sword, slow and thoughtful.

"I keep thinking... maybe I'm crossing a line."

My stomach tightened. "What do you mean?"

Kira's eyes flicked to mine, then away again.

"I mean... with you. With us training. Spending time together. Being part of this pack. I know you and Allison were close. Like, really close. And sometimes it feels like- like I'm stepping into her space. Like maybe I'm taking something that used to be hers."

The wind stirred the leaves around us, and for a long second, I didn't say anything. It had crossed my mind too. Like I was betraying Allison by training with Kira. But I knew she would never think that. She would be standing by the edge giving us pointers and cheering us on.

So I reached over and gently took her hand.

"Kira," I said, "you're not replacing Allison."

She looked at me, uncertain. "You're you. And Allison... she'd like you. She did like you. She thought you were brave. Thought we could both learn from each other. If she were here she would be telling me to fix my footwork and that she trained me better than this."

I smiled a little, the ache behind it warm instead of sharp for once. "And I think she'd be glad we're getting closer."

Kira's shoulders eased a little, but her voice was still soft. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," I said. We stayed there for a bit longer, side by side in the quiet clearing, our weapons laid down beside us

-----☾-----

"I think something's wrong."

The words slipped out before I could stop them. I was standing in Deaton's office, the others gathered loosely around; Scott, Kira, Lydia, Stiles, Malia.

Scott turned toward me, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I haven't heard from Derek." The room went still. "He always checks in," I went on. "Even if it's just a text. It's been almost two weeks. And I just-" My voice cracked. "I have a bad feeling."

Lydia moved closer, her hand brushing my shoulder. "Did he say where he was going?"

"Not exactly. Just... that he needed time. That he'd be back."

Scott nodded slowly. "He's probably laying low. He does that sometimes."

"I know. But this feels different."

"Okay," he said gently. "We'll try to find him. We'll keep an eye out for signs."

Kira nodded. "He wouldn't just disappear on you."

I took a deep breath and tried to believe them. But the knot in my stomach didn't budge.

"I just... I can't lose anyone else," I whispered. "Not him too."

And that's when Scott wrapped me in a hug from the side, warm and grounding. "We won't let that happen," he said.

And for a second, I believed him.

-----☾-----

It started with a flicker.

Not a place, not at first, just a sound. The clink of chains. The scrape of boots across stone.

Then light, dim and flickering. Torchlight maybe, or a bare bulb swaying from a ceiling I couldn't see. It painted the walls in rust and shadow.

And there he was.

Derek was on his knees, sweat-slicked and bloodied. Iron shackles dug into his wrists, chains looped to a stone wall that looked ancient; Mexican tile and damp moss.

"You should just go ahead and kill me," he muttered. His voice was hoarse, but solid. Steady. "You're never going to find her."

I tried to step forward, to reach him, but my body didn't move. I wasn't really there—I knew that somehow. I was watching. Floating. Caught in the in-between.

A voice responded, angrier, rougher. "Where are they?"

There was shouting. Pain. Screams. Fire lit up the edges of my vision and I couldn't breathe.

The fire became ash, falling slow around Derek like snow. He stood now, unbound, staring into the dark with something like disbelief on his face.

"It's real..." he whispered. "You're real..."

I turned.

Someone stepped forward, a feminine shape, dark silhouette. Her voice came low and sweet, wrapped in something that sent goosebumps up my arms.

And then she moved, fast, too fast, and the air around her warped like heat off pavement. And then she lunged.

I gasped awake, heart hammering in my chest, lungs dragging in too little air. My skin was cold despite the sweat on my neck, and the room felt too quiet, too still.

"Stiles," I breathed.

He stirred beside me, mumbling something unintelligible, face buried in the pillow.

"Stiles," I said again, louder, my voice shaking. I reached out, grabbed his arm. "Wake up."

He blinked awake slowly, squinting at me. "Cass? What's- what's going on?"

"I need you to come with me," I said. I was already getting out of bed, grabbing the first hoodie I could find. "We need to go to Mexico."

Stiles sat up. "What?"

"I saw him," I said. "Derek. He's alive, but something's wrong. They have him, Stiles. He's in pain."

"You had a dream?"

"It wasn't just a dream," I said. My hands were trembling now. "It was a vision. It was real. I felt it. I know I haven't had one in a while but I know it."

He looked at me for a long moment, all sleep gone from his face. "You think someone's hurting him?"

I nodded. "There was a woman. Or- I think it was a woman. I couldn't see her clearly. But she wasn't...normal. Not a wolf. Not human. Something else. Something wrong. And some kind of hunters..."

Stiles swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Let's go."

"You believe me?"

He gave me a sleepy, crooked smile. "You said it was real. And you've never been wrong before. I'll call the others"

"I don't know what we're walking into," I whispered.

"We'll figure it out," he said, already pulling on jeans. "Like always."