21

I woke up fast and wrong.

My body jolted like it remembered falling, like it thought I was still out there in the woods. Cold air hit my skin, and the smell of smoke and wax wrapped around me like a blanket I didn't ask for.

And then I remembered.

The creatures.

The shadows crawling out of me like I'd split open.

The hunger in my chest that hadn't even felt like mine.

I sat up too fast.

And I vomited.

Right there on Max's floor.

My stomach emptied in ugly, shuddering waves, the taste bitter and metallic and wrong. My whole body shook. I was sweating and freezing at the same time, fingers clawing at the couch cushions just to stay upright.

I barely noticed Max until he was crouching beside me, one cool hand on the back of my neck, the other guiding a towel under my mouth. He didn't say anything at first. Just held me there, steady and quiet while I retched and gasped and spat bile onto the floor.

When it was over, I curled sideways on the couch, arms wrapped around myself like I was trying to keep something in.

"I—I didn't mean to," I croaked out, breath catching.

Max didn't answer right away. He rose silently and disappeared for a moment, then returned with a glass of water and a clean towel. He knelt down again, pushed my hair off my forehead, and wiped at my mouth.

"You're okay," he said softly. "You're safe."

"No, I'm not," I snapped, chest heaving. "You didn't see it. I wasn't me, Max. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to stop. It felt—"

I cut myself off, pressing the towel to my face.

"It felt good," Max finished for me.

I hated how easily he said it.

I hated that he was right.

"I made things," I said, voice shaking. "Twenty of them. Maybe more. And I was laughing. Like I was proud of it. Like I wanted more."

Max sat beside me on the edge of the couch, leaving just enough space between us so I didn't feel trapped. He looked tired in a way I hadn't seen before. Not physically, he didn't get tired the way I did,  but emotionally drained. Like whatever he'd done to reach me had cost him something, too.

"I found you at the edge of something ancient," he said quietly. "Something even I couldn't touch."

"You couldn't even get near me," I whispered.

"The shadows didn't want me close."

I squeezed my eyes shut, the memory of their movements searing hot behind my eyelids. The way they'd turned on him, protected me from him.

Like I was something precious.

Like I was something theirs.

"I could've hurt you."

"You didn't."

"I wanted to."

"You didn't," he said again, firmer this time. "That line, whatever it was, you still didn't cross it."

I opened my eyes and looked at him, desperate.

"But what if I do next time?"

Max hesitated. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers laced. His voice dropped low and honest.

"Then we stop training. We find a way to seal it. Suppress it. I won't let it swallow you whole, Stiles. You're not alone in this."

I shook my head, eyes burning. "It's not just about being alone, Max. It's about what I am. What the hell am I becoming?"

He looked at me then, and his eyes, usually amused or hungry or teasing, were completely serious.

"Something powerful," he said. "Something rare. And maybe something... ancient. But you're still you. You still care. You still came back."

"But I liked it," I said again, almost choking on the words.

"Power doesn't make you a monster," Max said. "Losing your empathy does. And you still care what I think. You're still scared. That matters."

I drank some of the water, my hand trembling, and finally leaned back against the couch with a soft groan.

"I'm never doing that alone again."

"Good," he said. "Because next time I'm chaining you to a rock before you even think about summoning a flying shadow kraken."

That pulled a short, wet laugh out of me.

Then I fell quiet again.

And Max didn't fill the silence. He just sat there with me, letting the fear settle, letting me breathe.

Eventually, I pulled my knees up and rested my forehead on them.

"Thanks," I mumbled.

"For what?"

"For coming after me."

He didn't say anything at first.

Then:

"I always will."